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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

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

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile. 

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket. 

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority. 

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers. 

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.” 

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement. 

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx. 

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences. 

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.” 

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books. 

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.” 

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately. 

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind. 

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head. 

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle. 

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into. 

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own. 

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first. 

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room. 

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves. 

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize. 

“Good work as always, Tomb.” 

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms. 

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day. 

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well. 

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?” 

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt. 

“Kate?” 

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?” 

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him. 

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?” 

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin. 

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain. 

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put. 

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair. 

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching. 

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm. 

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse. 

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern. 

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around. 

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces. 

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.” 

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.” 

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat. 

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. 

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain. 

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet. 

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?” 

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained. 

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of. 

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.” 

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye. 

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious. 

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light. 

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed. 

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply. 

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all. 

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.” 

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job. 

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?” 

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces. 

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?” 

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.” 

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles. 

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.” 

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man. 

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.” 

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.” 

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far. 

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up? 

Why did he want to see your laugh? 

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.” 

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise. 

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats. 

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either. 

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words. 

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!” 

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders. 

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground. 

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!” 

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands. 

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it. 

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off. 

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes. 

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back. 

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags. 

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.” 

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing. 

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side. 

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you. 

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes. 

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again. 

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes. 

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest. 

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care. 

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John. 

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin. 

Angled up, your face is on full display. 

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring. 

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch. 

His panic spikes again. 

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.” 

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut. 

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells. 

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead. 

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out. 

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises. 

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking." 

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.” 

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave? 

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand. 

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[kidgetrash]

Monsters and Mana 2 - Save the World, Get the Girl - Chapter 12

Character:  Keith Kogane, Pidge Gunderson/Katie Holt, Lance McClain, Hunk Garrett, Shirogane Takashi, Coran, Princess Allura, Matt Holt

Pairings:  Keith/Pidge

Summary: Pidge continues her escape!

Pidge ran so hard her chest hurt and her legs shook, so hard she was seeing spots, but still she ran.

The yells of her pursuers rang loud in her ears, although she dare not look back to gauge their distance, and she hit the tree line so hard it was as though she could feel it.  The trees here were sparse but quickly thickened, giving her plenty of opportunities to get lost in their midst.  She swerved right as soon as she was sure she was out of sight and continued to dodge around trees until she found one big enough to shelter behind.  She crouched and put her hands over her mouth, trying to disguise her heavy breathing so she could hear any pursuers.  She could hear people moving, the breaking of small twigs, the crunching of bracken underfoot.  Orders were being given, sending people off in other directions, and she soon realised there were more than the three remaining kidnappers she had left alive.  They had probably recruited the ruffians she had sat at the fire with; the prize of a kidnapped princess was too good to pass up; which meant perhaps a further eight.  She looked around the ground at her feet, searching for a rock, anything that would make some noise, and upon finding one she carefully peered around the tree.  She saw no one directly so threw the stone as far as she could from the direction she faced.  Sure enough, it drew shouts and the sound of running, and she took the opportunity caused by their additional racket to push herself up and away from the tree.  She ran again, this time not at full speed, but fast enough she could dodge the trees as they appeared in her vision.  Her eyes darted at her surroundings, looking for threats, for anything she could use, but all around seemed to repeat itself; bracken, trees, stumps, fallen logs, just the placement or size differed.  She knew better than to panic, it wouldn’t help her, and she knew if it was a kidnapping they needed her alive, at least for now, but she had no intention of being captured again.

She began looking for somewhere to hide to get her breath back again when she saw what she thought was a flash of white light but disappeared as quickly as she saw it.  She was unsure whether it was a good or bad sign, whether she should follow or avoid it, not that she knew where it had gone, but it did make her slow her pace enough to be cautious.  She knew of the fairy tales of wisps that would lead people so deep into forests they would be lost forever, but also of spirits who helped those who were already lost, leading them to safety.  The way she saw it, she had a fifty-fifty chance and at this point she was willing to take the risk.

