#THERE IS A SIGNIFICANT AMOUNT OF BLOOD AND GORE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

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Cheating Heart

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your feeling for John were wrong -- horribly wrong -- but when you see your current boyfriend in bed with another woman, what's to hold you back anymore? (18+)

Word Count: 20.8k

Warnings: Cheating, toxic relationship, angst, fluff, depictions of violence and gore in flashbacks, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smut, breeding kink, praise kink, Protective!Price, vulgar language, porn with an incredible amount of plot

A/N: Literally just supposed to be smut practice and I turned it into a novel lmfao. I should be getting back to requests after this.

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

You slap a hand onto Soap’s bicep as you slide past the Scot, laughing loudly. The C-17 was still whirring behind you, the engines rumbling and shaking the air over your heads like great waves. Soap had asked you to go out with everyone for drinks at a local bar here in your city, not a moment prior. He was being quite persistent about it.

“Ah, c’mon, Little Lady,” The mohawked man grumbles, jogging to catch up to your fast form. Shit, you really needed a shower – your pores were packed with blood and dirt, “It’s just a few minutes from Base! We’ll all get steamin’ in no time.”

“Hell,” Your body aches, but there’s a promise of hot water and clean clothes in your Barracks, making your feet move over the tarmac faster. Showering after a tough deployment was better than sex, “I’d love to, man, but you know that Leon makes me homemade meals when I get back home. Sorry, but I hope I make up for it by saying I’d take a bar burger and a drink over his lasagna any day. That thing could kill a horse.”

Soap chuckles, eyes sparkling, and you send him an inquiring glance, “Price’ll be out with us.”

Your lips thin, the M13 strapped over your back suddenly ten times heavier and digging into your shoulder blades. Inside your chest, your heart sparks to life.

“MacTavish…” You warn, eyes narrowing at the stocky male, “Careful where your words go – I have a boyfriend. Plus, idiot, whatever it is your implying is insanely against workplace policy.”

“Yeah, but that boyfriend of yours treats you like shite.”

“Hey!” Yelling, your eyebrows turn in with a glare, finger pointing at his chest, “That was uncalled for, Asshat.”

Frowning, you watch Soap’s hand go scratch at the back of his head as his optics dart away, grumbling, “I don’t think it was if I’m being honest. Not exactly a prime choice in a partner you’ve got there.”

The two of you make it to the front doors of the Barracks building, and you huff in annoyance. You were quickly deciding that not even a shower would make you feel better if this conversation continued. It was bordering on too much for your tired brain, sinking needles into your heart and dripping poison.

Soap wasn’t lying, of course, your boyfriend was a piece of work and everyone knew it. Not only did Leon get pissed when you had to go on deployments – which you didn’t have control over – but he had also made a habit of being a bitch when you came back lately. There was never a chance to relax anymore, and what was worse was that it hadn’t always been like that. Part of you had tried to empathize with him because it was probably hard for someone's significant other to be away most of the time.

Like that gives him an excuse, You think, face heating with resentment as you remember the last argument Leon had dragged you into.

It was the day before your current deployment began nearly four months ago. Leon had gotten angry that you weren’t able to tell him where you were being shipped off to, and, like usual, had made the last day you saw him pure hell.

“Oh, so It’s my fault that I’m concerned?!” He was screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice bouncing off the ceiling, “I get it – I’m the problem for wanting you home and safe.”

“My job is important, Leon!” Attempting to keep your cool, you take deep breaths. Teeth nash against your bottom lip and rip it to pieces as you use the pain to call away from the tears stuck in the ducts of your eyes, “You’re acting like what I do doesn’t affect the world. I need to go, otherwise, bad people are–”

“Is that what you tell yourself? Fuck me, how goddamn stupid could you be?!”

Leon growls, sending you scathing glances as he begins to pace the living room.

“Now you’re just being rude,” You whisper, whipping at your cheeks and gathering teardrops on your sleeves, “You know I can’t control when John sends me out with him and 141! They’re my team!”

Mentioning your Captain was a mistake and you knew it just as John’s name came out of your mouth. Leon pauses – his body going very still.

“John,” He whispers, eyes lit with burning fire, “Since when have you started calling him by his first name?”

“Leon–” You tried to salvage the situation but it was already too late. Your boyfriend snarls out accusation after accusation.

“I knew it! You’re cheating on me–”

“No, I’m not!” Pleading with someone to listen can only get you so far, “We’re close because we're always together – just like with the rest of the boys!” Leon shakes his head, hands clenched at his sides and vibrating with rage. Loyalty meant so much to you, trying to imagine a world where you would physically go out and cheat on your boyfriend was like seeing a unicorn out on the street. Your feet take you closer to Leon as the tensions rise, “You’re not listening! Listen to me!”

“Why the hell should I listen to a fucking whore!?”

The memory leaves you tense, remembering for a moment the sound of a tossed lamp and the shattering that followed soon after as it hit the floor. It was silly, but that lamp that Leon had thrown in anger was a family heirloom; something immeasurably precious to you. It was the last object you had left from your Grandma. Now, the remains were probably stuffed in a garbage bag somewhere, but you wouldn’t know because you had left with your duffel bag and slept at Base. At the very least you could hope your Leon cut his fingers picking up the pieces of glass.

You had thought that everyone hadn’t noticed anything wrong, but had been catching concerned glances when you went into the cafeteria with thick bags under your eyes the next day; hair tangled and matted from your fingers.

Price had brought you outside, only pausing slightly before laying a heavy hand on your arm and squeezing. The man had bent slightly to look you in the eyes, head tilting so his hat blocked the sun from your eyes.

“Love?” His eyes had been warm, creased with concern around the edges – an emotion you never received from Leon. When you just stared at your Captain, he hummed in the back of his throat, “You alright down there?”

Before you could do anything you might regret, you shook off his grip and disappeared back into the cafeteria. You didn’t eat that day and the next you were off on deployment.

“--soon?”

You blink, noticing Soap had begun walking ahead of you, his gear clinking.

“What?” You ask dumbly, “Sorry, I spaced out.”

Soap smirks, looking at you strangely, “I said I’ll see ya soon…hopefully out with the rest of us tonight?” He raises an eyebrow expectantly with a grin and you force out a half-assed huff. Trying to mask the unease in your blood.

You had been gone four months instead of the intended three with Soap out in Russia on a Black Op, fighting back in a war that no one would ever hear of. Distinctly, you wondered if John was mad at you for how you acted toward him before you left.

“No promises, Suds,” Striding down the hallway you take the turn on the right leading to the women’s barracks, your back turned as Soap continues to subtly plead to you.

If you took the time to look into it, you would have realized that the man was concerned for you; his thought process was to keep you away from Leon for as long as he could so you might come to your senses.

“I’ll see you at 0900, then! Don’t keep everyone waiting, yeah? Been too long since you’ve been out with the rest of us!”

His voice falls away as you open the door to the joint female changing room and showers. Only when the hum of the air conditioning overhead blocks out everything else do you speak.

“You’re nothing if not persistent, MacTavish,” Putting your palms into your eyes, you press until you see stars and take a deep breath.

Filling your lungs you hold the air trapped and begin to count to five, letting the tension in your shoulders leave as you breathe out. The room was empty of anyone else, white-walled, and tiled floors with rows of metal lockers you needed a key to get into. Digging into your vest pocket, you produce the one you would need to enter yours.

It was the one in the middle of the room, with access to the emergency door in the back and a clear view of the front door as well. Some traits stick with you when you join one of the best forces on the planet.

Since you lived around here, everything you would need was already in the locker, including a gray shirt, baggy sweats, fresh undergarments – thank God – and spare boots. Your duffel bag of belongings was still on the C-17 and set to go through inspection before you could get it back.

Groaning and deading the inevitable stack of reports you would have to go through, plus the thoughts of what to do tonight, you sit on the rickety wooden bench and begin to take off strap after strap of your uniform.

“This is gonna be one hell of a problem, Isn’t it?” You mutter, body slouching with more and more fatigue as the seconds draw on.

Maybe I should just stay here, You wonder to yourself, Say the hell with it to both of them and have a girl's night in. Watching a sad movie and crying over a bucket of fucking ice cream sounds better than fighting with Leon or trying to ignore John.

Chucking off your combat vest, you clench your jaw in agitation. Why couldn’t things be simple? Why couldn’t you just break it off with your boyfriend and be done? It was obvious the love that was there before was gone…but you had known Leon since high school. You bite your lip. There were so many good memories.

John, as he usually does, weasels his way into your mind from the gaps.

You unlock your locker and slam the door open so that the hinges rattle back in anguish. Shucking off your M13 your shaking hands all but toss the attached strap on the hook inside as you try to force the brown-haired Brit from your consciousness. You can’t call it love or lust, but somewhere in the spaces between missions and spent bullets you had grown fond of him in a way you couldn’t describe. John. Your Captain.

As your knives and pistol are placed in the above cubie you run over hand over your face once more, pausing to breathe deeply before regaining motion. Putting your head on the locker’s cool metal corner, your eyes close tightly.

The Black Op with Soap had been hard. You had been trying to strangle every emotion down like the ball in your throat when the Scot brought up Price or Leon during muttered conversations.

“That’s why the Captain likes you so much, then!”

“The boy of yours is a pure dafty – why the hell would he say that to you?!”

“Price’ll have my head if you take another shot for me.”

“The two of you would make a fine looken’ couple, y’know. No missin’ the way he looks at you…Hey, now! I meant it as a compliment! Stop hitten’ me woman!”

You shouldn’t be feeling like this. Why were you feeling like this? Leon was a dick sure, but you both had fond memories together – you’d known him for more than half of your life! When you thought of someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with it was always…

Your eyes harden as reality sets in.

John.

“Fuck!” Reeling backward, you curl your left fist and send it right into the locker beside your own.

Immediately a sparking of pain ripples down your limb like lighting, firing off nerves and heating the skin as blood rushes to the affected area. Hunching your shoulder’s in, you bite your tongue and tip your head down.

Your heart is hammering so hard you hear it echo through the room, bouncing off the tall ceiling – Knock-knock.

Blinking, you look up, staring in confusion into the depths of your locker before you realize that wasn’t your heart at all.

A distinctly male voice calls your name from behind the barrier, and suddenly you know why they weren’t coming in. Closing your eyes and sighing, you back up and stare at the door silently. The man calls your name again, accent muffled as knuckles rasp.

Someone’s knocking on the door…? Why would they do that? You wondered, It’s unlocked.

“I know you’re in there – the Sergeant told me where I could find you,” You could imagine the person you had just been thinking about nodding as he always does during conversations; dark eyebrows animated, “ We need to have a word before you clean up, yeah?”

“Price?” You ask, face tightening as you recognize the speech pattern before he even finishes talking. Could you really not get a moment's peace around here? Shaking out your hand, which was bleeding by the knuckles and leaves droplets on the floor, you stutter out, “W-what are you doing in the girl’s barracks?”

Your heart was already running faster than it had a moment ago. You didn’t want to talk to him right now.

The Captain sighs behind the door, and under the crack you see a shadow shuffle from one foot to the other. His voice lowers, losing that formal tone for a second. Your body reacts even as you tell it not to, and your breath gets shallow and your pupils are blown wide. “Would you open the door so I can talk to you, please, Love? I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Sucking down a breath your large muscle palpitates heavily behind your ribcage. Did you really have a choice?

John, separated from you but still sensing your hesitation, feels his eyes narrow. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about your last interaction before you left; the way your eyes were red-rimmed and dull. It had weighed on him more than he liked to admit for those few months, and it wasn’t like he could call to check-in.

Black Ops meant no contact, and your safety was always his priority before anything else. He waited. So when Soap had knocked on John’s office door, the two of you back at Base unannounced, and had looked at him with creased eyes he had known immediately something was wrong.

For a moment, his heart had stopped, thinking you were injured. But Johnny’s next words stopped him.

“The girl’s been acting strange, Price. I can’t find any sense behind it – been that way damn near ever since we shipped out. Little Lady’s worrying me. She’s not right and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Maybe this was a mistake, John thinks, eyes narrowing as he itches at his beard, forcing the heated image in his mind away like it burned him. He didn’t know what he felt about you, but the knowledge that you had a boyfriend didn’t sway his sense of loyalty. Even if being around you made his chest tighten and his thoughts run.

If you were in the right headspace the door would have already been open. But then again you were in the locker room. The Captain’s head jerks back, trying not to imagine you naked just behind a thin barrier as his chest sucks in a sharp breath.

It wasn’t his place to think of such things. To imagine you beautifully naked, laying under him and gasping out his name was…it was immoral. You deserve better than that. But damn it if the thought didn’t make his pants tighten.

A shadow moves under the door and Price straightens his spine, taking a step back before bringing his attention back to the present. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly.

Your hand lays on the door knob stiffly, shirt already untucked and boots unlaced. You probably looked a mess, you thought to yourself, sticking your tongue out of the side of your mouth with nerves. Freezing, your heart skips a beat.

Why did you care?

Growling under your breath, you swing the door open and plaster a smile over your bitten-to-hell lips that wouldn’t convince a blind man.

“Sir,” You say, body coiled as your eyes trail your Captain’s figure.

John Price was the same man you remembered. Tall and fit, wearing an army green long-sleeved athletic shirt and cargo pants tucked into boots mirroring your own. Watching his muscles writhe, he crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head – where the old bucket hat sits covering his shorter brown locks.

The hallway lights were doing wonders for his complexion.

“Do…you need something, Price?” Maybe if you didn’t look at him your head wouldn’t get fuzzy?

Your eyes shifted up and down the hallways as if you were doing something illegal, listening to his breath and the rattle of his throat as he made a sound.

If people saw the two of you rumors would start; you could almost hear them now.

“Did you see her talking to Captain Price outside the locker room?!”

“Lord, doesn’t she have a boyfriend here in the city? I feel bad for him...She’ll start one hell of an internal investigation.”

“No loyalty at all. I bet she likes sneaking around. Hey, do you think she’s sleeping with him?! Holy fuck I bet she is!”

“--Love? Hey, hey, Love, look at me, would you?” You blink back to reality, clearing your throat and tensing as a hand levels on your shoulder.

Staring at John’s chest, you shake your head.

“Sorry, Sir, just tired,” You attempt a chuckle but it sounds like a balloon deflating, “Long mission, you know?”

Your eyes are boring holes in John’s chest, not willing to move anywhere else as your face begins to burn. His hand was so firm, warm, how would it feel when it was digging into the flesh of your thighs? Your waist? Would he be rough like the calluses on his hands would imply? Or would he handle you delicately like his guns, flicking over the safety and caressing the cool metal?

Shut the fuck up!

A moment passes before you notice your Captain hadn’t responded to you. Frowning, you throw him a quick glance and see him intently looking at your clenched, shaking, left hand. His blue eyes are dark, lips frozen in a thin line that has your lungs shriveling and a shiver running down your spine. You try not to follow the tensing of his lower abdominal muscles or the shifting of his large hips as his feet move.

Stop it, You plead with yourself, Please just stop. This isn’t right. What’s wrong with me?

That was the moment you noticed the blood dripping down your fingers, flooding from split knuckles and dotting the floor in red. Widening your eyes, you snap the hand behind your back in panic, clothes rustling.

“Uh,” You fumble, pulse so loud you can hear it in your ear as sweat slicks the back of your neck. Stuttering, you can’t find the words to continue before John speaks.

“Tell me,” He orders, voice so baritone and raspy you feel it rattle in your stomach; at that moment it’s not John you’re speaking to – it’s your Captain. You move out of his hold but he takes a step forward anyways, “Now.”

Freezing, you gape like a fish, mouth moving but no words come out to grace the man’s ears. John’s heart is pounding, snapping from the hidden hand to your eyes that lack the spark they usually had. He hadn’t seen that bit of light in your eyes for a long time and ached to find out why. What had happened? Why were you avoiding him? You usually went straight to his office after you got back from being separated from him – even if you were full of blood and dirt with bags lining your eyes.

John’s hands clench, jaw following suit.

You sigh shakily, swallow down saliva, and try not to throw up.

“I-I…” Moving your head, your fingers shake. How could you explain your situation? Tell your Captain – who you have complicated feelings for – that you wanted to end things with Leon because of him? Fuck, do you tell him how shitty your boyfriend’s been? That wasn’t his business and certainly not his problem. It was better if you held your tongue and suffered, a part of you knew, because the infection of misplaced guilt was wrapped around your heart like thorns.

John would think less of you for staying with Leon for this long; probably put you on leave to figure it out yourself.

No, You try to tell yourself, He wouldn’t do that – this is John we’re talking about. He’s kind to me and, if anything, he’d be just as pissed as I am about it.

That you knew was true. John would go to war to make sure you were alright; he had.

The man was silently standing, patient with you even as the telltale sign of concern and muted irritation were painted on his face. John had always been a gentleman – holding doors open for you, letting you sleep in when the nightmares got to you and left you huddled in a corner for hours. He had found your favorite candy on an Op in Italy and bought you some for fucks sake!

But nothing made sense anymore and everything felt like it was at a breaking point. You liked Price – and hated Leon – and that fact nearly sent you spiraling into hysterics. You had been with your boyfriend for so long; he had been everything to you.

Leon had helped you get through deaths in your family, and before the fighting started, ordered you flowers when you came back from deployments; Leon cooked and cleaned without you having to ask. He knew your life story possibly better than you did, and you knew his.

Your entire life was spent with him. Who were you if all of it suddenly ended? Years of your life thrown away for nothing.

If there was one thing that everyone on Base knew besides that your boyfriend was a bitch, it was that you hated change more than anything. Ironic, considering the profession you were in.

You just needed silence – space to breathe without getting suffocated. But maybe what you really wanted was for John to fucking hug you. To feel his bear arms wrap around you and squeeze the stubborn tears out of your eyes as you sob. When was the last time you actually cried, anyways? John would make it better; hold you like he cared about you. Like how he had in Madagascar when a bullet got lodged in your side. You swore you saw him cry that day, beautiful blues shiny as your blood pooled out of his heavy, adrenaline-shaking, fingers. The body of the man who jumped you both lay dead and filled with more metal than a construction zone not a few feet away, gurgling.

That man was supposed to be the target – Hubert Antonin – and you were both supposed to bring him in alive; you never got execute authority.

But Price had unloaded the clip on him right as you cried out in pain.

“Stay with me, Princess, c’mon. Keep your eyes open for me…Look at me, Love. Hey, I promised I’d get ya’ back safe. Don’t make me lie, now, yeah?”

A weak, velvety, chuckle meets the humid air. It was startling, watching him lose his composure like that.

“It b-burns, John. I…I can’t–”

“I know, Sweetheart, I know. I’ll get you fixed up and good to go soon, Copy? Just like new,” His wild eyes snapped back and forth as your eyesight gets blurry, lids flickering like a candle’s flame, “Where the fucken’ hell is Evac?!... No, no, no…What did I just tell you – Keep those eyes open, Muppet!”

When you were stable in the Med Ward of the local Base, the man had brought you to his chest, letting you feel the rampaging of his heart and the uneven breaths on the top of your head. His hands tightened over you, fingers brushing up and down over your arms. Like he was worshiping you just for living. For being there.

“Attagirl. Just let me hold you for a minute, yeah?”

As you recovered, he never let you out of his sight.

If you thought about it too hard, that was perhaps the first instance when you knew something was very wrong with you for liking the feeling of his skin touching yours. His body heat melting into you in such a tight embrace it left you crying into his chest in thankfulness. You had never felt that when hugging Leon – Leon hated hugs to the point you had to beg him to hold you.

But thinking about that was just another pipedream. Nothing about John Price and yourself would ever come to light as being anything more than partners on the Task Force.

He was your Captain. You were working under him.

You had a boyfriend. John had a valuable asset.

But you really wanted him to be yours. And, never mind how Price felt about you and if it was the same twisted form of disloyalty or lust, you still hated yourself for it. For feeling so deeply.

“No,” You respond blankly to John’s request for an explanation of…everything, but can’t look into his eyes to see the shock that sparks.

John's shoulders tense, jaw going slack. He gains his senses, but it’s already too late.

Jerking back into the locker room, you slam it shut behind you and snap the lock in place, feeling the quivering of your lips as the first sob builds.

Your skin was dirty and layered with grime, hair matted, and gear in need of deep cleaning. But that feeling you carried didn’t change even as you took a shower, wiping away everything down a drain with red-tinged water as a shadow hesitated for a long moment before confidently moving away from the front door.

You still felt disgusting.

—

Nothing you did made sense to him.

John was walking away from the locker room with measured steps, head pounding. People passed by and gave him strange looks, but his eyes were dead ahead, glaring at everything and nothing at the same time. This wasn’t like you at all.

She’s been acting strange for months, why haven’t I bloody checked in sooner? Your actions reminded him of a ghost – walking around the halls at night and steadily dimming. The whole team had seen it; how there was a weight eating at you. Price and the others had tried to get you to talk to no avail.

I need to do something about this, He tells himself as a thought worms its way into his brain.

Could she be angry at me? Now that he thought about it, every time he was near you trying to engage in a conversation you froze and made some excuse to not speak. And with how you looked at him before you slammed the door in his face…John had stayed shell-shocked behind the barrier with half a mind to rush in and demand you tell him what was wrong.

But he knew that would only make it worse.

“She needs time to cool off,” He mutters under his breath, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers and holding his head for a moment, “Get her head on straight.”

But what if you never chose to seek him out after the fact? Could he handle that?

Why do I want her to come to me when she’s hurting? He wonders with a clenched jaw.

Taking a corner and leaving the Women’s Barracks, John sighs as he walks on. His feelings were getting in the way again – his feelings about you that he had tried to choke down like whisky. Ironic, that it left the same burning sensation in his neck. There was only so much he could do about them, truth be told, because everything about you made the Captain want to disregard every order he’s given.

It wasn’t right, it was the definition of wrong in both of your lines of work, but this was the one situation he didn’t know how to fix. So he kept silent.

You had a boyfriend, and that was enough to stay his tongue and keep him watching from a distance.

John made it back to his office quickly and quietly, but would soon find that trying to get reports done was impossible. When his pen would hit the paper his mind would blank, and many times he would have to re-read the contents over and over to retain anything.

“Fuck,” He breathes out, baring his teeth and leaning back in his chair.

The most he could do was sit there and wait until tonight; hoping that the bar that Soap was bringing the Task Force to had good Whisky.

Try as he might, he knows getting drunk would only make him think of you more.

—

The car ride to your house was spent in silence, a sheen of rain making the sky dark. Under you, the fake leather seats are cold, leaving you shivering even as you were wrapped in a thick sweatshirt and your spare cargo pants. Gripping the wheel tighter as the quiet road went on and on ahead of you, the street lamps shine on the old sidewalks corralling you in.

You had made the tough decision to surprise Leon when you got home.

Lips thinning, all you can hope is that the stewing anger that had been left behind had calmed and not worsened. But Leon held grudges, and, unfortunately, so did you. Your Grandma’s lamp still made your heart ache if you thought about it too much; left bitter tears and a bare esophagus behind.

He had stepped over a big line – one you weren’t sure you could forgive him for. Sighing and shaking your head, you watch the dark road as the chilled cloud of condensation is expelled from your mouth. It seems you had forgotten to turn the heat on too.

Taking a turn, you pull the vehicle to a slow stop as its brakes squeal. Months of sitting in the Base’s underground garage would do that to you, but you still grimace at the noise that makes your face tense. Maybe Ghost would fix up your car like last time so you wouldn’t have to fork over a fortune at the dealership downtown.

You can’t hide the small smile that comes at the idea. Simon pretended to be such a grump all the time, but he had his moments.

Coming to a full stop, you turn the car to park and look outside through the deluge.

“At least that hasn’t changed,” You utter, breath fogging the window as lashes of rainwater race down the glass, “It still looks as perfect as ever.”

The house was brightly lit, painted white, and had a large Oak door in the center. In the front, there was a black iron fence with a small gate and a latch. Looking, a prickly sensation enters your body and your fingers twitch over the wheel inexplicably. Your eyes run from one window to the other, all with warm light streaming out from behind the curtains, and furrow. With one hand you go to itch at your nose.

Why were all the lights on anyways? It’s like ten at night…Not the point, I’m stalling.

“Just go and speak to him,” You mutter to yourself, nodding firmly. But your lungs contracted in your ribcage in blatant retaliation.

You wished playing therapist with yourself was easier.

Turning off the car and stuffing the keys in your pants pocket, you unclipped your seatbelt and turned to grab your small carry bag. Since the Base was so close there was really no need to bring your duffel bag. You’d be back there tomorrow for de-briefings with Price anyways; writing out papers and sighing confidentiality documents until your eyes bled. Would John bring you tea this time to help you stay awake? Or would he give you that look that meant – ‘Go to sleep right now, or do I have to order you to your bed?’

John would give in occasionally, and sit with you as you worked. He would read, or, you would take a break and play trivia with him; sometimes you asked him to tell stories. You really liked his stories.

On even rarer cases, when the contents of the report brought up bad memories that left your face blank, he would tell you one of his tales unprompted. Usually, after that warm and selfless event, you would wake up back in your bed without the knowledge of ever falling asleep at all. But there would always be a note. Handwritten on your nightstand.

John Price hand wrote you notes on crappy lined paper with his chicken scratch lettering. You remembered blushing every time you got one and had your favorite memorized word for word. It had meant so much to get one, Leon never wrote letters.

“Guess my stories are more boring than I knew, Love, you passed out nearly immediately into the first one. Do me a favor, yeah, and sleep in today? Don’t worry about morning drills. I’ve already dismissed you. Sleep tight.

– John”

Clenching your jaw, you shake your head and close your eyes. Thinking about seeing him tomorrow makes you sick.

More opportunities to make a fool of myself and cause him to hate me. God, I fucking slammed a door in his face because I couldn’t get a grip. What’s wrong with me? He doesn’t deserve that.

You can’t keep living like this anymore, you try to tell yourself as you dig through your bag. Grabbing your phone, you’re about to shove it in your pocket beside the keys when it lights up, showcasing the wallpaper of you and the boys on a past Op from years ago.

Everyone had their full gear on, weapons around fronts, and armed to the teeth. Full of blood and other substances.

It was your favorite picture and you even had it printed out on your nightstand at Base.

John had his arm over your shoulder, staring at you softly with his head covered by his hat – which had burn marks on it – as you pointed a finger into Gaz’s smug, smile-split, face. Soap’s laughing and holding his stomach as Ghost at his side has a hand to his masked face in exasperation.

You blink in surprise at the text message from your Sergeant as it pops up.

“Soap’s texting me?” Your mind wonders, and you roll your eyes, “I already said I wasn’t going out.” Not looking and turning your phone off, you shove it in your pocket but can’t hide the small sense of annoyance, “I spent four months with the guy in Russia, sorry, but I need a break from him before my brain explodes.”

Opening the car door, you flinch as rain batters your head and stains your clothes, but you just swing your bag over your shoulder and slam it shut behind you. Locking it with the fob, you make your way quickly to the front door, slipping past the metal gate without mishap and jogging over the lawn to the two front steps. Scaling them, you stand under the portico and look behind you, gazing up and down the street. You watch for a moment the family who lives across the street – they were watching a movie in the living room, huddled on the couch.

Jerking your head back, you take out your house key and insert it into the lock with a grim face. Twisting, your skin shivers once more as a bout of wind shakes your baggy clothes just as you hear the familiar click of the front door unlocking.

But that damn lamp. Grandma’s lamp. And John’s blue eyes filled with concern for you. His hands.

When had this place stopped being home for you?

“Just speak to him,” You repeat a second time, gripping the doorknob, “Get it over with like an adult and forgive each other…”

You clench your jaw and wrench the door open, shaking your head to dispel the water weighing the locks down like a wet dog. Stepping inside with heavy feet, you close the door quietly behind you and lock it.

“Leon…?” You wonder out loud, slipping your gaze from the empty couch to the blaring TV as you slip off your boots. Muttering under your breath you add, “Where are you?”

“--And in more local news, the grand opening of the downtown café “Four Horseman” has wracked in a whopping profit of–”

Your fingers flicked off the news, the woman’s voice suddenly halting from the speakers. Frowning, your ears twitch.

What’s that noise?

“Oh, Leon!” Freezing, your legs tense, hands at your sides gradually tightening into fists. Blinking in surprise, your heart begins to pump adrenaline through your veins with the efficiency of a racehorse. You don’t know that voice, “Just like that!”

But you weren’t stupid.

A certain type of dread infects your brain that leaves your mouth opening in shock; eyebrows peeling back to travel up your forehead. Before you tell yourself that it was better just to leave the house now, while your mind is unbroken, you can’t stop your already moving feet.

You barrel down the hallway to get to the master bedroom, where you shove on the already partially open barrier with a heavy slam. Rage burns in your gut, spreading like a disease into the thin tissue and bleeding out; proliferating with relentless reach.

Leon was over a random girl in your bed, half-naked and pants already being dragged down his hips by feminine legs. The woman was already bare, perfect skin glowing in the low light of red candles.

Your rage freezes with a layer of thin ice, and your heart hammers. Sweat gathers in your clenched palms as the stranger’s scream enters the room. Both were already watching you in horror. Leon halts his actions of being knuckle-deep in the girl – the woman had seen you and snapped her hands to the ruined sheets of your bed to try and cover herself with a desperate scream.

“Leon?!” She yells out, face becoming bright as the scent of expensive perfume makes your nose twitch, “Who the fuck is that?!”

Blankly, you turn your head to look at your boyfriend – former boyfriend.

“Yeah, Leon,” You’re surprised by the firmness of your voice, the dead tone hurled out with no remorse. It betrays how you really feel. Tears burn the backs of your eyes, and your lungs hurt when you suck in quiet breaths to help your composure, “Do you wanna explain who I am? Or just how you’re fucking another woman on our bed.”

Leon’s eyes are comically wide, mouth agape and fluttering. Cruel satisfaction brews in your heart as your lips flicker into a dark smirk; anger was better than tears, you decided.

“Our bed?! You said you were single!” The woman gasps, snapping her head to the man still above her, “Get the hell off me!”

Shoving Leon, you watch the girl scramble to grab her clothes all over the floor as she apologizes to you.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that he had–”

“Just get out, please,” You mutter under your breath, and the lady zips past with her shirt only half on and her bra hooked between her fingers.

“Baby,” Leon looks like he’s about to cry, getting to his knees on the mattress and you catch a glimpse of his boxers with cows printed on them.

Before you had found those enduring – maybe even cute in a dorkish sort of way – but now you realized it was just pathetic. He was pathetic.

“Baby, I swear this isn’t what it looks like!” His fingers are glistening, and his pants are stained.

You blankly stare at the stranger who inhabits your ex’s body and say nothing back; watching as Leon scrambles for an explanation that changes nothing. There was an absence of anything you loved in this house.

“Hope it was worth it,” Blankly speaking, you turn around and leave, feet slamming into the floor as Leon calls to you pleadingly.

“Please! I didn’t–” His voice cuts out as a thump echoes over the home, like someone falling out of a bed before a yelp takes its place. Not slowing, you slip your boots on and unlock the front door.

Just as fast footsteps rush to the foyer you slam the door behind your back and descend the steps, no longer caring about the rain as you walk in a trance-like state. It hadn’t really hit you yet what had happened, but it was starting too.

Your breath was getting thinner, hands shaking as your shoulders hunched and waterfalls down your face and neck. The bag over your shoulder is now ten times heavier than it was before.

The door slams open just as you exit the black-iron gate and unlock your car.

“Babe, come back inside, let's talk about this!” Leon screams, and his bare feet seem to slap over the drowned lawn, “You just need to sit down and I’ll speak and explain why I’ve been sleeping with Maxine!”

Your hand freezes on the car handle, slick metal stuck under your grip.

You whirl around with fire in your eyes, lips snarling.

“Sleeping!?” With your face contouring, your loud voice carries over the storm as Leon – who had gotten quite close by now – reels back a step, “As in this has happened before, you goddamn prick?! How long have you been cheating on me while I’ve been risking my fucking life to get back home to you?!”

Leon’s face twists as you look him in the eyes, nose scrunching.

“Oh, don’t stay on your high horse,” He growls, hands animating his words as you try and keep your cool, “We both know you’ve been cheating far longer than I have.”

“Do we?!” It’s past the point of sense now, and the other lights from the once-dark houses begin flickering their outside lights on from all the noise, “I’ve never fucked anyone while I was out, Leon. You can’t say that, can you?!”

“You don’t need someone to stick their dick in you to cheat. You’re just as bad as me – John Price must be one helluva guy to ruin a relationship that started when we were teenagers.”

Your breath stutters, and after a moment of shocked silence you shake your head in disbelief, “You’re a bastard, Leon…I wish I’d never met you. Wish I’d never wasted my time with a pathetic man like you. Maybe John is one helluva guy, hm? Maybe I’ll have to tell him that myself.”

Leon’s eyes were red, and his lips, just like yours, quivered as he tried to come up with an answer. You turn around before you can sob and reach for the door once more.

A heavy weight settled on your arm, your Ex’s fingers suddenly squeezing your skin so hard your lips let loose a muted gasp. Trying to rip your arm away, you tilt your head to look back at Leon.

“Let go of me,” You say the words slowly, feeling rainwater travel down the bridge of your nose and splash to your shoulder, “Now.”

Leon’s hand only tightens, and you hiss, feeling blood vessels pop under the pressure.

“You’re coming back inside and you’re going to listen to what I tell you,” Leon leans closer, eyes dark, “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an–”

Your fist connects with his cheek, and a second later you’re nursing your sensitive knuckles, shaking out your hand and grimacing. Whining reminiscent of a wounded duck rips over the night, and, gripping at his face, Leon lays on the ground half-naked and less of a man than he’d ever been – which was an achievement, to say the least.

You should have broken up with him years ago. John would never treat you like this.

Getting into your car, you sit down and lock the doors behind you as you insert the key, twisting and feeling it jerking to life. With morbid curiosity, you turn to the opposite window and look at the house across the street.

The family was at the window, no longer enraptured by their TV, and the mother had a hand over her mouth. She was in the process of turning her children away from the scene as the other parent stood watching, slack-jawed.

Blinking, you don’t know if it’s tears or rain that you’re forcing away from your eyes, but the burning tells you which option you should put your money on. Wiping at your face and sucking down shuddering breaths, you press on the pedal and peel away from the white house with a large Oak door. Taking a peak at the mirror, you spy a man trying to get back to his feet but stumbles, falling once more and slamming into a puddle.

Driving, you only make it to the next street before you park on the side of the road, your whole body shaking and gasping for breath. With the adrenaline dying down, the pain in your arm becomes prominent, making pain spark as you shift it. The area would most likely bruise.

Your lips twist and a small whimper leaves your mouth. You smack your forehead to the wheel, hands falling like lead to your lap as a sniffle weasels its way out; tears begin to smack your thighs, gradually increasing until you were concerned your car would flood.

Crying was never your thing. With all the sights you’d seen, tears felt so small compared to every other horror – they meant nothing in the grand scheme of events taking place. All they were good at was making your nose run and your skin get hot.

John’s seen me cry before, Your thoughts are running so fast it’s a strange circumstance that they stop when your Captain’s name is filtered through.

Price had found you in the bathroom, covered in dried blood and shaking just as you were in the present. There had been an accident on the recent Op – a kid had gotten caught in the crossfire and had taken a bullet to the stomach. You had held him as he died; seen the light in his eyes leave in one fell swoop as you drowned in his blood trying to stop the bleeding.

That was what led up to you rushing off the Helo, finding the first bathroom on Base, and rushing inside to throw your guts up. John, of course, had followed close at your heels with fast feet.

“Love,” He said from outside the door slowly, “I’m coming in.”

Shell-shocked, your hands were strained as you gripped the sides of the toilet, not even picking up on the concern leaking from his tone. Wide-eyed, you stare blankly at the vile contents inside the bowl – throat burning with acid as the image of that dying kid plays on repeat.

The door opens hesitantly as if any major noise would break you, the hinges squeaking. A pair of feet carefully pad over the tile towards your hunched figure. When his hand slides over your back, his shadow comes to encompass you, shrouding you in its comforting darkness. He made it better.

John’s grip slides back and forth over the gear and other objects along your figure. You hadn’t bothered to take anything off, in fact, your gun was still strapped around your chest and weighing you down. It hit against the toilet with a ‘clink’ every time you moved.

“Sweetheart?” John mutters, body curling around yours.

“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” You say the words numbly as you glance at the blood on your hands with muted horror, “I…I…He should have been with the other civilians. He wasn’t…”

“I know,” Price whispers, grunting, watching you as your mind breaks to try and think through this, “I know, Love.”

When he knows your stomach has settled, you feel him carefully grab your shoulders and lean you back against the opposite wall. It was like a ramshackle hug, but the feeling of his body pressing into yours made you fall limp. You were safe here. Protected. His fingers go to your weapon, taking it off of you and setting it on the ground as he knees at your side. Soon after goes the combat vest, John pulling at the velcro with confidence. Your body jerks as he peels it off.

“Lift your arms for me, yeah?” Doing as he says, the article is set by your gun and pushed aside, “Attagirl, just like that.”

The man keeps a hand on your arm, rubbing his thumb back and forth. He was closer than he needed to be, but that was alright.

Looking down, your thousand-yard stare locks to the blood staining your skin, getting stuck in the grooves and the beds of your nails. Would water even wash it off? You had wondered in silent panic. What if it never came off? John’s other hand gravitates to your cheek and the increased sound of your breath is accented by a sharp inhale.

Blinking to push back the nothingness of your gaze, tears dribble from your tear ducts as your eyes lock with his.

John looked so sad.

His expression was pained, lips downturned and eyes painfully narrowed on your form; his eyebrows were pressed in on his forehead, curing in the center and creating creases over his flesh. The beard – still filled with dirt and grime – moved as his lips did.

“Focus on me, alright?” You nod, shakily, and watch his optics flick from one part of your face to another, “That wasn’t your fault.”

“John,” You whimper, the dam breaking every moment his fingers move and caress your skin. His grip travels to the back of your neck and brings your face to his shoulder, letting you sag into him on a dirty bathroom floor.

“It’s okay,” He mutters into your hair, lips moving as your hands snap to dig into his vest. His hat was pressing into your scalp – grounding you in the present just as his heartbeat was. The muscle was strong in his chest, pounding, “It’s all gonna be alright, Kid. I need you to know it wasn’t your fault,” John sighs, trying to draw you closer, “You did the best you could. I’m proud of you.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” You sob, and repeat the sentence once more, like, if you did, whatever God out there would bring the boy back to life. Your lips pull back in pain, wails exiting.

“I know,” John responded, voice so low your sounds of anguish almost covered it up. His grip tightens, and he lays a kiss on the top of your head.

You knew, then, that John would give anything to take away your pain. But what he didn’t know was that you would replay his words in your mind to stave off the nightmares – use the image of his face to bring you stability when you woke up mid panic attack.

It was the only time you didn’t hate crying, because John’s warmth had made it better. Had made it mean something.

You both spend a long time on that bathroom floor.

When you had spent at least an hour collecting your thoughts in that frigid car, you finally checked your phone.

Fifty-seven missed calls and thirty-five texts from Leon. Chuckling humorlessly and shaking your head in disbelief, you block him with a quick tap; it was over. You’re about to chuck the phone and go back to Base, but then you pause, eyes locking on a single text notification left on the screen.

Soap: If ya change your mind….’Bottom’s Up Bar’… ;)

He lists the address just below, and your eyes bore into it.

“Fuck it,” Your hoarse voice echoes out in the cool car air, “I need a drink anyways.”

—

Price sits on the bar stool in a black woolen trench coat and a dark beanie, nursing a glass of whisky in his hands that rests against the counter.

“What’s with the long face, Captain,” Gaz sits at his side, the stools under them uncomfortable and threatening to give out from under them if one happens to take too deep a breath. Soap and Ghost are over playing pool, and the TV behind the counter was showing reruns of some hockey game that was absent of watchers. No one else was there beside them, “Whisky not up to par?”

“It tastes like piss water,” John mutters but still brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, “But I’ve had worse, Sergeant. You?”

Gaz smirks, “I’ve had worse…Just tell Soap that I’m never letting him pick the bar ever again. Man’s bloody taste buds must be burned off if he calls this quality.”

John grunts, tilting his head to the side in an affirmative nod.

The area lapses into silence, the sound of billiard balls connecting to a cue stick loud as the smell of tobacco and cheap beer perforated the air. There weren’t any civvies left in the old-style building, and outside the rainstorm pounded against the front windows deterring anyone from venturing outside. The group probably should have stayed on Base, but Johnny had been insistent to the point everyone just gave in to the Scot’s demands.

After all, what harm could one drink do? They were all tired.

“Do you think she’ll show?” Gaz asks as the TV erupts with cheers; someone had scored, apparently. The Captain was never one for hockey – Liverpool was his go-to for football teams, and that was about it. In fact, he had a game to catch up on later if he could get the hell out of here in a timely fashion.

Gaz’s question makes the man lightly startle, sliding his gaze to his Sergeant with a sharply raised brow. He brings the glass to his lips once more and takes a swig, missing out on the burn that was found in his own Whisky stash back at his flat in London. It’s not hard to tell who Gaz is talking about.

“Unlikely,” John speaks through a sigh, going back to mindlessly watching the television as the bartender filters past to clean a table in the far corner. Soap cheers from the pool table, “Her…boyfriend’s making her dinner. Always does when she gets back.”

“Hm,” Gaz chuffs, “Lucky sod,” The Sergeant pauses, and John takes a deep breath at the mischievous tone the man beside him earns. It was too late at night for this bullshit, “I bet you wouldn’t mind having the girl in your home while you make her supper, eh, Cap?”

“Garrick,” Price says the last name slowly, fingers tightening over the cup on the table, “You want to be on sanitation duty for a month – two?”

“...Sir?” Letting out a nervous chuckle, Gaz sends a quick glance to Soap whose ears had quirked at the conversation a few feet away.

“Then I suggest you stop acting like a Muppet and mind your damn business. The girl is her own woman and deserves her privacy,” John sends a narrowed glance with a quirked eyebrow and a warning in his suddenly darker eyes, “Copy?”

“Copy, Sir…Apologies.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” John levels, twirling his glass in his large fingers before tossing back the last remnants inside. Swallowing, he stands and fixes the position of his beanie, feeling his bones creak with fatigue.

To everyone at the bar, Price looked annoyed that you had been brought up, but those who knew him best could tell that much more was going on. The man had kept the side of his eye on the front door the entire time 141 had been at the bar, shoe tapping against the dark wood floors as hours passed. Even more telling, Gaz had noticed that John had only had one glass of Whisky tonight – even if it tasted horrible the Captain was bound to drink at least three when they all went out.

It was tradition; everyone knew it. Captain Price of the 141 always had three glasses. Always. You would attest to that, considering that when you tagged along you made fun of him for it.

“You always have three glasses – I’ve never, for the life of me, figured out why it's always three! Do you never think ‘Oh, gee golly, maybe I’ll bloody have another lad, be a merry good Muppet and pour me another, yeah?’’

Your horrendously exaggerated British accent led to a few snickers that night, and Gaz had seen his Captain’s full body laugh for the first time; watching John sputtering as he coughed down the drink he had been sipping from.

“Love,” The man had stared at you with a deep smile, eyes crinkling, “Whatever just came out of your mouth, yeah? Never do that in my presence again. Accent’s shaken’ more than your hands when you have to stitch me up.”

“My stitches aren’t that bad, Asshat! You just move too fucken’ much!”

John scratches his forehead in the present and brushes off his jacket.

“Alright, Muppets…I think that’s it for the–”

The bell at the front door jingles.

Snapping his head over, Price freezes just as he sticks his hands in his jeans pockets, the grumbled words dying on his parted lips.

A figure was standing at the entrance, soaked to the bone and shivering like a sphinx cat in a snowstorm; water dripped from her nose to the rug. John’s jaw slightly slackens, eyes wide and snapping back and forth.

You were standing there, eyes gravitating from Soap and Ghost’s pool game – which had halted immediately at your sudden presence – until you blink a raindrop from your eyelashes and lock eyes with John.

“Sorry I’m late,” Your voice sounds like gravel, Price notes, head slowly tilting to try and understand why His legs had to tense to stop him from rushing over, his training alerting him to the redness of your eyes. You had been crying, why? “Storm’s coming down pretty hard, huh?” Attempting a chuckle, it seems to fall flat.

“Holy shit, Love,” Gaz mutters, snatching a rag from behind the counter of the bar and ignoring the complaints from the worker. He rushes past John, who continues to stare at you and fight his own subconscious, “Did you walk here?”

The Sergeant blinks at you in concern, eyes filtering up and down your body as he stands close and holds aloft the fabric.

“Nah,” Price watched you snatch the towel, going to pat it on your face and neck – running it over your hair and gripping, “Was outside for a little bit, but I came in the car…Oh, speaking of that, Simon,” You turn to the large man who bores his eyes into your face, “The brakes are acting up again – you think you could fix it up back on Base in your free time?”

Ghost taps the cue stick against the ground, lips behind his balaclava shifting as he speaks, “You goin’ to make me fix it up every time you get back? What do I look like, Bird? A mechanic?”

A weak smirk flickers over your lips, but John notices a particular bleakness in your eyes. Soap, who thus far had been strangely quiet, looks at him with flat lips and a small shake of his mohawked head.

Enough is enough, Price decides with a stubble tilt of his forehead, I’ve given her the space she needs – she’s telling me everything. Tonight.

His jaw clenches, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets just to cross them over his chest when you respond to Simon.

“I’ll clean your clothes for a month.”

“...Two.”

“Deal,” Nodding, you smile at Gaz in thanks and splay the towel over the banister beside you to help it dry, “Thanks, Gaz.”

“What happened to dinner with the Stoter?” Soap finally speaks as you make your way farther into the building. You send him a quick glance as you walk closer to John at the booth. The Scot levels you with a heavy stare, feet shoulder-length apart and jaw clicking, “He do something?”

A tense silence falls, and all the men send each other looks as you slink to the bar, jumping up on a stool and clearing your throat. You itch at the side of your bicep as you lick your lips in hesitation.

Why were you not saying anything?

John buries his fingernails into the meat of his arms, taking your lack of answer like a knife to the chest. It was like a switch had flipped as he saw your expression drop for a millisecond, layers cracking like you were barely held together. The veins in the Captain’s arms were flooded with blood, and his hands showed white knuckles.

There was a terrible reality settling behind his eyelids, and the man wasn’t in his job position because he was anything less than an observer. He was angry, that much was obvious by his tight jaw and dangerous eyes on the side of your face.

But there was something more important than revenge, and she was sitting right in front of him.

Your clothes are still dripping with water, and without hesitating when he spies you shiver, John shakes off his jacket and spreads it softly over your shoulders. When you jerk back in surprise he feels a part of him break, but steadies you with a thin quirk of his lips and pulls the front of the woolen material farther over your form.

What’s that fucken’ prat done to her? He growls internally, Mark my words…

The Captain’s eyes carefully narrow, orbs sliding over your face. His thumb goes to swipe a tear of water from your hairline and breathes out a sigh when your eyelids flutter.

Looking at your Captain with vulnerable eyes, you answer Soap’s question with a muttered, defeated, tone. It was like you were talking to your superior and not the man at the pool table.

“We...uh, I, broke up with him,” A moment of silence. Two.

John feels like he’s frozen in time, his body stiff, and his lungs shell-shocked. But in the farthest, most forced-down bits of his consciousness, he thinks there’s a part of him that’s…Christ, is he happy?

He nearly has to turn and leave to take a breather – gain his composure at his own disgusting thoughts – but your eyes hold him captive, unblinking despite the revelation.

You had…broken up with Leon. Your boyfriend.

John’s eyes slowly widen.

Oh.

—

“Well, It’s about damn time,” Soap interjects into the moment, gleeful, and you feel your eyes slip away from the cerulean blues of John’s widened sockets, in favor of the table-top, “Erm, no offense, of course, but that’s great news!”

“Shut up!” Gaz hisses, going over to slap at MacTavish’s arm, “Can’t you see she’s bloody gutted about it – idiot!”

“Hey, now. That excuse for a man was in no way worthy of being with a beauty like her–”

“Johnny,” Ghost utters lowly, the only one able to see your quickly deteriorating state besides the Captain who tries to comfort you, “Shut your trap.”

“C’mon L.t, you had to have seen how he…” Soap stops, finally looking at you, and the chuckle that had been building in his throat dissolved.

A hand settles on your shoulder, and you blink out of your trance, slowly turning your head to look out of the corner of your eye. John squeezes, and you find that his grip over his gifted jacket is warmer than anything you remember. But you don’t look at his face, instead, you tilt your head down and fold your arms on the counter, slotting your skull in the middle of them.

John’s hand gravitates to your back and rubs small circles, and above you, he mutters, “Talk to me, Love.”

“He…” You interrupt, hands tightening into fists. Your eyes burned something fierce, but you can just blame the shaking of your body on the wet clothes, “I was going to surprise him. He didn’t know that I was back in town yet, anyways. But, uh, he’s been cheating on me, I guess…Found ‘em in bed.”