She continued to progress through the trees, the ground beginning to incline somewhat, changing direction whenever she saw a flash of light.  With it to guide her she made slow but steady progress, the trees thinning in places where the soft ground gave way to more rugged terrain.  She paused by a large rock with a resilient sapling trying to grow around it.  She perched on the edge of it, resting her legs and weary feet, looking both behind and ahead of her.  There was no sign of her pursuers but, as she watched, the small light ebbed out of a fallen tree, coiling in and out of tufts of long grass, as though trying to get closer to her without being noticed.  Pidge smiled to herself, the form taking shape the closer it got, but so timid that she knew if she moved it would either run away or attack her.  So she stayed, and it came closer.

Masterlist

[wythedumpstercat]

Wy and the Hermit

The old man creaks a snicker at Wy from across the heavy set wooden table, but the scruffy teen doesn't stop staring blankly at the tower of flatbread, the assortment of wild berries, and neat slices of boiled eggs and cured meat spread out in front of him. This wasn't quite where he'd expected to find himself after weeks meandering through unmarked woods, avoiding any and all settlements (and blacking out in what he'd thought was the middle of nowhere. But that wasn't really that important.)

People talked, and Miss Ca–The Hag's reach was widespread. Even though she rarely pursued the defectors, Wy knew she still kept track of them all.

And he did not want to be found.

Even the remote possibility of her knowing where he

was was……….

If his real family didn't know, neither should she.

His stomach gurgles impatiently at him. The old man makes more creaking noises and tosses a dark coloured berry at Wy's face. His jaw reacts before his hands, but he absolutely doesn't complain as he bites down on it and tart sweetness hits his tongue. Hunger and insomnia had already gnawed through most of his mass, and with his guard now down, reaching out and taking the next greedy bite, then another and another didn't need further persuasion.

It doesn't even occur to Wy to be wary of the old man until he suddenly reappears beside him bearing more food. This time a pungent smelling hard cheese, which Wy eyes with skepticism for a moment. A small taste confirms that while pungent it doesn't taste spoiled, so down it goes too alongside several flakes of flatbread and an entire jug of water.

When Wy finally makes his way back to reality he finds himself with a nearly painfully full belly, and very much alone in the little cottage cabin. He hadn't even noticed the old man leaving.

A strange man, that was. Crooked back and crooked teeth and a crooked nose in a crooked looking face, accentuated by the sparse tufts of fuzzy white hair on his bumpy skull. The cottage bears the same crooked nature, nothing in there is quite straight. From the doors to the table and chairs and tableware and the large fur rug on the floor in front of the equally askew stone hearth with a bumpy black cauldron hanging over the dwindling embers.

Just as the last of the embers fades out, the door swings open with a whisper that ends in a squeal and the old man comes trudging in in a huff carrying a few logs of wood. He heaves them towards the little alcove beside the hearth that's obviously normally supposed to be kept full, but it's conspicuously empty. With that kind of progress it'd take the man forever to fill it up.

Wy frowns. His stomach is still uncomfortably full, but the man had fed him. Not only fed him, but let him have a roof over his head, and even a fur padded cot to sleep on. Waking up surrounded by fur and scratchy, but delightfully warm, wool blankets had been so unexpected, there had been a few long moments where Wy wondered if maybe he'd died.

Either way, it wouldn't be right of him to not give something back to the old geezer. Never was Wy to be considered ungrateful. No service would go un-repaid, somehow. So he gets up, and plucks the logs from the old man's arms, tucks them in the alcove, and asks him where the rest of the logs are. The old man cracks a grin, then points to the door as he says a foreign word.

Outside?

Sure enough, there's a small pile beside a chopping block close by, the ax resting against its side.

He manages to carry half of the ready pile inside, and as he's stacking more logs into the alcove, the old geezer snorts another foreign word while wiggling his fingers at the hearth.

In the matter of a single blink of an eye, the air seems to respond to the old man's voice. Something gathers at the tips of his fingers, and what Wy can only identify as energy seems to rush past him and gather into the point the man is focusing, bursting into light and warmth and crackling fire on the lone log in the fireplace.