Price’s hand stutters over its coarse, but he clears his throat and continues as your stomach tightens,

“Son of a fucken’ bastard,” Simon’s the first one to speak – which would have surprised you if you’d been paying attention, “That prick did what?”

Gaz murmurs, “Shit..,” off to the side, but your hidden gaze doesn’t bother to move as Soap lets off a string of curses and insults on Leon’s name.

The hand over your back is intoxicating, and you feel drunk as you focus on it. John’s fingers dig into his jacket, but just enough for you to feel his nails create a light stimulation through the layers. There was a sense to his actions, you know. He was trying to ground you; he wanted you to focus on his caress.

You didn’t want to admit how well it was working.

But it was a good thing he did because you have a feeling if he wasn’t there you’d be replaying the events of tonight in your mind one after the other like a fucked up movie.

Leon really did that, You suck in a shaky breath that leaves John moving closer, and you hear muttered conversations from above you, All of those years…Did I really miss something as obvious as him cheating on me?

It couldn’t be helped.

When you came back from deployments your mind let go of the hyper-focus that was ingrained into you – that Price had ingrained into you – and settled into a haze of sanctity. Home meant food, sleep, and a place of comfort. But when the fighting started you suppose a part of that focus came back to you, blocking out everything that didn’t matter.

Missing pictures, clothes stuffed where they shouldn’t be, your hair products hidden. They were pointless in the grand scheme of things because you were at battle in your own house. It was small compared to your breaking relationship.

Maybe that’s when I stopped loving him, You reason, and it’s the first time you admit you didn’t care about Leon in that way anymore, When the fighting started. Did I unconsciously know what he’d done?

You had been more irritable when you were back at the house, some fights even instigated by you.

“But how did I miss it…?” You can’t help but whisper, strained, into the woodgrain of the counter in your cocoon.

“None of that,” John suddenly says, voice low, and his hand over you halts, “That’s a good way to mess your head up, that is, Love. Just stay here.”

Shivering, you sniffle, lungs stuttering and with a hot face stained with embarrassment, you whimper out, “I’m such an idiot.”

The stool beside you screeches as it’s pulled out.

“You say that again I’m leaving you on desk rotation for a week,” John grunts, and from your hiding place your head shifts, one eye peeking out from over your arm. You find the man glaring at you so heatedly you pause as tears start to leak down your cheeks once more, “I mean it. None of that bullshit – you are not at fault – that,” He pauses, and you see his chest sputter as he tries to collect himself. Price’s eyes flash with rage before it’s gone in an instant, “That’s the bloody bastard’s cross to carry, Love. Understand me?”

You stare at him; at his boiling blue eyes as the sound of a hockey game plays in the background of this shitty bar. The warm lights overhead gather in them to flicker like stars when he blinks, creating constellations for you to memorize when his eyelids once more pull back.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” He levels, head with that black beanie tilting closer, “Copy?”

“Copy,” You croak out, blinking to clear the fuzziness of your eyes. Reaching one of your hands, you pull the jacket closer around your neck. It smells like John, and whether you notice it or not, the tension in your muscles leaks when you inhale smoke, pine trees, and gunpowder.

Patting you on the back, the man stares into you, optics stuck on the image of your tear-stained cheeks and dripping hair. His trench coat was most likely going to be soaked, but he found he didn’t care. If it brought you comfort, the outrageous price he paid for it would be made back tenfold. Maybe he’d even let you keep it; didn’t matter if it was his favorite, he would give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it.

Not able to stop the words coming out of his mouth when you meet his gaze with fluttering eyelashes, John speaks once more as he feels the gazes of his teammates around him. But the words came easily.

“You didn’t deserve to come home to that. That boy doesn’t know what he’s just lost, alright?” When he sees your cheeks move in a small, barely-there smile, and the way your eyes lit with embers at his teasing tone, the Captain let a smirk of his own fall. But he still refused to speak Leon’s name aloud – his own anger was held on a thin string that was fraying by the moment. You? Getting cheated on? Who in their right mind would do that?! The Muppet didn’t deserve to have your perfect ears twitch at his name ever again, “At least tell me you ripped him a new pair, Love? If not, I’ll have to review your training exercises. Maybe add in a bracket for hand-to-hand.”

“...I might have sucker-punched him.”

John’s chuckle is velvet as it slips through your eardrums.

“Attagirl, I’d have paid to see that, I wager. Everyone knows you throw a heavy hand,” Your giggle makes his heart soar; beat violently in his breast.

He’d give everything to hear you make that noise again.

“Did it down him?” Your head slowly peaks up farther, perfect chin now visible. Your short-lived tears had stopped.

“Twirled like a dancer on a string.”

“Bloody brilliant, my girl. Bloody fucken’ brilliant.” Nodding, John smiles, beard pulling back to show pearl-white teeth, and claps your shoulder.

You love the way he makes you feel, like everything you do is well-thought-out and not just spur of the moment. Creasing your eyelids, you rub at your cheeks to try and wipe away the heat of them, knowing that wouldn’t work but still trying. John made your brain pump with dopamine, giddiness striking you in the chest like a bullet with a simple smile and his hand on your back.

…Why was his hand still on your back?

“This place got any good drinks?” You ask, trying not to look so entranced by the man in front of you.

John’s grip slips away and you hate that you want to snatch at it; feel the calluses burn your skin and dig into sensitive flesh. Breaking up with Leon had given you an adrenaline spike, one that lasted so long you were still riding it – only just now was the raging of your heart beginning to still.

It was a bad thought, you told yourself, a horrible thought to have right now…but damn it if John didn’t look like the solution to all of your problems, that yearning urge to feel good.

Leon was gone.

“Hm,” Your Captain murmurs, and your trailing eyes snap from his tight athletic shirt to his face. John turns himself to the front, grunting and setting his elbows on the counter, he lifts one finger up into the air to the frowning bartender and sends you a glace, “Unfortunately, MacTavish picked a place before I could verify,” The bartender thumps over and the Captain confidently says, “One Old Fashioned for the lady, and a refill for me, yeah?”

The bartender's eyebrows furrow, “Old Fashioned? What the hell is that?”

John’s body stills, and his face blanks as if he’s been personally offended. Laughing, you move back from the counter, hopping off the stool and going to stand near your Captain. Resting a hand on his shoulder, you tilt your head when his full attention whips to you.

His eyes glance at your hand before they settle; softening around the cold edges as the pupils widen. You nearly lose your breath at the sight…It made you want to snatch that hat off his head and make him chase you down for it; hold you to his chest and squeeze.

Stop it.

“I think I’m gonna head back to Base,” You say aloud, “Hang out in the Rec room and go to bed early. Maybe get a headstart on reports for tomorrow,” Looking back at the boys, you begin taking off Price’s trench coat, small hesitations in your nerves showing how much you wanted to keep it around you. But you needed to leave – clear your head without John’s scent making you hazy, “Don’t stay out too long, boys, I’m not coming to drag you back.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Simon utters, knocking a billiard ball and watching the ricochets. He sends you a guarded look, numb eyes running over you, “Drive safe. Weathers looken’ like it's letting up, but don’t trust it.”

“Right,” You nod. You know what he really means.

Gaz is watching you and sending quick glances to Soap with his dark eyes, and you see the Scot clenching his stick with a white-knuckled grip – blue eyes glaring at the table with a clenched jaw and tensing biceps. Like he was itching to lay someone on the ground and wale on them.

Your lips twitch. Soap had been by your side for four months; watching your back just as you had his. That creates a bond of brotherhood that can’t be overlooked. The stocky man was perhaps more upset about this ordeal than you were, now that you thought about it. The Task Force didn’t even know the extent of your fights with Leon – they’d kill him if they did.

If you even mentioned your Grandma’s lamp, the boys would rip your Ex apart.

“Suds,” Calling out, you fold John’s jacket over your arm. Soap whips his head to you, blinking back to focus.

“Yeah, Little Lady. You need something?”

“I need you to stop strangling the Cue Stick. You’re gonna break it before Simon can beat you, and that would just be embarrassing,” Soap stares at you, mouth slightly open, before he snaps to his iron grip and unclenches his hand.

“R-right,” The Scot’s eyes crease, and he itches at his mohawk with his free hand. A pause, “Are you…alright?”

You hesitate, looking to the floor as your feet shuffle before your right yourself, “I will be.”

Turning to John, you hold out your arm and feel heat on the tips of your ears when he’s already meeting your line of sight.

“Sorry about the water,” Trying not to let out a weak chuckle, you fail, “It looked pretty expensive just to be ruined by me. I’ll pay you for the dry cleaning bill.”

Price grunts, already shaking his head and lightly gripping you by the arm to push the jacket back to you. He stands up and you suck in a quick breath, nose nearly brushing his peck from how close you both were.

“You’ll need it,” Your eyebrows crease, not understanding, as he smirks at you, “What kind of Captain would I be if I let you drive back alone after all this?” John grumbles, shaking his head and pulling out his wallet, “I’m driven’ that’s an order.”

He tosses a fifty on the table for the bill and nods to the boys over your head, an authoritative tone leaking out. You don’t move away from him, letting his body heat leave you shivering and taking in shallow breaths. Try as you might, your mouth denies to refuse him.

“Be back on Base by 0100 and up for drills at 0500. It’s your fault if you Muppets only get five hours of sleep,” John lays a hand behind your shoulder blades and you let him guide you to the door, “Soap – you’re due for debriefs at 0800 in my office. I expect you to be punctual.”

A quiet grunt carries over the space.

You slip on the jacket, clearly seeing that John wouldn’t let up on this. Maybe…maybe you wouldn’t mind the company of the large-bodied Captain. Already the pain of being cheated on was dull when he was around. But would you be able to focus if he was right by you like this? You doubted it.

Slapping Gaz on the shoulder as you pass him, he sends you a soft look and utters, “Get some sleep, Love, alright? It’ll all be better in the morning. I’ll make sure the boys are back at Base soon so you don’t have to worry about ‘em.”

“Thanks, Garrick. Means a lot. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

“Behave, Sergeant,” John makes it to the door, opening it for you and feeling the draft enter, “Ghost,” The manchester man tilts his covered head from where he stands bent over the pool table, “watch these two, yeah?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Hey–!”

“What in the–!”

Price lets the door slam shut and whispers past your smile-split face, watching through the window as Soap and Gaz level offended gazes out at the Captain through the racing raindrops on the glass. Simon stands a bit straighter and once again scores on Johnny.

“They’re going to hold a grudge for weeks, John. Putting Ghost in charge of them when they’re on leave? Really? He’s never going to let the two live it down,” You say above the rain as you lead him to where your car is parked on the street, cheekiness littering your words.

“Let ‘em,” Price scoffs, and you feel his hands go to the jacket, puffing the collar up for you. Blinking away the rain, you smile shyly at the action, “not goin’ to change that they still have to get up tomorrow. After a twenty-mile run, I’m sure they’ll be too knackered to care, eh?”

“Hm,” You affirm, envisioning the future in your head with sadistic pleasure, and reach into your pocket. Tossing your keys into the air, John catches them effortlessly with a fast fist, only a small clink of the metal connecting heard.

You feel his eyes on you as you walk down the street, steadying you with a hand on your back even if he knew you were capable of walking by yourself. Above all, John was a gentleman – whenever you were with him, he always walked near the road, kept a hand in the small of your back, and watched the street with roaming eyes.

This was the first time you’d felt his gaze completely set on you. Had he always done that? No, you knew, but recalled something from the back of your mind as you side-stepped a puddle, moving closer to John unconsciously. His hand’s weight becomes more prominent, angling you into his hold.

After Madagascar was when he had started looking at you more often...you had thought it was because of the injury, but was it?

Shaking away the thought, you quickly make it to your car and leave Price’s steady side, hand resting on the handle. The familiar sound of the lock clicking open has you rushing inside to escape the pitter-patter of rain on your skull. Snapping the door shut, John in the driver’s seat does the same.

You both look at each other, and can’t help the chuckles at the disheveled looks you both share.

“Wind-swept hair would look dashing on you, Captain,” You tease, nose crinkling as you shake your head. The beanie on the man’s head was weighed down and John grimaces at the feeling, glaring up at it before peeling it off his head.

His free hand goes to his hair, ruffling it to dispel some of the water.

“Bloody rain,” He mutters, sparing you a look only to find you’re watching intently with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

A tension grows, and for the first time, you don’t push the feeling away. Your smirk slowly slips, going slack as you watch water drip from John’s nose. The world outside the car seems to blur, and nothing but the pair of you exist in this state of perpetual stillness. John’s eyes are such a shade of blue you have to wonder if you could ever look at the ocean again and not think of him, or even smell smoke on the street and not search him out.

You shouldn’t be feeling like this about him, but how could you not?

“You’re staring, Love,” John mutters, and you blink, shocked, but the man makes no move to stop looking right back at you in turn. His beard shifts as his jaw moves, bristles accented by the light of the street lamps.

“Well, so are you,” Teasing, you send a nervous smile before shifting away to clip your seatbelt in place.

His hand stops you halfway, covering your own with a large grip as his fingers glide over your skin leaving white-hot sparks. Freezing you watch as Price’s hand squeezes yours and helps you lock the seatbelt into the clip. The man’s hand stays there a moment longer as you, wide-eyed, feel your fingers twitch under his; memorizing the feel of them.

“Thank you, John,” You breathe, and your grip moves, turning to capture his own and curl his fingers into yours. He flinches, before loosening and he studies your face, cerulean blue jumping from one spot on your visage to another, “For everything.”

The man’s body stills and he blinks down at you. His breath is shallow, rattling in his chest. Something was in his eyes you couldn’t name.

“...Anytime, Dear.”

Price’s hand falls from your hold and leaves to gravitate toward the keys in the ignition. He twists them, and immediately the shaking of the car tells you it’ll survive one more day. Settling farther into John’s jacket you nuzzle your head into the fabric, curling your arms around your middle and resting your eyes. You try to calm your raging heart as the car peels out into the road, breathing through the stuffy air that smells so much like the two of you.

The ride to Base is quiet, but not at all like the kind of silence that had suffocated you on the journey back to Leon’s home – this was a comforting silence. Once you might not have understood what that meant. After all, how could a lack of sound leave your eyelids heavy and a floating feeling in your head?

When the parking garage gate opened, you had blinked awake.

Did I fall asleep? Rubbing at your eyes, the crick in the back of your neck told you all you needed to know. Groaning, a small chuckle to your side leaves you turning to face John, who carefully drives down the ramp as you swallow down the dryness of your throat.

“Sleep well?” He raises an eyebrow, observing out ahead of him.

You scoff in retaliation and don’t answer as John picks a free spot and parks.

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” Your ears twitch at his low tone and the rumble like a lullaby in his chest. Was he trying to put you back to sleep?

He gets out of the car and goes to your side as you continue to wake up, opening the door and unclipping your seatbelt.

“Steady,” John whispers, taking your hand and helping you out as your yawn, “I’ll give your keys back tomorrow afternoon, eh? You’ll lose ‘em like last time if I hand ‘em over to ya’ now.”

“Will not,” You retaliate, stumbling over nothing and causing your face to heat when John smiles, eyes crinkling in a tease.

“Will…You’ll get them back tomorrow. That’s that,” Grumbling, you huff but stay by his side as you both go to the main entrance, sliding past the door and nodding to the guard posted for watch duty.

“Captain, Ma’am,” The guard greets and a second later you’re both striding down the dimmed hallways with John sending you glances every so often.

“What is it, Captain?” Asking after it becomes too prominent to ignore, you send him a small smile, “I know I look like shit but I can’t be that bad to the point you have to ogle me.”

John’s face snaps forward and he clears his throat, hands going to slide into his pockets. You pull his jacket closer, eyes turning to silk.

He’s cute when he’s flustered.

“...Just makin’ sure you’re not going to pass out before you get back to your Barracks,” He blinks, and a blush hidden under his beard makes his ears turn red. You notice with a start that he had left his soggy hat in your car and that his messy hair made him look like he had gotten into a catfight. It was…an attractive look on him, to say the least, “...and you don’t look like shite, Sweetheart. You’re a beauty no matter what happens. Don’t say that about yourself.”

Your breath catches, and in that moment of struggling to breathe, you can only let out a tiny, “Oh, o-okay,” and try to walk straight as butterflies litter your stomach.

Did…did he call me beautiful? John called me beautiful.

A true, giddy, smile flickers over your lips even as you try to force it down; and just as simple as that, any hurt that Leon had left behind disappears. Everything is replaced by John’s large frame, blue eyes, and grunted words.

You get to your room and open the door, standing in the opening with dizzy thoughts. Turning around with a content expression, you’re forced to take a deep breath when your nose almost connects with a firm chest. Standing straighter, you snap your head up to find John towering above you, body heat melting into you and causing a reactionary shiver.

“John…?” You ask, head straining to stare at his down-turned face. Something lies hidden behind his eyes, flashing every so often as his gaze narrows. It was the same look as the one in the car, “What are you…?” His lips are thin, and something swirls in your gut when you see how his muscles tense. He’s holding something back.

If you moved any closer your breasts would brush against him, and under your water-heavy sweatshirt, your nipples harden at the idea.

Stop it, You warn yourself, but when he’s looking at you like that – bathed in the hallway light with wrecked hair and widened pupils – you can’t help the way your body reacts to his. Not anymore.

Leon was gone.

“You mind if I come in, Darling?” Your Captain’s raspy voice sings to your heart, pulse skipping a beat, “Wouldn’t want you to be alone right now, understand me?”

Taking a shallow breath, your hands at your sides start shaking, subtle actions making it all the more apparent of the growing fire.

You should say no. Tell him it wasn’t appropriate. But…there was no hiding the attraction you had for Price, not when your boyfriend was out of the picture. You should be mourning the lost relationship of your high school sweetheart, not just hopping into another confusing situation with your fucking superior!

Frowning, your shoulders hunch. If you said yes – which you really wanted to – that was the final signature on your self-respect and dignity. It would mean a whole stack of paperwork and many late nights. You could lose your job, get John kicked off the Task Force and demoted, the list was endless.

“Your thoughts are too loud,” Price comments, and he smiles down at you as your eyes widen, tension leaking away as you focus on his words like law, “It’ll be alright. You can say no if you want. You know that. It won’t hurt me.”

But it would, wouldn’t it, because it would hurt you too.

It was more than what was on the surface – the tension in the car that had festered ever since Madagascar told you already what would happen if you let him in. This had been the result of a number of years of pinning building one day after another into a mountain of need and lust. But there had always been a barrier in the way. Leon.

But Leon was gone now; where did that leave you with this stone in your stomach and a want to be with a man you now knew wanted you back?

And John was still giving you an out if you wanted it. A layered warning that this wasn’t the smartest decision for either of you.

“John,” You breathe, “I shouldn’t.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Neither should I.”

So that was ultimately why you grabbed his shirt, dragged him into your room, and finally smashed your lips to his.

John’s arms immediately wrap around your body and peel back his jacket from your form, kicking the door behind him closed so hard the wall rattles. You help, letting him grab the cuff and rip it off as your lips dance in needy kisses that leave your teeth clacking together and air falling from fast breaths.

His tongue runs over your lip and you open your mouth readily, not caring about how the floor’s going to form a puddle from the soaked jacket or the other water-clogged clothes when they inevitably hit the floor as well. John’s kiss was so intoxicating that when you first felt his hands steady you around your waist you pulled back in surprise, a trail of saliva leaving the two of you connected before it broke.

“John, we shouldn’t,” You say, breathless as air is sucked back into your red, shiny, lips. It was useless trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t what you wanted since you met him. Maybe Leon was right. Maybe you had been cheating this entire time. A traitorous, cheating, heart.

“No, we shouldn’t,” John growls out, accent far more prominent at that moment than ever before as his eyes darken; boring into your tissue to peel back the layers of your mind until all that remains is him. His lips were so red and shiny you wanted to bite them, “But I couldn’t bloody give a damn.”

His face once more slammed into yours, and one hand travels to the back of your head, firm. But, if you wished for it, it would leave in a millisecond and you could pull away without a word. All of this could end in a second and John or yourself would never bring it up again; forgetting the unprofessionalism and the way your body reacted to the swipe of his tongue over yours. The sounds you two were making were enough to make you cum right there – the panting, wet kissing. It was improper, dirty, but, beyond all of that…utterly addicting. How high he made you feel needed to be studied, you reasoned, no one could be like this.

Your hands snapped to his chest and you dig your nails into his shirt, dragging down and feeling his body jolt and squirm. John’s hand on your head tightened as you devoured each other, weaving into your hair as your fingers fall to latch onto his side, feeling the muscle tense and the man groan into your gasping mouth. His pelvis thrusts involuntarily, hitting your thigh.

The way he shutters against you leaves your legs rubbing firmly together as a pounding echoes in your navel. John drags you closer to him.

It seemed you made your decision, but you had a funny feeling you won’t regret it.

Heaving like a wounded animal, John peels back to twist you around, back connecting with the wall as his lips immediately hook onto your neck, saliva dripping down your pulse point in a long, slick, path. A wanton whimper leaves when you feel his beard scrape over your sensitive skin, leaving sparks in its wake that travel directly to your lower body. Using his right foot, the man shoves your legs apart, where you had them previously clenched together and pooling in hot, contained, desire.

“Don’t worry, Love,” He whispers, biting at your ear as your eyes flutter when he slides his thigh in between your splayed legs. You can’t help the loud moan you make when he snaps the thick portion of him up into your core and even through your pants you feel the instinctual, animalistic, urge to roll your pelvis. Fuck, you wanted to ride his thigh, come undone while he watched with those unwavering blues of his, “I’ll take care of you. Make you forget all about that poor bastard. Bloody prick doesn’t even know what he’s lost, but I nearly should thank him for it, yeah?”

“John,” You don’t know what you want, mind a hazy mess as one of your hands snaps to his head just like how he held yours and pulled at the strands tightly. Are you drunk? You feel drunk?

His hand on your thigh forces you to press down into his knee as he grunts in approval of your deteriorating state when you writhe with pleasure at the sensation.

“That idiot just gave me the best damn woman he ever could. Fucken’ fool, he is,” He’s muttering into your ear, head pressed into the wall, as your self-respect flies out the window at his next words, “I’ll fuck you better than he did, Love. C’mon, use me like I’ve wanted you to,” Your hips rut over the substitute for his dick with desperation to stimulate your needy clit, head rocking to the side in a heavy trace of puffing breaths.

Already the room was heating up, beginning to lose the scent of cinnamon from your old candle and reeking of sweat and carnal urgency.

“Just like that,” John whispers, words slow as the sensation of his tongue licking a stripe over your skin makes you pant and keen. Small jolts of pleasure run from the hard bud hidden behind wet layers, “Steady…Keep your head still.”

He goes back to leaving hickeys on your neck, and through your haze, you know he’s not thinking about how you’ll have to try and hide them tomorrow. John wants people to see the love bites, how they bruise purple and blue all over your throat and under your ear. He lays one on the junction of your shoulder and neck, and your eyes roll at the caress of a hot tongue and immediate sharp teeth digging into flesh a moment later; shuttering.

You hope he leaves some beard burn behind.

That's when you rip his head away by gripping his hair like a vise and then slam it into yours, shoving your tongue so far down his throat you listen to his chest rattle with shock at the action.

His knee jerks up, and you gasp with nerves that sizzle with lighting and a pool of slick in your core that leaks like a river before a strained plea is said into John’s maw, “Do that again.”

Your Captain doesn’t say anything, but his body shakes with need before doing what you ask. You could feel how hard he was through his pants as the weight digs into your stomach. The knowledge that you would get to feel him inside of you, stretching you open, served to confirm the fact that you would have to throw these panties away tomorrow.

God, he felt huge, thick, and firm.

John begins to jump his knee up and down, jolting your body as he pulls back to watch with awe at your body’s reaction; setting his forehead against yours. Whining, your back arches, and your shoes brush against the ground every other motion. Every movement sends your nerves alight. It was almost too much – oversensitivity threatening to pull you under with every perfectly angled jumping of your Captain’s knee.

You slick was staining his pants, completely soaking all layers.

“Fuck, look at you work, Love,” John was entranced as you got off on him, “Can’t believe that Bastard was getting this when you came back. See how soaked you’ve made me? Shit. Bloody temptress, you are.”

“Need you,” Your lips gasp out, legs shaking violently, “F-fingers. Inside. A-anything! Been wanting you for so long, John.” It was difficult to speak and focus on the pleasure at the same time, but you think he got the point.

Your pants were too tight, clothes grating to feel on your flesh. You want John’s hands on you. Now.

“Hm, what’s that?” Price grunts, still watching you move your clothed cunt against him with added fever.