The old man must catch him staring at the fire that sprouted out of nothing, as he creaks another laugh, and wiggles his fingers at Wy with the most massive creases at the corners of his eyes. He seems to ask a question in that foreign tongue, probably inquiring about his interest in the little trick he'd just done.

Wy had seen magic being done before. The streets of Goodhaven saw its fair share of magic users passing through often enough, but he'd never…actually felt it like this before.

Wy knew he couldn't use magic. Miss Candy had put him through the testing paces, just as most of the other kids. Magic users were rare, but incredibly useful after all, and she couldn't afford to have kids with magic not using magic for her. So this probably wasn't magic. A trick? Must be. But it felt replicable. Something told him he could probably…probably do the same. Something was whispering to him right outside his hearing range. What was the word the old guy had used?

Wy mutters it to himself, words it like a question, testing it out on his tongue. A tingle dances past his cheek, down his arm to his fingertips, then he promptly tosses the log in his hand into the fireplace as flames overtake it as if it had always been on fire. It crackles spicily beside the other log the geezer ignited.

The old geezer cackles, slapping his knees. He laughs till tears start rolling out of his uneven eyes. When he finally gathers his breath again, he herds the still frozen and wide eyed Wy outside again to chop more wood.

-:-

It was heartening how Nature seemed to know exactly what Rayi needed and promptly sent exactly that his way without him having to reach out himself. Rain to fill his water barrel when his back was too stiff to hoist water up from the well. Two ducks falling out of the sky after they'd seemingly crashed into each other mid-air and offed each other on the day he craved some fresh meat. And now, just as his old body was complaining most severely about its many years of use, suddenly he had a strappingly healthy youth chopping and carrying firewood for him with the most impressive affinity to Nature and the Craft he had ever witnessed in his many years of life.

The Boy didn't quite seem aware of it himself, but Nature spoke to him freely, and he instinctively followed its cues. It was no wonder he'd managed to stumble his way to Rayi's cottage this far into the wilderness. He had chosen this spot exactly for its remote and closed off nature. And, well. There was that mine shaft not far off. Thus he should have both expected and predicted the boy's penchant for befriending…Nature's Creatures.

Sure, it was cute when he talked to the sparrows in the bushes while out picking berries, and also with the deer coming all the way up to the cabin to greet them in the early hours in the morning.

It was less cute when the boy came bursting out of the bushes, the arm of his shirt in tatters and carrying a screeching and bleeding owlbear cub, followed closely by a roaring mountain lion, and the sound of Mama Owl screeching even louder as she came crashing through the forest not far behind. The mountain lion bailed the moment it realized it'd be outnumbered by Threats and at a major disadvantage when Mama Owl arrived, but the crisis was far from averted even then.

Calming down a furiously terrified and protective Owlbear mother wasn't exactly a walk in the park, but a few aptly placed vines, followed by soothing words in Owl with the help of a few spells deescalated the situation efficiently. Rayi had thought he was too old for mediating like this.

The Boy meanwhile, having just recently picked up the simplest healing spell after Rayi had shown the process to him following the Boy's tumble down a fruit tree, was busy patching up the cub, now that he could concentrate on it in peace. Rayi eyds the tattoo circling the Boy's exposed elbow. It slowly shifted in colour as the Boy mumbled calming words to the cub, and the cub goes from squirming to rapt attention at the Boy when his human words slowly blended over into calming chirps and hoots instead. Interesting.

Freshly healed, the cub is eventually released to rejoin its mother, and they trudge back into the forest.

"Where'd you get that tattoo, boy?"

The Boy glances between Rayi's finger pointing at his elbow, and Rayi's face, frowning, obviously still completely blank on Druidic. He'd learn, with time.

"My…elbow?"

Rayi shakes his head. "Not elbow."

"The tattoo?" The boy tries.

"Yes. The tattoo."

Considering it for a moment, the boy touches the water-like swirls inked into his skin, looking a bit sheepish. "I…um…pickpocketed a lady once when I was pretty little. She was of the traveling adventurer sort. Found me the same day, saying she wanted her money pouch back. Turns out she'd talked to a few alley cats and bribed them with fresh fish to stalk me down. When I asked how she talked to the cats, she showed me her own tattoo on her wrist. So….I…gave…back…the money pouch in return for having her help me…get the same tattoo? and teaching me how to use it. It takes a while to work, but it's very useful!" He finishes in a rush, looking ready to bolt.