Annoyance swirls.

“John,” Your mouth snarls, and his face shifts to look back up at you, noses squished together as you breathly sigh at another well-angled jump. Price’s chest rumbles with satisfaction, “Fuck me like how you stroke your cock to the thought of me.”

A moment of shocked silence at your vulgar language.

“Copy.” At once his knee is gone, and you’re squeaking as he grabs you by the waist and the world spins and dances around you.

John tosses you over his shoulder and the tension in your lower abdomen that had been building turns from a boil to a simmer. You’re about to complain before fingers begin working your shoe laces, tossing the boots off as the man strides to the bed in the corner.

He lays a heavy slap to your ass that makes you yelp out and hit his back in return. The sparks left behind make your legs clench and your stomach tighten; your hands tear into his back. John chuckles, smoothing over the spot before his grip travels, grabbing onto the waistband of your cargo’s. Ripping them down to your ankles, you moan at the sudden cool air on your cunt and shutter. Anticipation pools to produce a second pulse inside of you, getting louder and more ruthless by the second.

You were so horny it physically hurt to have his grip on you and not inside of you.

John tosses you to the bed and watches your tits as you bounce on the mattress, looking up at him with black-consumed eyes and a euphoric expression. He wastes no time – the man shucks off his boots and grips his belt with a veiny hand, ripping it from his pants and tossing it to the side. You had the best view of the large tent in his pants, violently straining the fabric in a way your hand can’t stop itself from clenching into the bed sheets.

“Touch yourself for me, Love, let me see you work that cunt of yours before I eat you out, yeah?”

Licking your lips, you moan, “Yes, Sir.”

“Ah, look at my good girl, listens so well to her Captain,” Your fingers aren’t as long or as thick as his are, so they can't do much as you slip them under your underwear and play with your weeping slit as you clench at the comment.

Your fourth and fifth fingers enter you, and your thumb presses into your stiff clit, moving in a tight circle as you stare into John’s eyes. Involuntarily, your lower body rocks in a steady motion as your eyes drink in the man and his heaving lungs...

You want him naked.

“Bloody Fucken’ hell,” Price throws off his shirt, and palms at his erection through his pants as his dog tags hit against his scarred and formed chest.

The sharp ‘V’ of his lower abdomen immediately draws your eyes downwards over the impressive physique, a trail of small dark hairs going lower and lower just to be shielded by the rough material of his pants. John’s skin glistens with sweat, and you want to lick it off of him. If possible, you get even wetter.

You smirk, hips jerking as you send a heavier motion on your nerve bundle; head rolling to the side and mouth opening as you feel yourself tighten around your fingers. That knot was returning, forming as you curl your digits in your slick heat, making your eyelids flutter.

When you open them again and force them to stay still, you find a heavenly sight beside you. Your eyes widen, and your slit tightens so violently your movements stutter and struggle like a noose had been tightened around your neck. The lungs inside of you gasp.

John’s pants and boxers were gone, leaving nothing on him besides his tags that clink and clatter as he jerks himself off at the sight of you. His sizable dick was red at the tip, lit with fire as precum dribbled out and splatted to the mattress right by your free hand – which clenches the sheets so hard you faintly hear a tear as your ears twitch. But your eyes don’t leave the magnificent sight in front of you watching like a hawk as John’s abdominal muscles tighten with every twisted motion of his hand.

He was so violent with himself, the exact opposite of how you were playing with your own body. That wasn’t to say the image was anything but fuel to the fire, though.

You whimper and writhe, wrist burning and palm completely soaked with natural lube.

“Ruining the show, Dear,” The tendon in Price’s neck flares, and a bead of sweat falls down his peck. Inside your sweatshirt, your breasts ache to be squeezed and abused.

Not processing his words for a moment, you pause your fast breaths to let out a high-pitched sound of confusion.

John doesn’t answer, because he moves his free hand and grips your panties, which stretch over your ministrations. He tears them down your thighs, and his touch is like a drug.

“There we go, Princess. Now I can see that pretty cunt of yours.” Keening at the praise, your back lightly arches from the bed, watching John continue to work himself and matching his pace, imagining him inside of you instead of your fingers, “You like that, yeah? You like when I speak to you like that, dirty girl?”

You bite into your lip, knot so tight you want to grab a pair of scissors and cut it before it tears you up. Fuck, you were so close, the erotic sounds of the both of you fucking yourselves are so wet it increases the pleasure spiking your veins.

A wet hand snaps to your wrist stopping you just seconds away from a release.

Gasping out in shocked desperation, your mouth releases a strangled plea of, “No, John, please.”

“Answer me when I speak to you,” You stare at your Captain’s bearded face as his hand keeps a heavy weight on your skin. He tears your fingers out of you and keeps them away from your core as you try and ferally move them back. John’s jaw is clenched – he holds you with the hand he was touching himself with not a second before, and you tense at the thought, “I asked you a question, Princess. I expect an answer if you want to cum.”

Tears of desperation form in your ducts. You were so close, but now the sensation was leaving again.

“Yes!” You yell, voice high, “Yes, John I like it when you tell me how good I am! It gets me wet for you… m-my cunt fucking needs you in it, please! I need you to fucking ruin me, Captain! I want your dick stretching me open like–”

His lips silence your rant, shoving the back of your head into the pillow and moving his body to shadow above yours. The action leaves you moaning so loud at the sensation of his athletic body you forgot the walls were thin and that you were sounding like you were in a pornographic film.

John smirks above you and replaces your fingers with his own, making your legs shake and twitch at the sensation of his callouses against your walls and his large digits burning as they enter you. He thrusts quickly, sopping wetness quickly making it easy, and the pleasure increases.

“Just had to say yes, Love,” His cock jumps and you feel it brush your lower abdomen, so painfully close but not quite. The man’s dog tags connect right above your face, swinging back and forth as he moves.

You gasp when his fingers curl, squelching echoes over the breathy chants of his name that you release.

“Look at how fucken’ wet you are,” John praises you, and your walls flutter, as he watches his fingers move in and out of you, “Gotta’ get a taste of that, Love…Take off your top for me so I can see those pretty tits bounce.”

Fuck you were on fire.

Your shaking limbs don't hesitate, hands snapping to throw the sweatshirt and your bra from you without a coherent thought in your brain. Completely bare before him, John’s expression darkens and swirls with lust. His fingers leave you and he moves down the mattress, leaving back on his knees and grabbing your thighs. Your chest heaves with adrenaline and bare need. This was better than any gunbattle – more thrilling than a training session, and far better than anything Leon had done to you.

John was focused on you. Entirely. The man was forsaking his own painfully erect cock just to go down on you; to taste your wetness like it was nectar.

Price hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, and your ankle digs into his back to bring him closer to your cunt.

“Easy there, Princess. I’ll give you what you need,” His breath spreads over your slit, and your hips jerk before his hand splays over your navel, thumb just brushing your throbbing clit. You try to buck again, whining, “Steady.”

He stares at your face as his tongue goes down to kitten licks your pussy, beard bristles poking your skin and leaving the flesh lit like a glowing ember.

“John!” You moan, and one of your hands snaps to your breast, squeezing as John explores your body, groaning deeply as he collects your slick on his tongue.

The man’s thumb goes to run circles around your nerve bundle, stimulating you as your body tries to move under his tight grip. But he has you under a tight rope, and the pleasure of it was nearly like being electrocuted over and over again. Your leg over his shoulder traps him there – eating you out like a man starved as his own hips begin to careen into the mattress. The pleasure of seeing you reduced to a blubbering mess that can only chant his name did primitive things to John’s mind.

And the way you were playing with your breasts…? Fuck, he was addicted to you; the way your body was perfect enough to devour.

John moans into your cunt, the vibrations biting every corner as the tension begins to shatter inside of you when his fingers go to assist his tongue. Your back arches as the muscle and digits work in tandem, pace increasing as the Captain curls over that perfect, spongy, spot that leaves tears falling down the side of your face.

“Fuck, just like that!” You wail, fingers flickering over your hardened nipple, “J-John just like that!”

The words were slurred, coming off as drunk as his beard leaves skin red and scraped on the inside of your thighs. Your cunt tightens, walls closing in around John’s tireless lapping and fingering. His thumb on your clit moves faster, and he lets your hips careen into his face over and over again as his large nose bumps against that same spot.

Tension builds and builds like an infection, and your free hand snaps to grip your Captain's hair, jerking his face farther into you and ruthlessly twisting the locks.

John whimpers into your slit, cock stuttering in its harsh rutting into the mattress, and your eyes erupt into stars, white light blowing up as your release makes time stand still.

Gutturally moaning into the hot air, you pant as you come down just to feel a tongue cleaning up your thighs, slurping up cum, and playing around with your sensitive flesh. Fingers still pump inside of you, helping you ride out anything that’s left.

You can’t speak beyond small whimpers and gasps at the movement, but when you look down you’re met with John’s ruined face.

His entire beard was stained, dripping cum down onto your navel as he licks at your clit once. Your hips jerk and you cry in protest at the oversensitivity of the abused area, eyes fluttering.

“Just as I thought,” John’s voice is velvet, dripping just like his beard and nose do as he licks his lips with a demented sucking noise “Boody perfect, doll. Could eat that cunt for hours, just to see you squirm when I’m fucken’ you with my tongue. Better than Whisky.”

You swallow as his hands caress your thighs, the grip traveling as his body slides up yours. His cock is heavy and leaking as it slides over your drenched slit. Thrusting up into it, the both of you gasp out. John lays drenched kisses all over your sweat-drowned body, leaving a trail of saliva and cum behind him as his own slots over you perfectly.

“Speak to me,” He groans, and your fingers still in his locks lightly pull as he pushes your still hand over your breast away with his nose. His hot mouth latches onto your nipple and sucks before laying a deep bite around it.

Writhing, he continues his expiration as a bead of sweat falls down your neck to pool at your bitten collarbone. John licks it up and continues like it’s nothing.

“F-feels good,” Is all you can say, not used to this type of treatment, “R-really good, Captain.”

“Yeah?” He sounds cheeky as his head pulls up to be above yours, hands pressing into the pillow beside your head, “Hm, think my Bird can take a cock? Want me opening that lovely cunt of yours up?”

Your heart pounds, hairs standing on end. The words were so vulgar, but you feel your arousal increase.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Y-yes, Captain.”

John lays a gentle kiss on your bruised lips, and you taste your own release as he sighs into your mouth; connecting your foreheads together when he pulls away.

“I want your eyes on me the whole time, yeah?” He grunts, one hand going to grab at himself as he shivers above you. Chest bursting with anticipation, your free hand goes to intertwine its fingers with John’s beside your head – the other still gripping his hair, “I wanna see the way you lose yourself on me.”

You can’t answer before he’s filling you up.

Your eyes widen at the stretch, embers of pain bordering on the ledge of pleasure as the man pauses at your expression, going to play with your clit. On your face, your nose scrunches, hesitance floating in your orbs as you let out tight breaths even as his finger does wonders.

“S’alright,” John whispers to you, squeezing your hand and feeling the mewls your lips let out at the sensation of deep callouses, “I’ll be careful, Love. You can take me. Breathe.” Muttering paise as his cerulean blues bore into you, he resumes moving.

How could you even fit him all inside of you? The tip already burned to take so far into your womb.

But you were plenty wet, the squelching sound resumed, and John tilted his head down to see the way he disappeared inside your cunt like magic. Your thighs have to move farther up his own to help, one locking around his waist as a ring of milky liquid forms over the joining.

The man’s eyes widen when he spies the bulge forming in your lower body, the indent popping out like a hole that’s been repacked with too much dirt. For the final last push, the man forces himself to look away and back up at you – he wants to see how you react. But at the last seconds, John’s eyes roll back into his head when he finally hits the base, a throaty groan mixing with your high-pitched moan as he bottoms out. Your chest flutters against his, and both of your hearts are going so fast they can be seen through your flesh.

You were so full, stretching around him so wide it was a miracle you hadn’t torn something. Both of your stay there for a moment, feeling your walls spasm around him and panting. Sweat falls from Price’s chin, splashing to your skin as your eyelids threaten to close at the stranger inhabiting your most sensitive area. It felt so good.

Your mind completely blanks, eyes glazing over with rapture at the feeling of John’s cock curving so far into you that you know he’ll push into your cervix when he moves. Every minute movement – even the deep breath John takes to steady himself – leaves you needing stimulation as the veins of his dick press into your soft walls.

“M-move, please,” Your numb lips flutter, and John’s eyes open from above you, jaw clenched and one orb more squinted than the other.

“Yes, Ma’am,” He whispers, expression soft as your hand in his hair tightens to ground yourself.

John begins slowly, letting you get used to him and the burning that he brings to your insides when he retracts and re-enters. His thrusts are measured, at first.

“Such a good girl,” He says above you, and your eyes refocus, body loosening as your form gradually adapts. But you were right, he’s hitting every corner of you as easily as he breathes. So thick it's like nothing you've ever felt. Your hips are canting up to meet his shallowly, but John does most of the work. He wants to. He wants to please you like Leon never could, to treat you right, “Taken’ me so well. See you grippin’ me, Dear…t-that’s it,'' Your pussy throbs, and you feel him move a little faster, “You’re gettn’ it down, eh? There’s that pretty little face of yours – all screwed up ‘cause of me. Hm, don’t go cock-drunk on me yet, Lovely.”

“John,” Is what you chant as he begins to fuck you in earnest, pelvis slamming into you as you feel him brush your cervix, “Oh, John.”

“That’s it,” He pants and angles his thrusts up. The action makes you yowl, head tossing back as Price goes to bite into your neck again, dog tags cold against your skin, “There’s that sweet spot, yeah?”

He hits it every single time, marksmanship training telling him to keep attacking the most important part; tears blur your wide sight, back arching as his hand at your clit goes to hike your leg farther up his waist, the limb uselessly flying out behind his back. The deep press of his blunt nails into the flesh adds to the overstimulation, and you can’t keep up if you tried. Too pleasure drunk, you let him do what he wants, as long as you can feel his veiny cock hitting that spongy spot again. His dick thrusts into you with such devotion, ringing out pleasure like how one does to a rag.

“Fuck…” He muttered into your neck, “Won’t last long with you squeezing me like that. You’re so bloody tight.”

The snake was coiling in your gut, tail rattling as John throbs inside of your heat, moving over your skin like he was water over a rock. Loosening your hand from his hair, your nails go to dig into the fletch of his back, raking down his spine as he growls under you; sending a sharp thrust up that has you seeing sparks in your vision. It was building so quickly you couldn’t properly speak, only moan and wail and wine.

You were sure your nails were biting into his skin, leaving long red scratches behind as some sick form of proof. Maybe they were even drawing blood. A sadistic part of you wanted them too.

“C-close,” Your gasp enters the thick air as your legs shake. John bites your earlobe, lifting his head from your skin to look at you from the side of his blown eyes.

“W-where do you want it, Love?” He gasps, his beard scraping your skin until it’s raw. You hoped you had lotion in the bathroom for tomorrow, “C’mon gotta tell me before I lose myself.”

“Inside!” You yell, not even knowing what you’re saying anymore. If you did a part of you would have died from embarrassment. The man’s eyes snap fully to yours, widening; you feel his body shaking above you, hands clenching too tightly around your thigh and embrace as the flesh turns a different shade, “Please, Captain, fill me up. I wanna feel you dripping out of me for days! Please, I need your cum! Please, please…”

Price only sputters for a second before he begins to move like a man possessed. He pistons into you with heated movements and you gasp out in response, not sure how much more you could take but please don’t stop it feels so good. So, so, good when you move like that. Fill me with your seed.

“Made for me, you were,” John growls, ferally kissing you as you try to do the same back as he relentlessly pounds away, “I said it before, bloody fucken’ perfect. Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need. Make you so full of me you’ll be leaking all over the damned sheets.”

The coil snaps and you clench around Price’s cock so hard he moans into your mouth as you do the same.

“Fuck..!” His hips jerk one more time before he spills into you, hot spurts of his seed coating your walls and leaking out of the ring you two had made.

Shaking, John lets you ride it out as he continues to shakily thrust into you, but it isn’t long before he has to stop and his dick softens inside of you. After a moment of violent deep breaths, he has to shift, exiting from your reddened and leaking hole. Shuttering at the feeling of his ridges once more leaving, the foreign emptiness finally settles into your bones, you feel his cum pooling from you to collect on the mattress; your lower skin feels wet to the touch as the liquid follows the lines of your body and sticks to every part available.

Lungs desperate for air, your body heaves and shivers; your eyes stay locked onto the ceiling above you, where you wished the metal was the same shade of blue as John’s eyes. You didn’t even notice the man himself had gone into your bathroom to receive a damp rag to clean you up until the rough material was leaving you flinching away from it.

“Careful now,” John speaks lowly, and you hear his dog tags below you as he swipes at your folds. Your eyelashes flutter, legs tensing, “Need to clean you up.”

He lays a kiss on your knee and continues for a few minutes, muttering compliments and kind words that you miss as your ears ring; he cleans your combined fluids from your spent cunt delicately, completely different from how he was abusing it a short while ago.

John leaves, and when he returns a second time, he slips into the bed in front of you, taking the wrecked covers and arranging you carefully so you were covered by them.

A moment of hot pressing bodies passes, and your head is pressed into the man’s raging chest, drawn back to consciousness by his heart when he shifts, “...Didn’t hurt you, did I, Love?”

“Hm,” You groan, and moving your legs results in needles digging into the fine tissue, “No. But you’re going to be carrying me tomorrow.”

Your Captain has the audacity to laugh, his hand going to rest on your ass, rubbing the skin as he draws you closer.

“Wanted to do that for a long time, Y’know,” He whispers, laying kisses to your hair, “Long time.”

“Me too,” You admit, sighing as your eyes flutter shut, “Since Madagascar, I think.”

John lightly flinches, “Madagascar?” It’s a question, but he already knows the answer, “What about…”

He trails.

“Leon?” You ask and Price grunts, knocking his nose down into your scalp as he draws circles into your skin. He didn’t like you saying that man’s name, “I think I wanted to break up with him…finding him with someone else just gave me an easy out, I guess,” You think over the event. Had you been relieved slightly? Perhaps, but it was easier to tell now than earlier, “It was just…”

Stopping you hum, and turn your head to lay a kiss on a scar on John’s chest in your vicinity.

“Easier.”

It’s not a question your Captain poses, it's a statement.

“Less complicated, yeah.” He breathes a sigh into your hair and fatigue leaves your lids falling quickly.

“We’ll talk more in the morning,” John mutters, “Copy?”

You don’t answer, because you’ve already fallen to sleep, body bruised and yet feeling far better than you had in years. John wanted to be with you, Leon was out of the picture – it was all turning up. But there was still that part of you that ached with betrayal, that bled when you poked at it with a finger; a wounded heart would do that. It bleeds for a bit.

Though, you knew John would be there with a bandage, to put pressure on the wound and catch the spills. Maybe that was selfish, but maybe you had a right to be for a little while. Your Captain certainly didn’t seem to mind.

John fell asleep quickly after, content for possibly the first time in years. He gets to hold you in his arms and wake up with you right by his side, even if the paperwork was going to be atrocious.

There was no doubt people had heard them, but it wasn’t like the Captain cared.

—

“Little Lady?” The knock wasn’t what woke you, John did. Looking up at him, he holds a finger to his lips and has a pleading look on his face. You raise a brow, about to go back to sleep before Soap’s voice makes you freeze, “I know you’re in there – you wouldn’t happn’ to have a clue where Price is, would you? Man missed the debriefing.”

Your wide eyes stay locked with Johns, Maybe If I don’t answer he’ll go a–

“That’s it, I'm coming in!”

“Wait!”

But the door was already opening – John hadn’t locked it, too caught up in the stupor of finally getting you into his arms and wetting his dick.

“...Steamn’ bloody Jesus!” Screaming and a quick rustling can be heard echoing out into the hallway, “...Well, well, well, Cap finally got the girl, did he? Bout’ time, I’d say! Tell me, now, how good was he in bed for an old man?”

“Stop lookn’ at her, you Muppet! I’ll hang you by the fucke–”

“How can’t I – her fucken’ tits are out and you’re about a bawhair away from her! Where else am I supposed to look, man?”

“Out!”

Soap rushes out, smiling wider than anything with gleaming eyes before stumbling and nearly careening into the wall as John Price rushes after, face red and snarling. The Captain had nothing more than a wrinkled, thin, standard white bed sheet around his tapered waist with dog tags fastened around his neck.

John’s clenched hand connects with the door frame and the rageful man leans out down the hall and yells, “When I find you, MacTavish, It’s your fucken’ neck under a goddamned rope! You hear me, Sergeant?! Your fucken’ neck!”

Vibrating laughter can be heard from the figure already disappearing down the corner of the woman’s Barracks.

“Wait till the boys hear about this!”

The door closes so loudly behind John that the wide-eyed bystanders in the hallway miss the lock being clicked into place with savage fingers. But the loud, chest-tightening, feminine laughter that forms moments later is none the clearer.

Well, secret’s out.

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melissa-titanium · 3 months ago

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whats that one post. about blood being taken extremely seriously in mp100. i'd like to say i am someone who is completely unphased by blood in real life or fictionally but my first time watching th final ep of s2.

this shot made me PHYSICALLY FUCKING REACT. like not "OH MY GOD BLOOD!" it was "OH MY GOD BLOOD IN MOB PSYCHO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" because this is clearly a WOUND . like its not some crazy bullshit SOAKED IN BLOOD moreso than a human is capable of losing while still conscious. this was like. i dont know. more realistic? and i loved it. you almost NEVER see unfathomable amounts of blood or gore in mob psycho so seeing even a little bit is such a violent shock its awesome its awesome. as much as i love insane fucking gore i think the less "significant" wounds in a show where actual physical wounds dont happen that often is cool. it almost adds some sort of contrast so you know you have to take this shit seriously

and the fact that there is an OBVIOUS REACTION to something like this makes it feel soooooo so much more real . like . "you're bleeding like crazy!" LIKE YEAH HE IS!!!! HE IS!!!!!!! AND ITS TAKEN SERIOUSLY!!!!!! WHICH IS SOOOOO COOOOL i love it i love it. mp100 knows perfectly what to emphasize at what times auuuuuuuuuuuh

unrelated but also still related because its from the same arc. he's such a fucking faggot its not even funny

also i love this

#mel roars

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shiftchii · 2 months ago

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My Quirk in my MHA DR !

Blood Manipulation / Hemokinesis

Type: Emitter

Intended Use: Combat

Range: Close to Medium

tl;dr: My Quirk lets me control blood, primarily my own but with limitations on others'. I can adjust its density, making it fluid like water or solid like metal, and alter its temperature or state—turning it into mist, ice, or boiling liquid. I can shape it into whips, weapons, barriers, or waves. Increasing my blood pressure boosts my strength and speed. For external use, I need a wound but can reabsorb the blood. I can control others' blood by touch (up to a liter), but consuming it lets me manipulate it remotely in larger amounts. I mostly use it for clotting and healing, and I can survive extreme blood loss.

Manifestation Age: 3

Quirk Heritage: A combination of my mother’s and father’s Quirks

Invisible Alterations: I have a specialized organ called the Hemovault, located near my liver and spleen. It acts as a reservoir for storing and rapidly producing blood, allowing me to maintain a higher blood volume than normal without suffering the typical effects of blood loss. The Hemovault can quickly replenish my supply, letting me use my Quirk extensively without risking severe anemia or exhaustion right away. However, overuse can still deplete it, and I’ll need time to rest and regenerate afterward.

Visible Alterations: I have prominent, vampire-like fangs, like everyone with a blood Quirk.

In-Depth Mechanics

To use my blood externally, I must inflict a wound to access it.

Basic Control: I can control by blood similar to waterbending. I can use it like whips, shape it onto tendrils, sharp spikes, etc. I often use it to swing around or wrap people up.

Density Adjustment: I can adjust the density of my blood. I can form solid weapons or barriers as hard as metal and turn them back into liquid instantly.

Temperature and State Change: I can alter the temperature and state of my blood, turning it into boiling liquid, freezing it into solid ice-like forms, or even transforming it into mist.

Speed Enhancement: By increasing my blood flow, I can temporarily boost my physical strength and speed.

Blood Reabsorption and Detoxification: I can reabsorb the blood through an open wound to minimize waste and expedite recovery, while also purifying the blood in the process.

Controlling the blood of others: I can manipulate the blood of others only when in physical contact with them. I can control up to approximately 1 liter of blood from a single person at a time. However, if I consume their blood I can control it remotely and in larger amounts and a few people at a time, though this requires great focus.