Rayi just grins. And wild shapes into a large greying mastiff, licking the Boy's shocked face. It was still too soon for the Boy to learn this skill in particular, but how could Rayi not show him the possibilities when the Boy's love for Nature's Creatures showed so true; and seeing the youth's eyes sparkle in wide eyed wonder at the transformation warmed Rayi's old heart.

Rayi hadn't thought he'd ever find a suitable apprentice, but Nature truly never did let him down.

[curtainsdubai21612]

Hand Tufted Rugs Abu Dhabi: A Blend of Elegance and Craftsmanship

Hand tufted rugs offer a perfect balance between luxury and affordability, making them an excellent choice for homeowners and businesses alike in Abu Dhabi. These rugs are renowned for their artistic appeal, durability, and the exquisite texture they bring to any space. In this article, we will explore the benefits of hand tufted rugs, address common user queries, and explain how our platform offers high-quality hand tufted rugs tailored to your needs.

What are Hand Tufted Rugs?

Hand Tufted Rugs Abu Dhabi are made by skilled artisans using a specialized tufting tool. Unlike hand-knotted rugs, which take months to craft, hand tufted rugs can be produced more quickly without compromising on quality or design. A canvas is stretched over a frame, and the yarn is pushed through the fabric using the tufting tool to create intricate patterns. Once the rug is complete, the back is glued and a protective layer is added to ensure durability.

Benefits of Hand Tufted Rugs

1. Affordability

Hand tufted rugs are more affordable than hand-knotted rugs because they take less time to make, but they still offer a high-end, handcrafted look. If you're looking for a luxurious rug that fits your budget, hand tufted options are a great choice. In Abu Dhabi, where home décor often reflects elegance, these rugs offer a sophisticated aesthetic without breaking the bank.

2. Customization and Design Flexibility

One of the key advantages of hand tufted rugs is their versatility in design. Whether you're looking for bold patterns, intricate motifs, or minimalist styles, hand tufted rugs can be customized to match any interior décor. This flexibility is especially important in Abu Dhabi, where homes and commercial spaces often embrace a fusion of traditional and modern styles.

3. Durability

Hand tufted rugs are known for their durability. While they are not as long-lasting as hand-knotted rugs, they can still last several years with proper care. Their thick pile adds softness underfoot, making them ideal for living rooms, bedrooms, and other high-traffic areas. Their resilience ensures that they maintain their beauty even with regular use.

4. Quick Production Time

For those who need a high-quality rug in a short amount of time, hand tufted rugs are an ideal solution. Since they take significantly less time to produce than hand-knotted rugs, you can enjoy a custom-designed piece much faster without compromising on quality or aesthetic appeal.

Common Queries About Hand Tufted Rugs

1. How do hand tufted rugs differ from hand-knotted rugs?

Hand tufted rugs are created using a tufting tool to insert yarn into a canvas base, while hand-knotted rugs are made by individually tying knots onto the foundation of the rug. The tufting process is faster and less labor-intensive, which is why hand tufted rugs are more affordable. However, both types offer unique craftsmanship and artistic designs.

2. Are hand tufted rugs suitable for high-traffic areas?

Yes, hand tufted rugs are durable enough for high-traffic areas like living rooms and hallways. Their thick pile provides comfort and resilience. However, they may not last as long as hand-knotted rugs in extremely busy spaces, but with proper care, they can remain in excellent condition for many years.

3. Can hand tufted rugs be customized?

Absolutely! One of the main benefits of hand tufted rugs is their design flexibility. Whether you want a specific color scheme, size, or pattern, hand tufted rugs can be customized to meet your exact needs. This makes them a popular choice in Abu Dhabi, where personalized interior design is highly valued.

4. How should I clean and maintain my hand tufted rug?

To maintain the beauty of your hand tufted rug, regular vacuuming is essential to remove dust and debris. In case of spills, blot the area with a clean cloth and avoid rubbing, as this may damage the fibers. Professional cleaning is recommended every few years to extend the rug's life. Avoid placing heavy furniture on the rug for prolonged periods to prevent flattening the pile.