Blood Sensing: I have something like a 6th sense. I can detect the presence of blood and its flow speed within around a 50-meter radius, even through obstacles. I also can detect the smell of blood better than an average human.

Coagulation/Clotting: I can rapidly clot blood to close wounds, both on myself and others. Conversely, I can also un-clot or reopen wounds as needed, to regain access to my blood.

Drawbacks

Overusing my Quirk causes significant physical strain, resulting in symptoms such as bleeding from my eyes, nose, and mouth. It also makes me anemic, this means I will become fatigued, dizzy and weak. I can also get heart palpitations, cold hands and short breaths.

Side Effects

Due to my Quirk's nature, I have a heightened resistance to bloodborne diseases and toxins. My Quirk makes me naturally not grossed out by blood and gore.

#cw: blood #mha dr #mha shifting #bnha shifting #bnha dr #reality shift #shifting realities #shifting community #reality shifter #shifters #shifting blog #reality shifting #shifting

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softness-and-shattering · 8 months ago

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Ok the latest episode of dungeon meshi is gory as fuck.

Major episode 11 SPOILERS

Given that the episode is dragon part one, I assumed they would fight the dragon, mostly fail, cliffhanger, and the next episode would be defeating it.

I did NOT expect them to kill it, root around its insides, and find Falins fucking bones!!

The foot comes down on Senshi and he immediately vomits blood? Chilchuk knocked out by bricks to the head, Laios loses his leg?! (Nitpick but. If the leg was disconnected what was keeping him from falling out the dragons mouth? Anime rule of cool physics?)

And then. Chilchuk and Senshi is heaps of pain and Laios' leg is just itchy? Its a good joke, but I think there's more. Those heals were too easy after that amount of unprecedented violent gore.

Laios had a btw-line about of the dragon and is mating and then dismissed the thought with no given reason. So I think next episode theres gonna be a second Red dragon. ( Its possible part 2 will be next season, but following more common episode title namings, red dragon 1 and 2 will be the season finale. )

And theres the unanswered question of the whole season, why is the dragon more active, why is the ecosystem of the dungeon off-balance. I think next episode will be our big clue.

Re Falin, its no coinicidence we were introduced to the racist rich guy who assures us that souls dont leave bodies in the dungeon. That was confusing up till the last episode because the characters sure act like death is possible, and we've seen dead people and heard about body-retrieval. Then Namari goes to revivals to ask about Falin and there are bodies stored behind the desk guy. Which puts the pieces together, bodies that can be retrieved are retrieved, and the people can be revived. If someone cares to, and presumably pays for it. Someones gotta pay for retrievals.

Its also no accident that our warm-fuzzy sibling scene before finding Falins skull is about a ghost who is trapped with his body, and Falins intuition/ability with ghost magic. Can she be revived, will she stick around as a ghost, remains to be seen. (Remains.)

As someone who hasnt yet read the manga, Im also curious about long term story. Ive gotten the impression that theres significant story to go, possibly probably they reach the end of the dungeon? But Ive not seen Falin present in any of the art, and for the story to continue they need motivation to keep going.

So Im guessing that Falin ends up as a ghost, or unreviveable, and they have to get to the bottom to find the mad mage, work out what stops people from crossing over post-death (does that include monsters, orcs, humanoid mermaids or fish-oid[???]mermen), and only then can they bring Falin back to life.

That or they revive her and theres some other plot hook, but my guess is what I just described.

(Another silly nitpick, the fire is blocked by the adamantium but the heat isnt a problem until after the fire is done? "WE HAVE TO MAKE SURE TO EXHAUST ALL ITS FUEL" THAT WOULDVE LEFT FALIN BEYOND ALL HOPE!!!!!!)

And its funny re Senshi's knife, ooh its mithril it can cut through anything, well of course! he's used it to cut every single monster theyve eaten! And we never wondered how! Foreshadowing by cookware, its ridiculous and I love it.

Last point is it just me or are...is it Kaka and Kiki? Theyre discount Vex and Vax, right?

#for ppl who dont know me my nitpicks aren't hating on the show #i just have a brain that points out these things and they need expression #its not a negative #theres always gonna be a level of movie magic #its fun to find where that line is of what just needs accepting and whats secret foreshadowing to extrapolate from #also no major spoilers please!#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #mine #review #sort of

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a-killer-obsession · 5 months ago

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🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 31 - A Practical Guide to Anger Management For Pirates

The unholy spirit really had me by the throat writing this one. Come get yo’ KidxKiller smut.

A/N: Hi, new updated look for this fic, hope you like it. I'll work on updating the old chapters at some point but all future ones will look like this~

Word Count: ~4.5k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055

Five days had passed since the Quincy-dent, and you found yourself sitting out on the skull at the front of the ship, enjoying a cool breeze. You couldn't do much else anyway, Mohawk was being strict about not exerting too much energy, and Killer and Heat were watching you like birds of prey making sure you followed doctor’s orders. You'd barely made it out of the ‘danger zone’ as he was calling it, and he was still very much worried that your heart would suddenly fall into an irregular rhythm, even if you were feeling fine other than the visible wounds. It turned out you'd been unconscious for the better part of the day and night, about fourteen hours all together, which given the extent you’d used your devil fruit was not super crazy, even without the injuries. The bullet had grazed an artery in your leg, and you were lucky it hadn't hit it more directly, but you had lost a significant amount of blood before Mohawk had it under control. Not enough to kill you or hurt your baby, but certainly enough to make you pass out. Your heart stopping and the side effects of trying to heal the large burn on your chest had you exhausted, even without Mohawk's bedrest orders you probably would have slept most of the last five days anyway. This was the first time since the fight that you’d had any real fresh air, with the exception of Killer carrying you from the infirmary to your shared room when Mohawk was confident you'd be okay with oral painkillers and nausea meds.

Not that it felt like they were helping though, it felt like your injuries and pregnancy were fighting for the crown of what could make you the most nauseous, and with the lowered mobility from your leg you'd accidentally thrown up in the bed the first morning back in Killer's bed. Which of course resulted in an absolutely inconsolable, pregnancy hormone fueled breakdown while Killer tried his best to clean up and assure you that it was okay, and that he'd cleaned up worse messes from Kid. Pregnancy was a real bitch, but at least now you had a convenient bucket sitting next to the bed until such time as your leg didn't have you hobbling. You also started keeping a sleeve of crackers on your side table, after accidentally discovering when you woke up hungry that shoving a cracker in your pie hole first thing in the morning actually considerably helped the nausea.

While you’d been on bedrest you’d passed the ten week mark of your pregnancy, and Mohawk assured you that the morning sickness would likely stop soon, as you were coming to the end of your first trimester. Which was hard to believe, given you'd only known about it for a few weeks. Some of your tighter skirts were no longer fitting, given they had to account for not only pregnancy but also in general the weight you’d put on since buying them when you first joined the crew, so you were looking forward to the next island to buy more dresses. You’d mostly just been living in Killer's shirts for the last week, since you hadn't gotten around to moving your things to his room and the looser fabric was more comfortable over your burns. You weren't bothering with pants, Killer's shirts were like dresses on you anyway and this was the first time you’d even left the bedroom since he'd carried you in. You'd been taking every chance you could to check in on your baby, who was now the size of an apricot, but Mohawk urged against it. Apparently more well off women who could afford their own personal ultrasound machines were known to cause themselves unnecessary stress by making themselves feel like they had to constantly check on the baby. You couldn't help yourself though, especially now that the jelly bean was starting to wiggle, though you couldn't feel it yet.

As for Kid, he had tried to speak to you, but Killer had banned him from the room, worried that he'd spike your heart rate again. As far as you knew, or rather as far as Heat had told you, the two of them hadn't talked outside of planning for the marine base raid, which for obvious reasons you would not be taking part in. The original journey to the next island the log pose was set to was due to take a week, but the maps you'd pinched from the marine ship indicated the base was about three days from the island, and about another day's sailing from your current location. The overall additional two days added to the plans wasn't a lot in the grand scheme of things, so the other commanders had agreed it was worth the slight detour to raid the base, especially since it was supposed to be a quite manageable size.

The breeze was so nice on your face, your unfastened hair fluttering slightly, the wind catching under your borrowed shirt and cooling your skin. You crinkled your nose as you heard the distinct heavy footsteps of your captain approaching from behind you, but you chose to ignore it for as long as possible.

“Still mad at me?” He leaned against the skull and looked at you with his best impression of a innocent expression.

“Well, let's see,” you laid back against the skull, watching the clouds pass overhead and lifting a hand to count off items on your fingers, “you completely disregarded my unborn child, and then you brought a idiot on board who nearly killed said child, and at the same time injured me enough that Mohawk has banned me from participating in any physical activities, so my fantasies of finishing what I started the other day and being in bed with two men has been entirely ruined. But hey, at least you're getting laid, right?” You huffed to punctuate your point, still mourning your interrupted romp with Killer and Heat.

“Who said you can't still be in bed with two men?” Kid asked, his chin resting on his flesh arm as it rested on the skull.

“Respectfully, captain, are you stupid?” You half laughed, “did you miss the part where I'm not allowed to do anything physically exerting?”

“Who said you have to do shit, make the men do all the work,” Kid added, like it was completely obvious, “let em get each other off, then make em eat you out or something, no need to lift a finger”

“Oh sureee, let me just go ask my straight boyfriend and my other definitely existent bisexual friend that I definitely have whether they want to fuck in front of me and eat me out after,” you frowned at him before turning your attention back to the clouds, “I'll get right fucking on that.” Kid let out a laugh, and you turned to shoot daggers at him. “The fuck you laughing at?”

“Killer hasn't told you shit about us has he?” Kid laughed.

“I mean I've guessed by now that the two of you like to share women, but what the fuck does that have to do with this?” You scowled at him.

“Yeah we shared women,” he affirmed, “men too”

You blinked at the clouds before turning to slowly face him. He was watching you with a playful glint in his eye. You huffed and looked back at the clouds, “Doesn't mean shit, I'm still pissed off at you. And so is he”

“You know what Kil usually does when he's pissed off at me?” Kid slid a little closer, his face close to where yours was resting, “he takes it out on me in bed. You think this is the first time we've fought? We've known each other for years, usually he just takes it out on my ass and gets over it. The only reason he hasn't done already this time is cos of you”

You were quiet while you thought about it, already having dirty thoughts about watching the captain get his ass handed to him by Killer. You sat up slowly, looking out to sea as you considered the proposition. Pros: Kid gets knocked down a peg, he and Killer make up, the rest of the crew stops having to pussyfoot around them, you get to watch two big beefy men go at it sloppy style, and finally, you can take care of the incessant need to get off that you'd had since your failed threesome. Killer was being so delicate with you, and you didn't want to get frisky with him when you knew you weren't capable of getting him off right now, it felt selfish. But god fucking damn you were horny.

Cons: none, fuck it let's do this shit.

“Okay, let's do it then,” you finally agreed. Kid was already excitedly shuffling, sailing at half mast at just the idea. He was hoping that Killer would be kind enough to let him be the one to eat you out, but either way he was going to be able to take care of the tension between him and his best friend, as well as getting railed by him for the first time in months. He hated to admit that he missed Killer's dick in his ass, the first mate hadn't touched him since coming back from the island after you both went overboard.

Kid looked back over the deck to see if he could spot Killer. It was already evening, chores were done, dinner had come and gone, and the planning for the base raid had already been completed, it was the perfect time to fuck around. The first mate was down on the main deck, training the newbies in agility. Every now and then his eyes flicked up to where you were, and he paused his movements anxiously, tensing up as he saw Kid was with you, but you gave him a reassuring thumbs up to let him know Kid wasn't causing any trouble. On the contrary, Kid had more than brightened your sour mood.

“He seems busy for now,” Kid noted, before turning back to you, “I gotta grab some shit from my room, me in your's in five. I'll go first so he doesn't get suspicious”

“See you in five then, captain,” you smirked, laying back down on the skull to look as casual as possible while you waited.

As promised, you headed for the bedroom five minutes later, and a few minutes after arriving, Kid let himself in with an armful of curious goods.

“Chuck this on the side table, then help me with this rope,” he threw you a small bottle. You could read enough now to know it was lube, you'd honestly forgotten men didn't make silk the way you did. The rope though, now that was curious. “He likes me bound when he's pissed,” Kid explained in reply to your raised brow, handing you the length of smooth red rope and removing his metal arm, setting it against a wall. You watched quietly as he undressed, biting your lip when you saw how big he was, already half hard. Was it some sort of requirement for commanders to be fucking hung on this crew? What the fuck.

It was a strange intimate atmosphere as he stood naked in front of you, entirely unashamed in his nudity, his heavily scarred side on full display. You stepped towards him, more curious than anxious, running a fingertip down the scar that ran from this armpit near his stump to his groin, and his breath caught in his throat, goosebumps prickling on his remaining arm.

“Sorry, I should have asked first,” you took a step back but he grabbed your hand gently, running a reassuring thumb over the back of your hand.

“It's okay, you're gonna have to touch me to do the ropes anyway,” you were both staring at where your hands were together before he let go and cleared his throat. “We should probably get started before he comes in here”

You'd never even seen shibari ropes in person, let alone tied them, but Kid was an uncharacteristically patient teacher as he walked you through it, making sure you were checking the ropes weren't too tight as you went, till he found himself kneeling on the bed, his good arm bound behind his back. It looked far hotter in person than it did in the dirty mags Heat had let you borrow.

“Okay, looks good, go get him,” he grinned eagerly at you as he got comfortable on the bed, his legs crossed as he sat and waited. You hurried off out to the deck, more than wet after having spent the last half hour breezing your fingers over your naked captain and binding him in decorative roping. A few soft kisses had even been shared between the two of you, like you were assuring each other as you went about tying the delicate knots.

“Kil!” You shouted to your boyfriend, quickly grabbing his attention as you practically slid towards him. His brow raised under his mask at how fast you were moving, given the fact you still had a limp. Killer dismissed the newbies as you hobbled over, sensing you required his attention given your speed.

“What's got you moving so quick, princess?” He chuckled.

“I have a gift for you,” you smiled innocently, “I know you're still mad at Kid, but I got you something I think will help”

“Okay, I'll bite,” his curiosity was piqued, and he scooped you up easily, holding you bridal style. “Where can I find this so-called gift?”

“It's in the bedroom,” you kicked your feet a little as he carried you towards the back cabins, and you giggled excitedly. You dropped down from his arms when you got to the door, covering the holes in his mask over his eyes as you led him through the door, careful to lock it behind you. “Keep em closed!” You told him, and he replaced your hand with his own as you quickly tore off your shirt, mask and shoes, leaving only your panties as you slid onto the bed, giving Kid a chaste kiss before positioning yourself sitting against the headboard. Your chest was still a tender, vibrant red from the burn, but it was healed enough to have done away with the bandages, though you were trying very hard to not be self conscious about it. Kid leaned back against you as you'd both planned, and he looked up at you as you ran a finger down one of the scars on his face, exchanging playful grins.

“Okay, you can open em!” You giggled.

For a moment Killer didn't move as he took in Kid's naked, bound body resting against you, your bare breasts almost resting on his red hair.

“Yin…” he started.

“Do you hate it?” You pouted, unable to read his neutral expression. You'd hoped he would be more enthusiastic, but maybe you'd gone too far in assuming he was okay with this after Heat. “Kid said you used to do this when you were fighting, I don't want you guys to fight anymore”

He let out a sigh, and you and Kid watched anxiously as he turned his back to both of you to remove his mask and place it on the dresser, ruffling his bangs before turning back to you.

“Don't be mad at her Kil,” Kid shuffled to sit up with a little difficulty given his bound arm, “it was my idea, I'll go if you want me to”

“Oh I'm definitely mad,” he growled as he turned back to both of you, and Kid audibly gulped, “not at her though. Never at her, my sweet princess.” He knelt at the edge of the bed, threading a finger under one of the ropes and pinging it, “Did you tie these princess?” He turned his attention to you and you nodded eagerly. “My clever girl,” he ran a finger under your chin, and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. You preened under his praises, “such a good girl. Unlike some people, who need to be taught how to behave”

He grabbed the front of Kid's bindings and yanked him hard off of you, pulling him with significant force till he fell to the floor with a heavy thud that you were sure must have hurt, given he had no available arm to catch himself. You swore you heard a whimper escape Kid as he scampered to his knees. Killer grabbed him by the throat, forcing him to look up at him as he skillfully undid his belt one handed with his free hand. He pulled it from the loops in his jeans, and Kid eyed it with a nervous hunger, his cock now fully at attention.

“Present for me, pig,” Killer growled as he threw Kid back towards the bed. He leaned over the bed, his bound torso resting on the mattress and his feet still on the floor, his bare ass in the air. His pupils were blown out as he looked at you, and you crawled towards him curiously. Watching his face as Killer took the belt and folded it in half, before bringing it down hard over Kid's ass with an audible crack. Kid groaned, his eyes not leaving yours but the skin where his brows would be furrowing, and you broke out in a wide smile at seeing the usually so stoic and bossy captain laid out like this.

“Count,” Killer ordered.

“One,” Kid whimpered, before the belt came down again. “T-two,” by the fifth smack Kid was a mess, whimpering every time the leather made contact with his bright red ass, the skin starting to break a little in places. You'd never seen such violence in a consenting manner, it fascinated and aroused you as Kid struggled to keep the count and Killer dealt out a total of ten hard lashes. By the end Kid was panting, his face buried in your thighs where you knelt in front of him while you stroked his hair and cooed praises at how good he was doing. The stark contrast between your sweet words and Killer's harsh punishment was making Kid insane, precum already leaking and soaking into the blankets underneath him.

“Princess,” Killer got your attention as he discarded the belt and stripped down to his jeans, “did this idiot bring a bottle in here?”

“Yes!” You let Kid's head fall to the bed and grabbed the bottle of lube from the side table, handing it to him eagerly. He rewarded you with a kiss, hungry and wet and dominating, before pulling away with a wide smile.

“Go sit where you were again, you were doing such a good job sweetheart,” he stroked your chin as he spoke, “but spread your legs, I don't want him to get comfortable on your thighs incase his movement hurts your leg”

“Okay!” You climbed back onto the bed, sitting with your legs spread in front of Kid, who eyed your clothed centre hungrily. “Like this?”

“Perfect, princess,” he squirted a liberal amount of the lube onto Kid's ass, toying with his hole as he bent down over him, “if you're good for me maybe I'll let you get a taste of her. She's so sweet now with my baby in her. Like nothing you've ever tasted”

Kid whined and was chomping at the bit to try and get to you, making you giggle as Killer grabbed his ropes and yanked him back. Kid's eyes went wide as Killer simultaneously shoved a finger in his ass, the captain's head quickly dropping to the mattress with a moan as Killer pumped his hole, stretching him open till he could fit a second, and eventually, with some patience, a third.

“Be a good boy and tell me what you want,” Killer instructed as he finger fucked Kid's ass. You were holding his head up, stopping him from burying his moans or hiding his lust-addled face from you.

“I w-want- I want,” Kid whimpered.

“I want~ I want~” Killer mocked, making Kid jolt forward with a particularly rough thrust of his fingers, “are you a man or a mouse? Spit it out”

“I want your dick!” Kid finally spat out, his face bright red with blush, no longer able to look at you.

“There it is, I thought you'd lost your voice,” Killer purred as he slid out of his jeans and applied a generous amount of lube to his erection, pumping it a few times to coat it before lining it up with Kid's ass. “And what do you have to say to our princess for allowing you in here?”

“T-thank you princess,” Kid stuttered, trying his best to look at you but only flushing harder as a result at your crooked but honeyed smile.

“Good boy,” Killer purred before grabbing the ropes that crossed over Kid's back and burying himself in his ass in one swift motion. Kid cried out and whimpered, and you stroked his hair once again and cooed to him in soft words as Killer fucked him at a brutal pace. You didn't even know he was capable of such a punishing speed, but then again you had been a virgin the first time you'd gotten together, and healing, then pregnant, since the second time. Kid buried his face between your legs, forcing them further open and making you moan as he grunted against you and pressed his nose against your clothed cunt. Your hands wove through his hair and pulled hard, holding him in place as you practically rode his face for friction. You alternated between watching where Killer's dick was buried in Kid's ass, and throwing your head back in pleasure. It this what it was like for Killer when he watched Heat fuck you? It was a high you'd never experienced before and your cunt was aching with need because of it.

“Killllll~” you whined, wanting his permission to let Kid go further, desperately needing something on you, inside you, anywhere and everywhere as long as it got you off. He grinned at you, enjoying the way you were greedily using the captain's face like it was a riding toy.

“Go on then princess, you've been so good, not that I think he deserves it,” Killer smirked, watching you pull your panties aside and roll your slick centre against Kid's eager tongue, which was out and waiting, begging to be used. You laid back against the bed, pulling Kid's hair as he ate you out and enjoying the sounds of the two men groaning and grunting. Kid's tongue thrust in and out of you, far longer and thicker than anyone else's you'd ever had, long enough to curl inside you deliciously before licking wide stripes up your cunt and sucking on your sensitive bud of nerves. Your orgasm was building hard and fast and you were positive you were going to squirt with the intensity it was approaching with.

Killer was using Kid's bound arm as a anchor as he fucked him, his pace never showing any mercy to Kid's abused ass, and you looked up and saw his eyes were shut, his brows furrowed and his mouth open and panting in a slight grin as he fucked the captain. He opened his eyes for a moment and they met yours, and the smug grin that spread over his face was more than enough to put you over the edge. As predicted, you came with a audible gush of fluid, Kid moaning loudly into you and shuddering as you coated his face, the sudden and unexpected release putting him over his own edge as his dick pulsed and spilled out, trapped between his stomach and the bed, his cum quickly rubbed into the bedding as Killer continued to penetrate him before finally letting out a long, deep groan and stilling. He made one last hard thrust inside Kid, as though making one last point, before pulling out, bending over Kid and resting his head against his back. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked down at Kid, his head still between your legs, whimpering. You reached down and tilted his chin up, his face glistening with your release, his lipstick smeared all over the lower half of his face and his eyeliner running down his cheeks from crying at the lashing and brutal fucking. He looked like an absolute dream.

Being somehow the most physically able of the three of you right now, after the excursion Killer had just gone through, you slipped off the bed and excused yourself to the bathroom. You quickly cleaned yourself up, discarding your soaked panties, and grabbed a damp cloth and a glass of water, wishing you'd had the foresight to bring some extra glasses in here before starting. You returned to the bedroom to find Killer had rolled off Kid, and was quietly stroking the captain's face as he laid next to him. You handed the glass of water to Killer before kneeling on the bed and gently wiping Kid's face, cleaning away the various fluids and ruined makeup. You ran the cool cloth between his ass cheeks, wiping away the messy lubricant, before urging him to roll over and wiping away his cum from his abdomen and cock. Killer sat up against the headboard, quietly watching you care for Kid the same way Killer cared for you after sex.

You threw the dirtied cloth in the vague direction of the laundry basket before starting to work away at the ropes, pressing soft kisses against the raw marks some of them had left. You'd tied it exactly as Kid had instructed, and Killer had checked the tension, but he'd yanked so hard on them that a few sections had left thin grazes against the captain's pale skin. His arm held your waist softly once you freed it, and your found yourself sitting in his lap by the time the ropes were entirely removed, your arms wrapped around his neck and your hand buried in his soft red hair, exchanging careful, intimate kisses and soft moans while Killer watched you, in awe of how tender you could be with a man you were once scared of, a man you'd once fled from when you thought he was going to kiss you.

Eventually you pulled away, eliciting a whine from Kid that made you smile, giving Killer a soft kiss as you took the empty glass from him and returned to the bathroom to refill it. You handed the glass to Kid and slid into Killer's lap, giving him equal attention while Kid drank the water greedily and recovered. The two of you laid down, sliding under the covers, still naked, and Kid finished his water, placing the glass on the side table and looking at the two of you longingly. Killer opened the covers behind himself and Kid eagerly slid in, sandwiching Killer between the two of you in a twist of limbs. Your chest was pressed to Killer's, and Kid acted as his big spoon.

“Are you guys still mad at me?” He mumbled against Killer's back.

“That depends, do you still want me to get an abortion?” You replied, a little colder than you'd expected it to come out.

“I'm sorry, I am,” he held Killer tight, making the first mate sigh. Killer's back became wet with tears as Kid pressed against it, “I just got so scared, I don't want my niece or nephew to be in danger because of my dream, but I don't want either of you to have to go away because of them. I don't wanna be alone”

“We're not going anywhere, Kid,” Killer assured him, knitting his fingers between Kid's over his chest.

“You have to do something about Quincy though,” you huffed, “the girl is a complete dolt, I'll forgive you if you take charge of her training”

“Deal,” Kid huffed.

“Uncle Kid huh?” You smiled.

“Shut up,” Kid grumbled.

“Neh,” you teased, “I like it”

You met Killer's eyes and he smiled at you, glad that the three of you had settled this stupid fight. You pressed your forehead against his as Kid started to snore softly, making you giggle at how quickly he'd fallen asleep. Reasonable though, given what he'd just been through. You gave Killer one last kiss before curling up against his chest to sleep, his chin resting on the top of your head as you both drifted off.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates #kid x killer #kidkiller #eustass captain kidd #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #kid x reader

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goodfish-bowl · 2 months ago

Text

What Little Remains

Chapter 1: Finding the Pieces

Ectoberhaunt 2024 Day 3: Archeology

AO3 Link

Summary: The Terra Zero Archeology Project has received funding to locate a laboratory of both historical and technological importance. What they actually end up bringing back is something of much greater significance.

Warnings: Dissection, gore, blood

Words: 2,374

They had found it on the planet once known as Earth, now known as Terra Zero. It had been buried in a laboratory of historical and technological importance. The laboratory was the target of their mission and this had merely been something they had discovered along the way, but it was likely a much more significant find than their original goal. It was a miracle, really, that the jar protecting this particular specimen was fully intact, and an even greater wonder that they found a second one to go with it. Despite the atypical building practices found at that location, it had managed to survive the several planetary disasters that had befallen Terra Zero since the lab had been constructed. It was truly an amazingly complex and baffling in its own era. The laboratory itself had been buried under tons of sediment, ash, and debris that had built up on the planet's surface over the centuries, yet it managed to preserve the space from the very passage of time.

The Terra Zero Archeology Project, shortened down to T.Z.A.P, had only been able to discover it through a related digital archiving project, following mentions of its existence along with digital records from the time, particularly a set of patents that were of interest to the team's investors. They read like utter nonsense, completely indecipherable despite running them through every algorithm available and having sloughs of intergalactic experts look them over. The only hope of figuring them out lay in the lab where they had been created. A myzack-chase through several databases and many long message chains and holos later, the mission was underway. The promise of new technologies was what got the T.Z.A.P. its funding in the first place. This lab was sure to have them keep their funding for a while longer.

The lab itself had been odd, with unknown radioactive elements non-native to the Terra Zero planetary area found in unusual amounts with a positive correlation with the proximity to the lab. Special suits were created just for this excavation, and entire collections of journals were being written based off of the findings. The interior of the lab looked untouched, only a thin coat of dust covered every surface. It was in a general state of disarray like it had been abandoned in the middle of something, but the walls were intact (except for the portion they had drilled through) with minimal rust and decay setting in. It was an astronomically amazing find.

Then there were the samples.

Most of the samples, which looked to be biological samples from a dissection, were degraded beyond use, a millennium beyond expiration. They appeared to be humanoid in nature, which ended up being one of the most unnerving portions of the discovery. It wouldn’t be confirmed until they were actually processed and tested. It wasn’t safe to assume, they had found ones made of ‘rubber’ before. One jar, containing a singular, whole hand, was preserved properly, in what appeared to be an isotopic solution tinted green. The next samples of interest were a set of small vials containing a viscous green liquid that actively rested in a set of a dozen, three of which were intact, the rest exposed to the heavy, damp atmosphere of the lab. It was an unnaturally bright green substance with a dull glow, flecked with red. The intact vials wouldn’t be opened until after the samples of the broken ones were processed first. It would give them a good idea of the decay rate of the substance. There was a heavy containment unit, made from glass that could rival modern war spacecraft windows, with a glowing crystal orb inside, floating in a similar solution to what the vials must contain. All of the other samples were labeled “Phantom” with a time and date on their collection date. This one was marked with the name “Danny”, instead. They were all within two days of each other, with the orb being last.

The most valuable thing T.Z.A.P. managed to collect from the lab, other than just recording of the finding of an intact lab from the early 2000s era, was the intact digital files located on the ancient external hard drive. Someone on the tech team had managed to reconstruct and restore the files on it and found hundreds of files containing everything from lab journal entries to video recordings, to entire papers. It was an almanium mine of information, shining light on many of the patents themselves, though the blueprints and the construction of the technology remained theoretical at best. Whoever had designed these was using a language all of their own that no one else could decipher.

The samples and digital files were brought into the in-orbit lab and processed while the systems scanned the antique files for relevant information, matching the patents and the surviving samples. The computer pinged a collection of lab recordings almost immediately, curiously matching the time stamps of the sample collections.

Zavier, one of the many interns assigned to this project, absently clicked on one at random, sound on, in the middle of the main research room.

Corroded, the audio snapped and popped, showing its age, but it caught the attention of everyone else in the room. Grainy footage of a woman in a teal jumpsuit, with red goggles covering her eyes, and black gloves covered the screen. A large figure in orange moved in the background.

“This is Doctor Madeline Fenton, it is June 4th, 2006, at precisely 14:23. I am joined by Doctor Jack Fenton in collecting a whole-piece sample from the ecto-entity known as Phantom.”

Ecto-entity. It was a term that popped up frequently in the study of this particular laboratory and the related patents. There were at least a dozen sets of eyes on the monitor at this point, several different people scribbling down notes of interest.

“As mentioned in Recording 632006-334 samples collected from Phantom seem to rapidly degenerate once removed from the central entity. To correct this, we have diluted a solution made from the entity’s own ectoplasm mixed with an isotopic preservation solution in an attempt to preserve the sample for further, future study.”

The woman moved the camera to show a prone figure, heavily strapped down to a mental table, distinctly human, despite their odd features for the time. They appeared young, prepubescent in age, uselessly crying and thrashing on the table they were strapped to. They were covered in past incisions, and missing several fingers from their other hand. Several harsh breaths of horror were taken around the room. Zavier should’ve paused the video there, but he hadn’t.

“Our intended sample is going to be the entire right hand.”

The child on the table let out a heart wrenching whine, barely picked up through the harsh muzzle on their face.

Something in the room broke, it sounded fragile, but no one moved, transfixed by the screen.

The woman, Dr. Madeline repositioned the camera over the child’s right hand. They visibly struggled, straining against the restraint.

“Jack, the bone saw?”

“Here you go, darling!” The man said with a large smile.

The boy screamed and it echoed around the entire room, the video filled with bright colors of green and red as the bone saw ate through flesh.

The video was abruptly stopped before it could finish, and someone immediately rushed to the trash unit in the corner. A few people did. The scream still seemed to linger around the room anyways.

“What in the void of space are you all doing?!” A new voice interrupted.

“H-head Doctor! I didn’t mean to! But it started playing and I didn’t want to stop it so I let it play!”

“And?”

“A… a-and?” the intern stuttered.

“What did you learn?”

“That… that I shouldn’t click on a random video without permission…” Zavier admitted reluctantly.

“I meant about our subject.”

“OH! Oh… um. Young, possibly male humanoid, unusual features… they cut off their hand with a bone saw…” Zavier’s voice trembled, unable to focus on the words coming out of his mouth with the scream echoing even louder in his own head than it had in the room.

The Head Doctor’s eyes darkened. Her grip tightening on her tablet, before snapping down the tech and sending out several messages all at once in a furious efficiency.

“If continuing on this particular project makes you uncomfortable, please report to the main deck for reassignment!” The Head Doctor announced it to the whole room. “I understand that we’re dealing with humanoid experimentation in this discovery. You will not be punished for wanting to be reassigned.”

Several people left the room almost immediately, practically fleeing in terror. Zavier found himself agreeing, but was firmly rooted in place. Others thought about it, before following the rest out. From the two dozen researchers and interns in the room, less than a fourth remained. Zavier rediscovered his ability to move for a moment, and contemplated joining them before staying in his spot. He couldn’t.

“Intern. I need you to find the video of the collection of the orb. The video should be labeled 642006-1746.”

“Yes, ma’am. May I ask why?”

Zavier really didn’t want ot have to watch another video when this one was going to be haunting him for the next decade.

“The sample associated with it refuses to be identified, but it has responded to external stimuli, including sounds and being moved about. Several of our preliminary scans have identified something similar to brain waves emitting from it. We need to identify it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Zavier swallowed thickly before clicking on the video labeled just as the Head Doctor had specified. The video pulled up just like the first, popping and snapping before settling in place. The same woman from the first video appeared in the camera, slightly worse for wear. Her suit was splattered with green and red. Zavier cringed and looked away, but refrained from covering his ears with his hands. He had to at least listen, even if that was the worst part.

“This is Doctor Madeline Fenton, it is June 4th, 2006, at 17:46. Dr. Jack Fenton and I have just finished our full dissection of the ecto-entity once known as Phantom.”

The camera panned to show the same child from earlier, cut up into pieces, a large vivisection cut splaying their chest wide open, cavity practically hollowed out, and several stained jars littered the free space on the table. They boy wasn’t moving anymore.

“We have made an… interesting discovery concerning its biology.”

The scientist paused for a moment, glancing behind her before she seemed to hesitate.

“Not… not only did it possess a perfect copy of human biology, it was a functioning one. However, after considerable loss of ectoplasm and substantial damage to its internal organs, its facsimile of life ceased. We were able to locate its core,” she held up the jar containing the small glowing orb. It seemed so tragic floating in that solution. All that blood and viscera for something the size of a pinging ball. She placed the jar on a table out of frame.

“And have successfully removed it and placed it within an isolating containment unit. Reasons for this have been stated in my husband and I’s previous papers on the nature of cores. However, Phantom’s seems to be behaving differently than expected. It’s fallen completely dormant after drawing in all available ectoplasm. Theories on this will be further elaborated in the paper currently being constructed on the ecto-entity Phant-”

There was a flash of light in the background that glitched out the camera for a moment, before the video returned. There was much more red than there was before. The boy was noticeably different, his appearance much more in line with the humans of the era, black hair and red blood.

The woman swiftly turned around, a weapon she reached for off screen suddenly in her hand. It clattered to the ground soon after. She made a horrible choking noise, like she was being strangled. Zavier didn’t think she had the right to react like that. She and her partner had done this after all.

“Danny..?”

The Head Doctor reached over Zavier and turned the video off, gripping the bridge of her nose and letting out a harsh breath of her own. Zavier himself sunk further into his seat to process the information that was likely going to continue to plague his nightmares. He didn’t know why he felt so terrible, or why it was all knotted up in the base of his throat. That kid had been dead for over a millennium at this point. There was no saving them, just the bits of what little of them that remained, as samples, recordings, and data. He shouldn’t be this horrified and torn up over someone long dead.

“Intern, what is your name?”

“Zavier, ma’am.”

“Zavier, go make yourself something warm to eat and distract yourself. I don’t want to see you until it looks like you’ve had at least a full cycle of rest. Senior members,” she signaled the three of the older researchers who had remained, one of which was trying to light a smoke in the corner, “We are going to be having a long night to figure out the nature of this research. If… If this lines up with some of my current conclusions, then we may have a much more… interesting project on our hands.”

“Ma’am… what do you mean by that?”

One of the researchers asked, coming in closer to relieve Zavier from his seat at the monitor. Zavier hadn’t been expecting his knees to be so weak when he tried to stand and the world spun around him for a moment before he managed to steady himself.

“Simple. We have the current approval and supplies to use the D.R.C.R.A. on a suitable… sample of interest,” The Doctor claimed.

“You don’t mean… by the void,” The researcher with the smoke cackled. “Oh, this is going to get us in so much trouble!”

“Well, it would certainly line up with our objective to study the era. What’s better than a first-person witness?”

Ectoberhaunt 2024 Masterpost

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt24 #EH Past #Day 3 #cw dissection #cw blood #cw gore #outsider pov #this was living in my old WIPs that just never got posted #and I'm so thankful I kept it becasue this fits with the concept and prompt PERFECTLY #also it think this is an interesting take on a dissection fic #i also love how many questions are buried in this about what has happened since that recording

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abbythewritor · 1 year ago

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'Fairness." One Piece x Saitama reader. 0

"Just a Normal girl looking for an everyday life. At least, if you call sailing across the seas with idiots with useless dreams a simple task, then you might wanna see a doctor. Seriously."

Warnings: Blood, gore, mentions of Luekimia, and heaps amount of blood and strength. It might be a little cursing, but not bad, and maybe some flirting in there, but it's mostly clean.

Other things:

-You didn't get bald due to your powers; you got bald to an extreme illness.

-You part of the straw hat crew, but others are interested in you and your power.

-Everyone that is a male is taller than you.

-Monsters from the OPM world will appear in One Piece, and I'll make some new monsters you will fight.

-I hope you enjoy my book and enjoy the prologue. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world is crazy....and boring.

Every human on this earth has advanced opportunities to grow, become successful, and be someone or something better.

Humans can go to college, date, be an actor, actresses, heck, even garbage men.

Some people, in many most eyes, are viewed as heroes, police officers, firefighters, heck, even people who are just doing a small amount of good.

When we look at the earth thoroughly and see the truth about life, anything and anyone has to start simple before they can become something more significant.

Heck, when life proceeds, and as human lives grow, excitement rolls up, the feeling of achieving something or living off of adventure.

That's what I wanted as a kid, to become firm, to have a life full of excitement, adrenaline, heck, even adventure.

But that all blew over one day when I discovered I had leukemia.

My family was devastated, as my excitement and dreams were gone in one instant.

You see, I grew up in a world where people can have incredible powers, who all fight all kinds of monsters, creatures, and even aliens that invade our earth. I was so inspired by them during my Kemo treatment that I acted like I was one of them, living in excitement and adventure; I wanted to grow and become something better.

But, at that time, I was getting worse; my hair was all gone, my bones were brittle, and the doc said I had little time to live.

Until one day, a man visited me...a tall, bald man, his suit a bright yellow color, his cap blowing like a guardian angel.

He protected me and my room from a monster, a monster giant his size.

His eyes were filled with boredom, anger as his eyes met mine, noticing I was just like him. He also noticed the stupid wires connected to me, especially a breathing tube, which caused his heart to grow weak.

The way the man looked back at the monster, killing it with a single punch, I felt surprised and scared?

His hand was near mine as he dropped some type of metal circle, which fell to the floor where his eyes met.

I sensed that something was bothering him, knowing he may have lost someone he cared about.

Without hesitation, I grasped the man's hand, which made him look at me.

He could sense my worry as my tiny feet stood on the bed, heading closer to him as he kneeled. "Mister, I'm sorry," I said as he kneeled down to me blankly. "Why are you sorry? I should be sorry for wrecking your room." My head shook. "It's just a room; you lost someone, didn't you?" His head tilted. "What do you mean-Oh." He realized what you were discussing as his hands picked up a metal ball. "He seemed important...did that monster kill him?" His eyes looked to you again, not knowing what to say as he hated to tell little ones lousy news. But, again, a hero doesn't lie, as this kind of stuff strikes the man in the heart."You're a smart one, Kid, and yes...his name was Genos; you pretty brave when that monster came; what's your name?" "Y/n. Y/n L/n, what's your name, Mister?" He smiled slightly. "Saitama, you have a nice name; we have unique styles; your hair is fabulous today, Y/n." He patted your head as you giggled with the feeling of his rubber gloves. "I don't have hair, neither do you, Mister Saitama; how did you lose your hair?" "Hmm.." He looked up to his head, then back to you, "A monster ate it." Your eyes widened. "No way, really? Was the monster you just beat up the one that ate your hair?!" Saitama chuckled slightly as his head shook. "No, let's just say the monster was friendly. Did the same thing happen to you-" He paused when your face turned sad as you looked at your hands. "Have you heard of the disease called leukemia?" His heart broke while nodding. "Yeah, it's a type of cancer...is that...how you lost your hair?" Looking up at Saitama, tears glossed over your orbs as you nodded. "It happened a year ago, just before my parents passed away. We're so poor we didn't know how my treatment would go, but after the monsters killed them, I was handed to an orphanage, and they took me here to get treated. Funny huh? Seeing a little girl going through the worse sickness in the world, alone, without family? I just wanted to be an ordinary girl with a life full of excitement and adventure. Instead, I'm hooked up to these stupid wires. Ugly, huh?" "No." You looked at him as he sat on the end of your bed. "I understand the feeling of wanting excitement and adventure, but having those in life doesn't make you a better person; excitement is what comes through you. Those wires, you being in here, still alive, excite me, and you're so brave. I mean, you just experienced something exciting; I kicked a monster's ass-" He paused what he just said as he slapped a hand over his mouth, as you giggled at his words. "Bad word, Saitama! No cursing allowed!" His hands went up with defense. "I did not say anything; you heard things Y/n. "That's a lie! You just sinned again!" "Oh no, what so ever will I do? Will though lord of this earth send me to damnation?" Standing on the bed, you smirk. "I, an Angel of God, she'll give you a chance to repent, and you will be sent to heaven like Genos is right now!" Getting up, Saitama kneeled and bowed his head.

"Oh gorgeous angel of heaven, please forgive my stupid, bald-headed self and accept my hands as I repent of the sins I committed." Heart warm and eyes sparkling, you grasped his hands easily as he looked up to your beautiful, bright smile. "You are forgiven, Hero!" Smiling, he stood up. "I'm glad; I didn't want to lose my best friend." Your eyes widened while your head tilted. "Best friend?! But, Mister, we just met-" "So? Let's call it an Instant connection-" *Boom!* An explosion was shown in the distance of your knocked-over wall, the floor rumbling from the impact as he looked at you quickly but calmly. "Duty calls, say, if I defeat this monster, ice cream is on me, okay?" His heart warmed from your excited face. "Really?!" "Of course, but in case I don't come back, here." Taking off his cape, he dropped it over your shoulders, which made your eyebrows furrow. "But, you need this-" His hand went up as destruction was still heard in the distance. "It's just a piece of clothing in my eyes; you seem to need it more than I do because what I see...." Walking closer to you, he gave one last head rub as he gave you a soft yet warm smile. "Is a hero...."

"A hero that deserves fairness in the world."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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fefe658 · 6 months ago

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Cw: mild gore

Sizeshifting superhero, known for being kind and gentle and caring. They use their power for good, always making sure to keep a low voice when they're big, being extra careful not to damage anything when they walk trough the city streets.

They hold an incredible amount of power, and yet they're always so careful with it.

One day, their team is fighting against a villain, and the battle gets very heated.

In the action, the villain manages to kill/badly injure the shifter's significant other, and the shifter snaps.

For a moment, the shifter is fighting against some goons. The next, they're a dozen times their original size, teary eyes staring right at the villain.

Before the villain can even move, a fist five times their size collides against their body. Then again, and again, and again.

The shifter hears a scream: not from the villain, not from their minions, but from one of their teammates.

They open their eyes, and can barely see trough their own tears. Tiny, blurry figures scrambling around, some of them staying deathly still.

Finally, they snap out of their grief induced craze, and look at their blood stained hands, and at the petrified faces of their teammates.

It happened. They lost control. They finally slipped up. They're no better than who they had just killed.

Villain was right, they were just a tragedy waiting to happen.

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t community #fearplay #g/t scenario

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bravevolunteer · 3 months ago

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SCOOPED MICHAEL — THE MASTERLIST

A compilation of headcanons detailing the scooping, its physical and mental effects, and how Michael manages it. Meant to function as a guide/archive with answers to the most common questions. Warning for descriptions of body horror / gore ( primarily in the first two sections ), as well as mentions of dissociation, suicidal ideation, and theoretical substance use.

THE SCOOPING / ENNARD / REMNANT

Upon being lead to the Scooping Room during his final night at Circus Baby's Entertainment and Rental, Michael was met with the room's namesake: a device designed to destroy animatronics and pull out their endoskeletons. Stood directly in front of it, its excavating arm easily tore through Michael's flesh when it went off.

The first wound was the most brutal, tearing a large gash from Michael's naval all the way up to his sternum, the primary entry point located between the ribcage and pelvis. The machine began to pull out his organs ( though they did have to be removed in pieces ), before jerking back and leaving Michael slumped against the opposite wall. He was only conscious for a few moments afterwards, just enough to feel the excruciating pain and look down at the blood and viscera spilling out before everything went dark.

Since the Scooper wasn't built for human disembowelment, it was not a clean removal. Ennard either likely had to use it again a couple times or manually pull out the excess in order to crawl inside. Michael is left with all his internal organs removed and a heavily damaged ribcage, along with all additional damage from Ennard using him as a skinsuit.

The scooper contains a remnant injector, which was administered to Michael from the machine's reservoir when it made contact. While his body sustains sufficient damage, this is what keeps him from dying.

While Michael is alive when Ennard pilots him, he is not necessarily conscious OR entirely unaware. He exists in a sort of in-between state, fluctuating through varying levels of awareness. As a result, he does have memories of this time, but they are incredibly blurry and disjointed. What he remembers most is the feeling of it rather than specific moments: watching his own body move without his control, the different entities inside him fighting to take over.

The amount of time that Ennard is in control is left open— based on the regular pace of human decay, it would likely be at most two weeks before existence became unbearable, but this can be slowed due to remnant.

Ennard leaving his body was equally messy— they emerged primarily through his chest as well as his mouth ( leaving significant tearing on the side of his face ), coming out a gruesome amalgamation of wires, eyes, and blood.

Michael wakes on the sidewalk, fully in control of himself. The remnant keeping him alive is best described as Michael essentially possessing his own body— he still has a grasp on some senses, as damaged as they are, but he is technically using himself as a husk about as much as Ennard was.

APPEARANCE:

When Ennard leaves his body, it has significantly decayed. The state of his appearance is reflective of actual decomposition stages, however it tends to linger somewhere between due to the strange grey area he exists within. The decay eventually exists in a state of mostly stagnation.

His skin gradually discolors to a pale, purplish shade. It's not literally bright purple, but closer to extremely pale with purple undertones, similar to this shade pre-advanced decay ( image depicts drawn stages of decomposition )

He looks sickly: his face is sunken and seems hollow with noticeable eyebags. He keeps his hair due to the slow pace at which it tends to decompose normally, but it thins out and he will lose some ( if that becomes noticeable, he'll eventually get a wig ).

Injuries / scars : Largest is the gash from the scooper. While that wound doesn't actively bleed, it never really heals and stitches tend not to hold, leaving him with the hole in his chest exposing what's left of his bones and insides. Deep gash on right cheek exposing teeth ( from Ennard's exit ). Assorted scars across his torso, limbs, and face. Gashes in areas where Ennard would poke out that he has to actively keep stitched up.

The wounds that he keeps stitched do tend to reopen, either when he's in rough physical circumstances or just when it's been awhile, requiring Michael to replace them himself. He's definitely also had to stitch back on a finger or two.

As an unruly amalgamation of wires, there are some pieces of Ennard that were left behind. Mostly stray wiring lodged in his body. It doesn't cause problems as much as it's simply there, but it does sort of help to hold his mess of leftover internal parts in place.

Michael puts in significant effort to hide these aspects of his appearance in public. He wears clothing that covers most of his body, frequently layers, usually wears a jacket ( this is the black trench coat scooped Michael agenda ). All clothing has a dark color palette to avoid drawing attention to himself.

He'll also wear accessories to conceal parts of himself that clothes don't: gloves, hats, sunglasses, cloth masks

Underneath the clothing, he usually has bandages wrapped around sensitive areas on his arms and legs, occasionally some on the side of his face. This both prevents him from worsening any injuries and hides them should his clothes not be enough.

Will sometimes use makeup: not a significant amount, just enough to make his face appear a more humanlike shade

PHYSICAL:

Michael experiences constant chronic pain— this eventually becomes his default state to the point where he's learned to function within his limits, but it was a difficult adjustment. The intensity fluctuates depending on circumstances. Pain is most common around around his chest/ribcage area and during extended periods of standing or walking. He does have to move or stretch, though, or else the pain will come from stiffness in his limbs.

Although he doesn't always require them to walk, Michael will sometimes use a mobility aid. He has a straight cane with an orthopedic handle and two forearm crutches that he picks between depending on needs and location, but they both reduce strain and make movement easier.

The oldest Michael possibly is when scooped is 25, though the default placement is around 23. Therefore, he is still physically that age, just decayed.

Eat and drink: Michael is unable to eat or drink anything, as he doesn't have the necessary functioning to process food. His sense of taste and smell is dulled as well. He does still chew gum often, as it's harmless and provides a small sense of normalcy.

Substance use: Obviously cannot drink alcohol either ( no liver ) and smoking/drugs would have no effect. He can technically try, but with no lungs any inhalants would simply... pass right through him. Swallowing doesn't work for the same reasons he can't process food. Snorting is technically viable but his brain functioning makes the effect debatable and the risk of further damaging his body is high.

Sleep: Not required, he doesn't get any benefits from it but he CAN still sleep. When he does, it's usually to pass the time since there's only so much he can do ( more common in intense depressive episodes ). He does still experience constant nightmares, though, which usually makes the experience more of a hassle than it's worth. Ultimately, he has a similar sleep schedule to when he was alive, disjointed and chaotic.

Breathing: Not required, no lungs. He no longer breathes "by default," though it took some time for that instinct to fade. It kicks back in during moments of distress where he'll breathe raggedly/gasp for air he doesn't need, the attempt to catch his breath is entirely mental ( can be seen in 3/PS ). He will also intentionally breathe sometimes as a more human response/familiar motion.

Temperature: He's always cold, no longer able to feel warm temperatures much. The cold doesn't necessarily bother him much, either, it feels like a neutral state. This does help when it comes to wearing layers.

Michael does still bleed... in a way. Blood isn't constantly being pumped through his body anymore, but whatever's left will leak out of certain injuries when they reopen ( more likely in forearms and legs due to livor mortis ).

He's unable to cry, as his tear ducts no longer produce the fluids for it. He sure can feel like it, though.

Biggest weakness is extreme heat. It neutralizes remnants' effects, which is why burning is the method used to free the trapped souls/himself.

External damage to his body won't kill him, but invulnerability to death doesn't mean it'll heal. This is why the animatronics still pose a real threat to him: being stuffed into a suit would destroy his body even more and he would simply go on to possess that instead. He'd rather deal with the existence he's adjusted to.

MENTAL:

In addition to his onslaught of pre-existing mental health issues, Michael develops depersonalization-derealization disorder. While he had experienced dissociative symptoms before, the intensity and frequency at which they occur increases. This is rooted in his body being piloted against his will, the disconnect between his mind and what he sees in the mirror, and the isolated experience from floating between life and death.

He will often feel as if he's watching himself from outside his own body, numbness— fundamentally disconnected from his thoughts, feelings, body, and surroundings. He also has a warped sense of time caused both by dissociation and existing in isolation for so long.

When he isn't simply numb, the state he lives in amplifies his constant exhaustion, loneliness, and depression. The emotional pain dulls into dejected acceptance over time, but nothing necessarily eases the loss.

Michael continues to survive solely based on his drive to put everything to an end by killing his father and freeing his victims, both out of empathy and a desire for atonement. He doesn't have a will to live anymore outside of that, which is why he maintains that he'll burn with them.

LIFESTYLE:

Michael Afton has been legally recognized as a missing person since his last night at the warehouse. Michael does not try to combat this ( letting the government know what happened to him doesn't strike him as a great idea! ) and instead works within these lines. He uses multiple fake identities over the years to get apartments, bank accounts, and jobs. Sticking around Fazbear Locations and housing that doesn't have many qualms around shady practices makes it easier.

While he did have to put significant effort into learning how to forge documents... he's more inclined to bullshit things around Fazbear since he knows it'll work anyway. This shows in his tendency to make up aliases on the spot, which he's never been that good at coming up with ( Mike Schmidt, for example )

Although Michael has his aforementioned methods of disguising himself, he primarily lives in isolation to lower the risk of anyone catching on. He is either at home or at work, not much else between, and he tends to be incredibly secretive at the jobs where he does get the chance to interact with others.

He has a handful of stories he switches between to excuse his unconventional appearance: burn victim, claiming to have a "rare genetic disease," pretending to be a germaphobe ( to explain the clothes ), or simply pretending there's nothing weird about it.

#⁂ ･ﾟ: none of us belong‚ everything i do is wrong‚ and soon there will be nobody left around ➛ headcanons #body horror tw #gore tw #🧍‍♂️ hello #i knew this would end up an essay but jfc this ended up as an ESSAYYYY #it's okay that's the point. this is my headcanon archive it's mostly for me to reference when i forget my own answers LMAO #props to whoever reads all of this but i don't expect anyone to DSHJFK

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dotchi18 · 1 month ago

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just saw your latest post‼️strap in bc i have questions ‼️‼️

1) please tell me more about the Rosen family!!! I'm especially curious about their ties to magic (bc the protective charm, rose changing color)

2) tell me more about the Rosen brothers! you wrote about Adam but what about mysterious brother #2??

3) do the Rosen family have any power over the village? are they powerful? do they assume a "leader" role ? are they well liked? what do the other villagers think of them?

4) what about the Rosen parents? what's their story?

5) what's up with the in-between? why was the mermaid able to break through our protection chart but other monsters weren't?

6) briar... tell me more... he seemed super suspicious (i think i mentioned this before lol) with his timing, how he "disposed" of the corpse

7) leader!!! can't forget about my fav cult!!! what's leaders name? what's his background like? why do him and the followers work for psy?

8) do you have an information about the setting/time period? i know darling is from a village and the Rosens are basically next door neighbors but what does the architecture look like? what's the magic history?

i know this is a lot of words at once lol don't feel obligated to answer everything!!! i love the world you've created and i just would love to get more information on everything 😭😭 please don't feel pressured to answer!!

I am more than willing to answer your questions Cup!

*Claps hands* Strap in Boys, this is a long one!

Short and sweet answer to that is that they actually have Alarune (Flower Monster) blood within them, which gives their human descendants distinct Rose-Colored hair, and an affinity to nature itself. Those powers include being exceptionally good with plants, being able to make them protective charms if they hope hard enough, and being resistant to a lot of things that would kill a human (Adam has been gored by steers multiple times and refuses to die.)

2. Mysterious Brother #2 is Gabriel Rosen. He is the Black Sheep of the Family considering he hates living in their backwater town and has tried to leave, but it was not successful, stranding him back with his family, and he takes all that frustration on everyone else.

3. The Rosen family has significant influence over the town. Many people have already drawn the conclusion that their Roses protect the Village- especially when it's only less than a day's trip from the Deep Forest- so they rely on the family as their protectors.

They are well-liked for their Southern Charms and friendly demeanors- 'cept Gabe but some people like being bullied-, Adam attends many a Town Meeting and Sonny is quite literally the town Darling who could get anyone to do anything for him with just a bright smile and a hint of a suggestion that he needs or wants something.

4. Mama Rosen has the same Alarune blood her boys carry, and from that she's a bit wild behind the eyes, especially when she had it particularly strong within her.

She fell in love with Papa Rosen, and it was all over for that man.

He tried to pass onto his sons that loving someone was to let them choose what they wanted, but the amount his sons had absorbed from him varies, from Gabe who doesn't give a shit, to Sonny, who thought the world of his Pa and took his words deep into his heart before his passing.

5. The In-Between is the thin margin between the dangers of both The Thicket and The Glen, not marked on the player's map because they had an old one, but it's basically where adventurers go before they branch off into parts of the Deep to find what they want.

And the Mermaid was a slightly more powerful monster than any small fry monsters that were being warded off by the flower.

If you hadn't been wearing it, you would have encountered a few snake monsters or wolf monsters that would have been a bit of pain for you.

6. Briar is indeed pretty suspicious, probably granted to the fact he had been following you since he saw you with Leader and the Followers trying to get to the Mushroom Merchant, and then kind of just... followed you from there.

He's a Ranger that's lived in the Deep for a long time, but Psy's hard to pin down if they don't want to be found.

But he was being genuine about how he finds that disposing of corpses by feeding the Forest to be the best route. It has done well for him in the past.

7. Leader does not remember their name.

Leader does not care to remember that, nor where they came from.

All that matters to them is that they are part of the Collective.

They are useful.

They are so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so happy to be where they are.

Especially when they have such a kind merchant who feeds them the divine mushrooms that never ever lets them be sad or afraid, ever again.

8. Honestly it was a kind of generic fantasy setting to see where to put them in, a mishmashing blend of old and new, considering the Rosens have a farmhouse, but you have a cottage.

There are carts on the road, however there are other magical ways to get around.

All magic exists from the earth, but the crust has been opened and dug into.

Honestly I need to put more time and thought into it more than I have, it's a good world and it needs refinement.

#original yandere characters #Leader oc #Sonny Rosen #Psy the Mushroom Merchant #Briar the Wood Elf #Long Answer #some world building!#Answers #I love answering Questions!

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bluejackals · 2 months ago

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ken beats parrot up part 2/3 (she for real does here)

summary: continuation of this, where parrot's like hey do you want to beat me up a little because I was a big jerk to wifies.

notes: @saiintofdiirt I also tried to incorporate omz mask's not-so-subtle influence teehee along the way some of my own headcanons also found their way in

word count: 1128

warnings: blood, violence, maybe a bit of gore? not sure if it counts as that, but just in case.

---

Ken’s thought about this a little. A sword or axe would be quick, and so would harming potions. He could use poison, get Parrot down to half a heart and then finish it with his own hands.

Or they could go manual the whole way. That piques the interest of the part of Ken that twitches when bright, feathery things pass in their peripheral vision. But first—he needs to try something. Ken takes out an unenchanted bow, nocks an arrow, and shoots it at Parrot’s left arm. It sinks readily into his flesh as Parrot winces slightly.

He really did mean it. Ken was pretty sure, but now they’re very sure. The adrenaline in their veins bubbles and sparks up and their vision hones in on their target.

The first swing goes to Parrot’s nose. It cracks under Ken’s netherite-covered knuckles, red spilling down and staining Parrot’s shirt. The sound is so, so satisfying. Parrot stumbles backwards but stays on his feet, not bothering to stop the flow of blood.

The next swing breaks a rib. It’s Ken’s boots hiting cloth this time, and he knows the rib breaks because he hears the noise and because Parrot doubles over coughing. It makes him shorter than Ken. His wings flutter once, like he wants to shield himself but won’t.

Ken kicks him again, in the stomach. Just to get him down on the ground, so Ken can put a heel on the broken rib, a gentle pressure that still makes Parrot gasp and twitch. It won’t deal a significant amount of damage, so Ken still has a good amount of hearts to drop, and it makes her blood sing.

“You made Wifies cry,” Ken says. “But you know what else you did, Parrot? You took away any agency he had over his origins. He didn’t have a lot in the first place. He didn’t get to have a lot. And then you stole one of the few choices he could make.”

“I know,” Parrot wheezes. Blood trickles into his mouth; he spits it out.

Ken nocks another arrow and shoots it into Parrot’s leg. “I don’t care. I care that it happened.” He can feel the anger inside him rising, like storm clouds gathering. He can pick out every detail on Parrot’s face—the crooked nose, the drying, clotting blood, the texture of the feathers beneath his eyes, the pain woven into the way his eyes narrow and widen, clear as they still are. It makes the adrenaline rush solidy into something like a diamond in his chest, glittering with fury. With power. Because—

“You may have offered this, but you’re out of the driver’s seat now,” Ken says. “You gave me the power in this situation.”

Power, power, power. The word floats in Ken’s head, hazy and delicious. He has all the power to make Parrot hurt even a fraction of the amount Wifies did.

A healing potion tumbles into Ken’s hand, the bottle cool against his palm. He uncorks it and dumps the contents on Parrot. The broken rib shifts, mending itsef.

Then she stomps down. Two ribs break this time. Parrot yelps.

To match the two broken ribs, Ken puts another two arrows in Parrot’s arms—one in each, dirtying the jacket with blood. She re-breaks Parrot’s nose. She lowers herself down, claws coming to rest on Parrot’s exposed throat, and the rapid flutter of his pulse makes the blood in her ears pound. Her vision narrows down, blurring a little.

Power, power, power. This doesn’t feel like enough. Ken rummages through their inventory and pulls out a poison potion and a regeneration potion, splashing both onto Parrot and ignoring the throb of poison through themselves—a quick gulp of milk removes the effect from them. It’s Parrot who twitches uncontrollably, because poison stops working at half a heart but the regeneration keeps bringing those hearts back. Ken putting more weight on the broken ribs definitely isn’t helping him.

It still isn’t enough. Parrot will never know how much heartbreak he caused Wifies. Ken brings out an axe. Aims the blunt end at Parrot’s right wing. Brings it down. There’s a dull cracking noise as the humerus snaps. This is fine, because broken bones heal after a totem pops. This isn’t the same as cutting his wings. This is the feeling of something precious breaking and isn’t that what Parrot put Wifies through?

Power, power, power. Ken shifts to Parrot’s left wing. Lifts the axe. Brings it down. It’s the radius that breaks this time. They can smell the emotions rolling off of Parrot, and it’s intoxicating.

Sharp, piercing pain in their leg. Pain that starts to burn. Ken looks down at their leg to see Parrot’s talons embedded in a gap in the armor, sunken into flesh.

He said he wouldn’t interfere. He said he’d let me. He—

“Ken.” Parrot’s voice is soft and impossibly steady. “Ken. Are you okay?”

“What?” Why is their voice so hoarse? Like they haven’t used it? Why do they have a headache?

Parrot lets out a long wavering breath. “Sorry in advance.”

“W—”

The burning sensation in their leg flares out into an inferno that laces through Ken’s veins and turns blood to molten metal. Their vision crashes into white and gold and blue, and for a moment it feels like a star is trying to claw its way out of Ken.

And then it ceases, so abruptly that the cessation is also agony. It sends needles through their throat just to breathe, and yet the headache is gone and their head feels…clear. Ken’s vision is normal again too.

“What the—what the fuck?” The words stumble out of his raw, aching throat. “Parrot, what the fuck did you do?” Ignore the other question: what the fuck was I doing?

Parrot is panting, eyes sliding shut. “Kill me first. You—you haven’t popped the totem.”

Ken puts his claws to Parrot’s throat again. It doesn’t feel the same, but she’s still angry—she thinks she’s still angry enough—so she clamps down and rips open his jugular.

His blood is burning hot as it spills out. It doesn’t take long for him to die. He flops and there’s a wet gasping noise and then the totem shatters in his hand and he lurches back to life, flesh twining and blood replenishing and skin knitting back together. The bloodstains fade. Ken stares at Parrot’s face, but not at his fixed nose.

For a moment, when the totem popped, Parrot’s eyes shone not blue or green, but gold.

Ken manages to slide off and to the side as Parrot sits up and immediately eats a golden apple. Probably for saturation, since the totem should’ve put everything else back to normal.

“What the fuck just happened?” Ken bites out.

#bluejackals bites

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alicevanderlinde · 1 year ago

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Echos of Love

TW: Torture, Blood, Gore, Mutilation, Amputation, mentions of death, starvation, dehydration- the works. If you're easily triggered by any of those things above, I highly suggest you don't read this.

Additional tags: Angst, Love, Emotional (I cried while writing this) Dark, Tragedy, Hurt, Pain, Recovery, mentions of pregnancy, Pregnancy. There's more I probably should add but my two brain cells have worked hard on this and I think they've reach max capacity sooo... Yeah.

I left this off on a small cliffhanger but I do have intentions of finishing it but also I was thinking about writing about the events leading up to this, so if you're interested please let me know.

Word count: 7064

Anyway with that, let's get into it. Hopefully you enjoy!

Alice's body jerks as the sensation of ice-cold water cascades over her, silencing her gasp with a cloth gag. Her eyes snap open, momentarily startled by the unexpectedness of the situation before quickly shutting again, wincing at the harsh brightness that intensifies her throbbing headache. The muscles in her arms ache, pleading for relief under the weight that agonizingly strains them. Judging by the relentless pain coursing through her, she surmises that she has been suspended like this for a significant amount of time.

Summoning all her strength, Alice forces her eyes open once more, only to find three men standing before her. While two of them remain unfamiliar, the man in the middle is unmistakably Colm O'Driscoll, her father's long-time rival. Alice scolds herself internally for allowing herself to be apprehended, despite her valiant attempts to elude them. She had resorted to violence, even inflicting harm upon some of them, but it all proved to be in vain.

In contrast to his associates, Colm appears immaculate, save for his unkempt, graying hair. Dressed in a white suit and matching hat, he exudes a certain elegance that clashes with the rough appearance of his companions. He commands the others to depart, and they promptly comply, leaving Alice alone with him.

"I must say, Miss Van Der Linde, or should I say Mrs. Morgan, I am delighted that you could join us." Colm remarks, his tone dripping with an unsettling satisfaction.

Alice mumbles something unintelligible, her words muffled by the gag. Frustration pushes her to exhale forcefully through her nose, eliciting a pleased chuckle from the well-dressed man.

"You see, my dear, it is quite rude to speak with your mouth full." He taunts with a touch of amusement, his grimy fingers tenderly tracing her cheek. Alice instinctively pulls her face away, desperate to escape his nauseating touch, but her bound position restricts any significant movement.

"I thought your daddy would've taught you better by now." Colm jests, his fingers now slowly exploring the contours of her jawline and descending towards her exposed chest to the small swell of her belly.

As Colm's fingers trace her small baby bump, she shudders, desperately trying to pull away, but the unforgiving chains that bind her keep her in place. She feels dwarfed and helpless, like a mouse trapped in a lion's den.

Tears stream down her face, uncertainty gnawing at her as she wonders if Dutch, her father, or Arthur, her lover, even know where she is. She had never meant to run off like she did, but the overwhelming influx of pregnancy hormones and anger had driven her away from the safety of the camp. Surely, they would've figured something was wrong by now, it's been weeks.

"Now, I demand answers, and you will provide them to me," Colm states, pausing momentarily to remove her gag. "If not, I will be compelled to do something I would rather not."

Her glare is defiant, but she remains silent.

He retrieves a cattle brand from the glowing embers of the fireplace, brandishing it dangerously close to her face, the intense heat radiating towards her. She instinctively closes her eyes, exhaling a breath she had unknowingly been holding.

"I won't tell you a damn thing." She declares with unwavering confidence, despite the fear coursing through her veins.

Shaking his head in disappointment, Colm clicks his tongue disapprovingly. The brand makes contact with her ribcage, causing her to scream in agony as she tries to lurch forward. Her hands, securely tied above her head, prevent any significant movement, intensifying the numbing pain that had plagued her arms for what felt like an eternity.

Her stomach churns, threatening to reject whatever little contents it holds as the stench of seared flesh lingers in the air. Struggling to catch her breath, every gasp a reminder of the torment, her cries transform into mocking, humorless chuckles.

"Go to hell." she croaks, her voice dry and hoarse from dehydration. Her head hangs low, her body growing weary from weeks of relentless torture. Every inch of her being throbs with excruciating pain, no part of her spared from these unspeakable acts.

"Now, I've instructed my boys to go easy on you because of your condition, but my patience is wearing thin, and your time is running out." he sneers.

Lifting her sunken head, she meets his gaze with a hollow chuckle. How could he possibly consider daily beatings as a lenient treatment? "You can't kill me... I'm too valuable, and we both know it."

"Don't flatter yourself, Alice. You're just as disposable as your mother was." he says, his voice laced with a sinister chuckle, aware of the pain those words cause her.

Her face twitches with sadness, the mention of her mother striking a devastating chord within her.

"You remember that, don't you? The way her head rolled on the ground after I severed it." he cruelly recalls.

Of course, she remembers. She was forced to witness the horrifying act as he took her mother's life. Her mother's agonized cries still echo in her mind to this very day.

As if on cue, the two men from before enter the room, brandishing the very axe used in her mother's brutal demise. The blade, still stained with her mother's blood after all these years, glistens menacingly.

She closes her eyes, desperately trying to transport her mind to a different place, but Colm grabs her chin with an iron grip, forcing her to confront the horrifying reality before her.

"Bring her down." Colm demands to his men, and they swiftly comply, handing the axe to Colm before approaching her and releasing the chains that had bound her wrists.

She collapses to the ground, her legs tingling painfully from being suspended for what feels like an eternity. Before she can gather enough strength to lift herself, the men forcefully drag her to the coffee table, compelling her to extend her right arm onto its surface. She resists, but his henchmen quickly remind her of her defiance by pressing a knife against her throat, while another firmly holds her arm in place.

Colm stoops down, examining the exquisite wedding ring on her finger-a symbol of the love Arthur had bestowed upon her-while the axe remains slung over his shoulder.

"Morgan spared no expense, did he?" he remarks, before straightening himself up and bringing the axe down with a brutal force that severs her arm right at the crook of her elbow. A blood-curdling scream escapes her lips, so loud and chilling that she can hardly believe it emanates from her own lungs. Through tears clouding her vision, she witnesses the vivid crimson spurt from the wound.

She slumps to the ground, clutching her severed arm, tears streaming uncontrollably as the pulsating pain resonates with each beat of her heart. All she yearns for is to be in Arthur's comforting embrace, where he would cradle her and whisper reassurances, promising that everything will be alright. However, the harsh truth sinks in-she is all alone, bleeding out.

Lost in her anguish, she fails to realize that Colm and his men have abandoned her, perhaps assuming she poses no threat or could easily escape.

With every passing second, her strength wanes, and she desperately scans the room for something to stem the bleeding, only to find nothing. Just as hope begins to fade, her gaze lands on the glowing embers in the fireplace.

Tears streaming anew, she shakes her head in disbelief. "Oh God, please, no!" she pathetically whispers, her throat raw and sore from her agonizing screams.

Summoning every ounce of strength, she painstakingly drags herself along the floor, reaching the fireplace. With great effort, she pulls herself up the small step, cautiously bringing her severed limb closer to the flickering flames. Through whimpers of pain, she feels the warmth searing the agonizing spot. Deep down, she knows that unless she cauterizes the wound now, death will be inevitable. Bracing herself, she presses what remains of her arm directly into the scorching flames, releasing a gut-wrenching scream as searing agony engulfs her.

She senses the blood curdling under the intense heat, every flicker of the flame reverberating through her entire being.

With sheer determination, she grits her teeth and forces herself to maintain her severed arm in place, emitting pitiful cries as the wound sears shut under the scorching flames. A mixture of relief and anguish washes over her when she finally deems it sufficiently cauterized. Slowly, she withdraws what remains of her arm, gasping for precious air as she teeters on the edge of consciousness.

The gang's tireless search for Alice has yielded no results, except for the sight of her trusted steed abandoned on the roadside, alongside her discarded weapons. The absence of any clue regarding her whereabouts, the unknown identity of her captors, and the uncertainty of her survival all mount with each passing day.

Over a month has elapsed, and the flickering flame of hope, once burning bright, now wavers perilously close to extinction.

Dutch bears the weight of guilt more heavily than the other members, haunted by the memory of pushing Alice away in a fit of rage when she dared to voice her dissent about their outlaw lives. She never revealed the reasons behind her stance, yet her resolve was unmistakable-leaving Dutch tormented with regret.

Arthur, returning from a mission assigned by Dutch, remained blissfully unaware of his wife's absence until a week had passed. Eagerly anticipating Alice's customary warm welcome upon his return home, he was instead met with somber faces and evasive gazes from his fellow gang members. In that moment, the sinking feeling of something being terribly amiss settled deep within him, amplifying when John urged him to speak with Dutch.

Reluctantly, Dutch disclosed the devastating news to Arthur, who, despite his exhaustion, roused himself and ventured once again into the unforgiving wilderness, embarking on a desperate quest to find his beloved.

Arthur, Dutch, John, Javier, Charles, and Kieran persistently continue their nomadic search for Alice, yet every day seems to lead them to another disheartening dead end. Assailed by sleepless nights, Arthur rises at dawn, unable to find solace in more than an hour of rest at a time, acutely aware of Alice's absence and longing for her comforting presence. He, in turn, rouses his weary comrades, commencing their search before the sun truly graces the sky.

Weeks turn into an agonizing blur of fruitless endeavors, leaving the men utterly fatigued. While their shared worry is palpable, hope has relinquished its grip on all but Arthur. His heart relentlessly yearns for his love, shattering a little more each day in her absence.

"Arthur, my boy, I understand your anguish, but we must return." Dutch's fatherly tone contends as Arthur finally succumbs to the overwhelming weight of exhaustion.

"She's out there somewhere, Dutch... We cannot abandon the search now." Arthur pleads desperately, his entreaty conveying the depth of his desperation.

"We will take two days to rest and regroup. We're going to find her, son." Dutch states firmly giving Arthur's shoulder an reassuring squeeze.

As Arthur prepares to protest, his gaze traverses the countenances of his comrades, their visages mirroring the toll their relentless quest has taken. Their exhaustion is unmistakable.

Arthur's thoughts consume him, separating him from the company of his fellow men as they journey back to camp. Haunted by the ghosts of Eliza and Issac, his mind is plagued by the agonizing memories of when he failed his own family. Fear grips him tightly, leaving him to dread the possibility that Alice will too become nothing more than a specter, leaving behind a trail of haunting recollections of their once cherished moments. Every stolen glance, every tender kiss, every loving embrace, and every passionate night of affection will be transformed into memories too painful for him to bear. Though these moments were filled with happiness, they now serve as cruel reminders of his own shortcomings.

Lost in his own inner turmoil, Arthur fails to notice the men have moved ahead, drawing nearer to the familiar refuge of the camp, hidden within the embrace of nature's lush thickets. The weight of the world seems to collapse upon him, draining the very life from within. His heart throbs with an anguish he could never have conceived, not even when Mary had shattered his heart.

Silence engulfs the world around him, depriving him of the once beautiful songs of nature. The vibrant hues that once charmed his eyes and mingled to create breathtaking sights are now invisible to his desolate gaze. Lost and trapped within the depths of this darkened pit of despair, Arthur finds himself unable to locate the way out, sinking deeper into the abyss.

The piercing shriek of a woman from the gang shatters Arthur's thoughts, snapping him into action. Urging Boadicea into a fierce sprint, he leaves the other men trailing behind in a swirling cloud of dust.

As Arthur reaches the scene, a cluster of women obscures his view, shielding him from something he is unsure if he is prepared to witness. Dismounting with remarkable speed, he moves through the gathering, his heart racing with desperate hope for answers.

Navigating through the crowd, a glimmer catches the corner of his eye, drawing his attention. And then he sees it: her arm, severed and coated in a crimson sheen of blood. His gaze fixates on the ring he had once given to her, still adorning her finger - A promise of a better future. It serves as a grim message delivered to the gang, a haunting message directed squarely at him.

A roar of anguish rumbles from Arthur's core as he crumbles to his knees. In that moment, all the pent-up emotions that had been simmering within him surge forth, overwhelming him. The hope he had clung to for finding her alive starts to slip away, leaving only a void of despair.

The men wade through the scene, their gaze fixated on the gruesome message laid bare before them. Dutch's eyes meet those of his gang members, seeing the distraught in their eyes, it break him. They yearn for his charismatic words of guidance and inspiration, but in this moment, his well of eloquence runs dry. He turns his back on the gang, just when they need him the most.

A heavy silence settles upon the group, broken only by the sound of shared sobs intertwining with Arthur's anguish. In this harrowing moment, every untamed soul within the gang is subdued, their spirits momentarily quelled by the weight of grief.

Alice stirs, awoken by the sharp pang of pain coursing through her weary and battered body. Trembling, she musters the strength to rise from the unforgiving ground, her every movement a testament to the weight of her abuse and the loss of her own precious blood. Leaning against the wall for support, she feels its steadfast presence providing a meager solace.

A deep breath steadies her as she observes her now cauterized arm, the wound still fresh and angry, radiating heat. The acrid scent of seared flesh lingers in the air, intensifying the nauseating feeling swirling within her gut.

Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, Alice's left hand begins tracing gentle circles on her belly. Throughout her cruel captivity, she has watched her belly slowly swell, a constant reminder of her entrapment. Bound and without respite, she has longed for the chance to touch and connect with the life growing inside her, a torment in itself.

Yet, a sense of empowerment surges within her as she realizes that this growing life within her has endured every ounce of suffering the O'Driscolls inflicted upon her. Against all odds, this child has clung to her, bringing a flicker of hope amidst the depths of her nightmares. Tears well up as laughter escapes her lips, envisioning the resilience and stubbornness inherited from his father. From the moment she discovered her pregnancy, she knew deep within that she would be blessed with a son.

And then, in that fleeting moment, she feels it-the delicate flutter of a tiny kick dancing at the tips of her fingers.

A loving smile graces her chapped lips as tears of joy spill from her eyes. "We're going to make it, Jr." she murmurs tenderly, embracing the glimmer of faith in their shared survival.

Grasping the mantle of the fireplace with a whimper, she hauls herself up, the soreness crashing over her body in relentless waves. Every fiber of her being protests, aching with the weight of agony she endures. Yet, fueled by an unwavering determination for her son and Arthur, she persists, forging ahead despite the torment.

With a sense of haste, she rummages through drawers, desperately searching for anything to cover her exposed flesh. Finally, she uncovers a worn shirt, its size engulfing her form, but she lacks alternatives and time is of the essence. Slipping it on, she finds solace in the makeshift garment, even if it embodies the appearance of a nightgown. Carefully, she knots the sleeve at the site of her missing arm, a task made all the more difficult without the aid of her right limb.

The longing for freedom tugs relentlessly at her heartstrings. The thought of breathing in the fresh air and feeling the comforting warmth upon her skin consumes her thoughts. As her fingers brush against the cold metal of the door handle, a gentle yet distinct kick in her belly redirects her attention, drawing her focus to the hushed voices of the O'Driscolls looming just beyond.

She scolds herself for allowing her desires to cloud her judgment, realizing the potential dangers that lie beyond the walls that confine her.

Realizing that her initial plan of simply walking out of this place is highly impractical, she starts to formulate a new, more cautious strategy. Being surrounded by O'Driscolls in their territory, she knows she must proceed with extreme caution to ensure her safe return home.

Without a clear idea of her location or the distance to camp, she understands the importance of careful planning and execution to navigate her way back.

She finds a fire poker and arms herself, preparing for whatever may lie ahead. She carefully assesses her surroundings before quietly making her way through a window, mindful of her limited mobility caused by the absence of her right arm. In a moment of misstep, she accidentally hits her seared stump against the window frame, suppressing a cry of pain and biting her lip to mask it. Instinctively she adjusts her position to protect her pregnant belly from any harm, landing on her side directly on her nub.

Lying face down in the dirt, she takes a moment to compose herself, determined to remain as inconspicuous as possible, breathing softly so as not to draw attention to herself.

She resents her own weakness, engulfed in feelings of self-pity as she becomes acutely aware of her helplessness in this moment. Overwhelmed by defeat and fury, she unleashes her frustration by forcefully punching the ground, silently weeping as the unrelenting pain taunts her body.

Upon hearing approaching footsteps, she swiftly hoists herself up from the ground, seeking immediate cover behind a crate. Her grip on the fire poker tightens so intensely that her pale skin turns even whiter.

For a brief moment, she closes her eyes, fully cognizant of the potential consequences her next move may bring. Her ears strain to catch the distinct crunch of gravel as the man's boots draw closer, his spurs audaciously jingling, taunting her senses.

As the man notices the open window, cursing under his breath, he becomes aware of the fact that she must be somewhere out here. He begins to open his mouth, likely to alert his comrades, but before he can utter a word, Alice bursts out of her hiding place, consumed by an unhinged rage. With a swift and brutal strike, she delivers a devastating blow to his head, splitting his skull open, causing his eye to violently dislodge from its socket.

He collapses to the ground lifelessly, already gone before his body hits the earth like a sack of potatoes. Alice, consumed by a red haze of rage, continues mercilessly attacking his lifeless form with the fire poker. With each crushing blow, his head becomes an unrecognizable mess of blood, skull fragments, and brain matter.

Gasping for breath, she fights to steady herself, battling the encroaching dizziness as she surveys her surroundings. Her eyes lock onto the horses tethered a few yards away from the entrance of the dilapidated cabin, but to her dismay, she realizes that four O'Driscolls are standing alongside them.

Her trembling hand retrieves the revolver from the fallen man's gunbelt, attempting to aim it at one of the O'Driscolls. But the horrific shaking in her hand, coupled with the fact that her dominant arm had been severed, makes it almost impossible to steady her aim.

In a desperate attempt to assert herself, she fires a warning shot into the air, hoping to catch their attention and draw them towards her location. Her heart pounding, she swiftly heads towards the woods, her plan to lead them away so she can seize one of the horses and embark into the unknown wilderness.

Moving with a lightness in her step, she cautiously observes the O'Driscolls from a safe distance as they cautiously approach their fallen comrade. Desperation fueling her movements, she sprints towards the horses, pushing against her body's desperate plea for rest.

With a swift motion, she mounts the closest horse, urgently digging her heel into its side, urging it into a full gallop. Struggling to control the horse with her remaining hand, she dreads the prospect of having to relearn everything. However, for now, such thoughts must be set aside. The sweet taste of freedom is tantalizingly close, and she is determined to grasp it.

She desperately scans her surroundings, her line of sight flickering in search of any clue about her location. Determined to focus on the journey and the destination rather than the pulsating pain at the end of her severed arm, she tries to ignore the agonizing throb that intensifies with each powerful stride of the horse. However, her hopes are dashed as her gaze is met only with the vastness of untouched nature stretching along the road. Normally, she would relish these moments, savoring the sights of new places at her own leisure. But now, her mind is consumed with finding her family.

Just as despair begins to creep in, her eyes catch sight of a weathered road sign, its carved wooden surface revealing the word "Annesburg." Relief washes over her, knowing that she has found what she sought. However, a heavy sense of trepidation settles in her heart. Recalling from memory, she realizes that Annesburg is a challenging two and a half days' ride from her current location, and that's without any breaks. Already drained by exhaustion, dehydration, and malnutrition, the thought of enduring such a grueling journey fills her with apprehension. She knows she must remain vigilant, constantly watchful for any danger lurking in the shadows.

Adding to her worries, she has no idea how to navigate her way from Annesburg to Horseshoe Overlook. The mental image of the map Arthur had gifted her is now nothing but a blurry recollection, leaving her feeling disoriented and lost.

Arthur finds solace within the confines of his tent, purposefully keeping the cloth flaps closed to shield himself from the outside world. Tears flow freely down his face, grief consuming him like never before. Clutched tightly in his hands, he holds onto the dress she wore on that fateful day, the day she became his.

As his fingers delicately trace the intricate designs woven into the soft fabric, memories flood his mind. He recalls how she transformed into a vision of ethereal beauty, her hair cascading in lustrous black curls, dancing freely in the wind. Accentuating her curves, a dress Arthur bought embraced her figure flawlessly. In that moment, she seemed otherworldly, a goddess worthy of adoration.

Arthur is forever captivated by the sparkle in her emerald green eyes, which shone with the warmth of the setting sun. Those eyes, filled with unconditional love and unspoken promises, are etched in his memory, an everlasting testament to their unbreakable bond.

He had always felt unworthy of her affection, constantly believing that she was far too good for him. She possessed an innate goodness, a selflessness that pushed her to help everyone within the gang and extend her helping hand to strangers in need. She would even put herself in harm's way to protect those she held dear. It was through these selfless acts that he had uncovered the depth of her feelings for him, as well as his own for her.

Their hidden emotions were finally revealed during a harrowing encounter with Bounty Hunters on a job. Surrounded and outgunned, fear may have gripped her heart, but her stoic facade remained unyielding. In the face of danger, her unwavering strength ignited a fire within Arthur, inspiring him to fight tooth and nail to escape the perilous situation they found themselves in...

As they cautiously made their way back to safety, Alice couldn't shake off the unease that lingered in her gut. She expressed her worry to Arthur, a faint whisper hinting that they were still being watched. Yet, her concerns were swiftly dismissed, her nervousness brushed aside as baseless fears. Arthur assured her that there was nothing to be concerned about, oblivious to the imminent danger.

But Alice's instincts proved sharper than his awareness. In an instant, she spotted the glint of a sniper's scope, long before Arthur even registered its presence. Time slowed as she valiantly threw herself in front of him, taking the bullet intended for his heart. It was a kaleidoscope of surrealism as a mist of crimson paint splattered the air, staining his face, forever etching the price she had paid for his safety. They narrowly escaped the ambush, and Arthur emerged unscathed, shielded by Alice's selflessness.

Her body bore the consequences of her heroic act, hanging on to the last remnants of consciousness. The following day, as she awoke from her slumber, Arthur hovered nearby, a mixture of anger and regret clouding his expression. He unleashed a torrent of emotions, blaming her for her recklessness, unable to comprehend why she had thrown herself into harm's way to save him. Initially, he allowed no room for her to respond, cutting her off at every attempt. But then, something within her snapped, and her voice rose defiantly, declaring, "I did it because I am in love with you!"

As her words hung in the air, Arthur fell silent, his hand absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. He yearned to protest, list all the reasons why she should not love him, highlighting scars and mistakes that marred his being. Yet, before he could utter a single word, she took advantage of his slightly agape mouth, meeting his lips with her own in a tender, passionate moment. In that unexpected kiss, he realized the truth - that those stolen glances, those blushes, and that sweet, innocent smile she reserved for him were all a reflection of her love. A love that accepted him for who he was, flaws and all, warming even the coldest reaches of his heart.

His lips quivered with a bittersweet smile as he recalled the extraordinary transformation that unfolded from that fateful day. A love story that once seemed unimaginable had unfolded before his eyes.

Their first time together was a tapestry of vulnerability and tenderness. He couldn't help but notice the scar on her shoulder, a permanent reminder of the sacrifice she made for him. It haunted him, threatening to overshadow the beauty that lay before him in the dimly-lit hotel room they had sought refuge in. Overwhelmed by guilt, he turned away, fearing for her safety and the uncertain future they faced. But, in that moment, she reached out and gently took hold of his hand, her eyes speaking volumes.

Their stolen moments of affection, concealed from prying eyes and her overbearing father, burst forth after a night of drunken vulnerability. Craving each other's touch, they longed to break free from the confines of secrecy. And, fueled by their profound connection, she summoned the courage to defy the disapproval of Dutch, choosing to stand by Arthur and declare her love.

The day he proposed to her was a moment suspended in a world beyond their troubles. Overwhelmed with stress from Dutch's interference in their relationship and her own fears of Arthur pulling away, she had been carrying a heavy burden that week.

Unbeknownst to her, Arthur's distant behavior was not due to Dutch but rather his own struggle to find the perfect way to propose. His heart ached with memories of Mary Linton rejecting his marriage proposal, her father's disapproval leaving him feeling unworthy. That night, as the gang gathered around the comforting glow of the campfire, Arthur felt a surge of determination.

Taking her trembling hand, he admitted his regrets for the distance between them and revealed his intention to make amends. With a tender sincerity, he knelt down before her, offering a ring he had saved for months. The emotions consumed him, causing him to deviate from the rehearsed poem he had written. Instead, his heartfelt confession of love flowed effortlessly from his lips, surpassing his anticipation.

The joyous reaction she unleashed as he slipped the ring onto her finger remains etched in his memory. The exhilarating sound of her excited squeal reverberated through his mind, propelling him to rise and meet her lips with an overwhelming surge of affection.

And on the day they joined in matrimony, a month before her eventual disappearance, everything fell into place with a sense of urgency and secrecy. With the assistance of his loyal gang members, Arthur orchestrated a spontaneous celebration, transforming the camp into a romantic haven. John, understanding the importance of the day, took Alice into town to keep her occupied.

Little did Alice know, as she went about her day, that her own secret was about to be revealed. Seeking answers for occasional sickness, she had visited a doctor who confirmed the miracle growing within her womb-an unexpected pregnancy already one month along. Overwhelmed with worry that Arthur might abandon her, she confided in John, who reassured her that Arthur would embrace this second chance for family.

As the day wore on, anticipation built within Alice. John brought her back to camp, her eyes widening in astonishment and disbelief at the sight before her. A trail of delicate rose petals guided her, until she found Dutch standing proudly, his arm outstretched to escort his daughter down the makeshift aisle. Tears brimmed in Dutch's eyes, a mixture of joy and bittersweet emotions as he fulfilled his role.

Arthur, having taken meticulous care to prepare himself, stood awaiting his bride. He had meticulously groomed himself, receiving a fresh haircut and trimming his beard to a handsome 5 o'clock shadow. He even had a suit tailored for the occasion. Alice's heart swelled with love and admiration as she took in his dashing appearance.

To set the perfect ambiance, Javier strummed his guitar, serenading the couple with heartfelt songs of love. The melodies filled the air, enhancing the profound significance of the moment.

The kiss they shared in that poignant moment, right after sealing their vows, transcended any previous display of affection. It was an electrifying connection that stirred their very souls and left an indelible mark on their lives.

Aware of the profound impact this news would have on their future, Alice made a conscious decision to keep her pregnancy a secret for the time being. She understood the responsibilities of Arthur's upcoming lengthy and perilous job, which would separate them for at least a week. Alice was determined not to distract him or inadvertently endanger him.

The entrance of the tent allows a stream of blinding light to infiltrate, momentarily obstructing Arthur's vision. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he discerns the silhouette of a familiar figure, John.

"Hey Arthur, how are you?" John's voice carries a blend of hesitancy and sorrow.

Arthur's mind is consumed with thoughts of Alice-how she's faring, or if she's even alive. "I'm... alright." he musters weakly, hardly convincing even himself.

"I know you miss her, Arthur. We all do." John offers empathetically.

"She ain't your wife." Arthur retorts defensively, unintentionally lashing out amidst a whirlwind of emotions. His frustration unwittingly directed at John.

"No, but she's like a little sister to me." John utters with a heavy sigh, taking a seat on the chair beside the cot. His eyes dart nervously, while he rhythmically taps his knees.

"John, I appreciate you checkin' in on me, but right now, I just want to be alone." Arthur confesses solemnly, yearning for solitude with only her presence.

"There is something I need to tell you... about Alice." John discloses, sensing Arthur's eagerness. However, an overwhelming hesitation freezes him, unsure if he should share the information.

John's continued silence exacerbates Arthur's sense of foreboding.

"What?" Arthur presses, observing the wheels turning in John's mind.

"I... It can wait. It ain't my place to tell." John says, shaking his head. He alone bears the knowledge of Alice's secret, the life growing within her, and the burden weighs heavily upon him. John acknowledges that Arthur deserves to know he will be a father once again, but he can hardly begin to fathom how Arthur will react. With the uncertainty surrounding Alice's well-being, adding news of her pregnancy to the mix would only deepen Arthur's anguish.

"What the hell do you mean it's not your place to tell me?!" Arthur stands tall, gripping John's shirt and forcibly lifting him from his seat. "What do you know about my wife?!"

"Arthur, you can't handle what I have to say!"

"Tell me, damn it!"

"I can't." John insists.

"You sure as hell can!"

"Arthur, please calm down."

"Just tell me! I can't stand not knowin' any more!"

"She's pregnant, Arthur!" John finally confesses. In that frozen moment, the world stands still. Arthur's grip on John's shirt loosens, causing John to stumble and collapse onto the ground.

Arthur's anxiety causes his chest to heave uncontrollably, his world crumbling around him with even greater intensity. Observing the flicker of unwavering determination within Arthur's piercing icy-blue eyes, John quickly rises and places a steadying hand on his chest.

"Arthur, you can't venture back out there." John pleads urgently.

"I won't waste another moment waitin'. I'm goin' to find her." Arthur declares resolutely, forcefully bypassing John and striding purposefully across the camp.

"Arthur, you ain't in the right state of mind. You need to rest." John implores, trailing closely behind.

"And sit idly while whoever has her inflicts more harm? There's no way in hell I'm stayin' here." Arthur retorts, his gaze fixed ahead as he forges onward, with John doggedly following in his wake.

"She wouldn't want you to sacrifice yourself, Arthur." John says, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Those words strike a raw nerve within Arthur, causing him to abruptly turn and stalk over to John. He halts inches away, leaning in close with a dangerous intensity. The scent of cigarette smoke lingers on Arthur's breath, a testament to his inner turmoil.

"How could you possibly know what the hell she would want?" Arthur growls icily, his fists clenched tightly by his side.

"What if something were to happen to you? What if you were to die? If she's still alive, it would devastate her."

"I can't bear not knowin' if she's alive or dead. And now, knowin' that my child is growin' inside of her, I won't rest until I find her, even if it means dyin' in the process."

"What if she returns and you're not here?"

"I failed her once already. I need to find her." Arthur asserts, his voice filled with anguish. "She's my entire world, John. The pain of not knowin' if she's safe is tearin' me apart."

"We don't have any leads on her whereabouts. We don't even know who has taken her. You know she would never forgive herself if anythin' were to happen to you. Alice is strong. She'll find her way back to us... But you have to stay. If you don't, you'll only end up gettin' yourself killed."

With each passing moment, the battle against her exhaustion becomes increasingly daunting. It has been over a day and a half since she escaped, and her body's desperate need for sleep grows harder and harder to ignore. Every second that ticks by serves as a testament to her unwavering strength and determination, pushing through the waves of pain that crash relentlessly against her weary form.

Her eyelids struggle to stay open, heavy with fatigue. A cacophony of growls erupts from her belly, a painful reminder of the hunger that gnaws at her from within, as if her insides are being devoured. The sight of water makes her mouth water uncontrollably, a relentless plea for respite from the unquenchable thirst that courses through her. Yet she soldiers on, fueled by an unyielding determination to reach home, to once again find solace in the embrace of Arthur's arms.

Lost in an unfamiliar landscape, she questions if she's even heading in the right direction. Everything blends together in an indistinguishable blur, creating a disorienting maze of uncertainty. She cannot even be certain if she is still among the living, though the excruciating pain she endures seems inconsistent with her imagination of the afterlife.

In an instant, her senses are blanked out, only to gradually return as she awakens on her back, sprawled out in the unforgiving embrace of the dirt road. Though she has fallen from her horse, the pain that courses through her body somehow feels distant, as if her senses have numbed in response to the impact.

A familiar warmth envelops the tightly wound sleeve that conceals the space where her arm used to be. Weary eyes trace the crimson stains that saturate the grimy fabric, a stark reminder that she is till alive as blood flows from her wound. She shuts her eyes, summoning every ounce of strength within her to rise from the ground, but all she manages is to shift onto her side, slowly dragging herself along the unforgiving road.

As she inches forward, a gradual seepage of blood permeates the threads of her shirt, each step reopening the raw, tender flesh beneath Colm's branded mark. The fabric clings to the jagged edges of her torn skin, amplifying the pain that accompanies this hellish journey.

John successfully persuaded Arthur to take a stroll along the outskirts of the camp, leaving behind a departed Dutch. The gang can't shake off the feeling that their unity is gradually unraveling, similar to the frayed fabric of a well-worn shirt.

The sight of Arthur in such a distraught state is an unfamiliar one for John. He's used to seeing Arthur hold his composure during even the most critical moments. However, something vital has been torn away from him, leaving him disoriented and incomplete, as if a part of himself is missing.

Meanwhile, Dutch has been absent since last night. He ventured into Valentine, seeking solace in a few drinks to clear his troubled mind. Unfortunately, the whiskey only amplifies his dark thoughts and intensifies his longing for his daughter. Ever since Alice's birth, Dutch had made a solemn vow to protect her at any cost.

Still teetering on the edge of intoxication, Dutch sets off, without a clear destination or purpose. He can't determine if his little girl is even alive anymore, which weighs heavily on his conscience. The loss of his daughter, coupled with witnessing the hardship inflicted upon her husband, reminds him of the tragic events surrounding Annabelle. At least, in Annabelle's case, Colm killed her swiftly, sparing Dutch prolonged uncertainty. In this instance, he finds himself caught in a similar torment.

Continuing down the road, Dutch estimates that he's roughly a mile away from camp. Consumed by his thoughts, he edges closer to succumbing to defeat when a sight catches his attention: his little girl, slowly dragging herself along the road in agony.

Dutch's heart both leaps with anticipation and sinks in despair. A trail of blood follows her, evidence of her desperate attempt to find her way home. Tears well up in his eyes as he dismounts his horse and rushes to Alice's side. The sight of her tortured state is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking. Her body is adorned in bruises, and her arm has been cruelly amputated. He already knew her arm was cut off thanks to the horrid message sent to them but seeing it first hand was something he wasn't ready for.

The phrase "My poor baby" escapes Dutch's trembling lips as he struggles to maintain composure. Alice gazes up, her pain-stricken face managing to muster a smile. Through labored breaths, she utters, "Daddy." The relief is palpable as she realizes that he has found her.

Without a moment's hesitation, Dutch scoops her up into his arms. Despite the weight loss she has endured, Alice still feels somewhat heavy in his arms.

"Don't worry, Alice. We're going to make it back home." Dutch reassures her, determination burning in his eyes. He sets off on foot, determined to carry her the entire mile back to camp. He knows that in her current weakened state, it's not safe for her to be on horseback.

Speaking softly, Alice's fragile voice breaks the silence. "Daddy... is Arthur alright?" Her words tug at Dutch's heart, but he masks his worry with reassuring strength.

"He's going to be just fine, sweetheart. Right now, our priority is getting you back home." Dutch responds, his voice filled with both love and conviction. With each step, he holds Alice closer to his chest, enveloping her in his familiar warmth.

A faint, weary smile forms on Alice's lips. She nods briefly, understanding the need to conserve her diminishing energy. Closing her eyes, she succumbs to the overpowering urge to sleep, finding solace in the thought that her father has found her and will keep her safe.

Author's note: I've been in a dark place so this fic got dragged down with with me. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I'm bad at this shit, I've also been procrastinating about posting this because like, I'm me and I'm fearful of putting this out there and people won't like this but here we are... Bye

#arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #rdr2 #arthur morgan x oc #angst #romance #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #im in a mood

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