5. Are hand tufted rugs environmentally friendly?

Many hand tufted rugs are made using natural fibers such as wool, making them an eco-friendly option for your home. The production process itself is also less wasteful than machine-made rugs, as handcrafting ensures attention to detail and minimizes material waste.

Why Choose Us for Hand Tufted Rugs in Abu Dhabi?

1. Premium Quality and Craftsmanship

We source the finest materials for our hand tufted rugs, ensuring that each piece reflects superior craftsmanship and long-lasting quality. Whether you're looking for modern, traditional, or abstract designs, we offer a wide selection of rugs to suit any aesthetic.

2. Custom Design Options

We understand that every space is unique. That's why we offer custom design services, allowing you to create a rug that perfectly complements your interior décor. From selecting the color palette to choosing the right pattern, our expert team is here to guide you through the customization process.

3. Competitive Pricing

Our hand tufted rugs are priced competitively without sacrificing quality. We believe that everyone deserves access to luxury home décor, and our affordable pricing structure ensures that you can find the perfect rug to enhance your space.

4. Expert Customer Service

We pride ourselves on providing excellent customer service. From helping you choose the right rug to assisting with installation and care, our team is committed to ensuring a seamless and satisfying experience. Your satisfaction is our top priority, and we are here to answer any questions you may have.

Conclusion

Hand tufted rugs offer a unique combination of style, durability, and affordability, making them an excellent choice for any home or business in Abu Dhabi. Their versatility in design and customizability ensures that they can enhance any space, providing comfort and visual appeal. Whether you’re redecorating a living room or looking for a statement piece for your office, hand tufted rugs are a timeless and elegant solution.

[handmadeindia643]

Hand Tufted Rugs

To ensure your Hand Tufted Rug remains beautiful for years to come, proper care and maintenance are essential. Regular vacuuming will help keep the pile looking fresh and prevent dirt from settling in. For spills or stains, promptly blot the area with a clean, dry cloth and avoid rubbing, which can push the stain deeper into the fibers. Professional cleaning is recommended for more extensive cleaning needs.

[homeimprovement216]

How to Incorporate Hand-Tufted Rugs into Various Interior Design Styles: From Traditional to Modern

Hand-tufted rugs have emerged as a popular choice for homeowners seeking a blend of artistry, comfort, and durability. This unique crafting process offers a versatile range of designs, materials, and sizes, making them suitable for various interior styles.

The Art of Hand-Tufting

Unlike hand-knotted rugs, which involve intricate knotting techniques, Hand-Tufted Rugs Abu Dhabi are created using a tufting gun to insert yarn into a backing fabric. While the process is more efficient, it doesn't compromise the artistry involved. Skilled artisans meticulously design and execute intricate patterns, creating rugs that are as visually appealing as they are functional.

Benefits of Hand-Tufted Rugs

Versatility: Hand-tufted rugs offer endless design possibilities, from classic patterns to contemporary abstracts. They can seamlessly integrate into any decor style.

Customization: Many manufacturers allow for custom designs, enabling you to create a truly unique piece for your home.

Durability: Hand-tufted rugs are known for their durability and resistance to wear and tear, making them suitable for high-traffic areas.

Comfort: The plush pile of a hand-tufted rug provides exceptional comfort underfoot.

Affordability: Compared to hand-knotted rugs, hand-tufted rugs are generally more affordable, making them accessible to a wider audience.

Choosing the Perfect Hand-Tufted Rug

When selecting a hand-tufted rug, consider the following factors:

Size: Ensure the rug is the right size for your space. A too-small rug can look lost, while a too-large rug can overwhelm the room.

Material: Wool is a popular choice for its durability, softness, and natural insulation. However, synthetic fibers like nylon and acrylic offer affordable alternatives with good performance.

Pile Height: The height of the pile determines the rug's texture and comfort level. Low-pile rugs are easier to clean, while high-pile rugs offer a luxurious feel.

Color and Pattern: Choose a rug that complements your existing decor or makes a bold statement.

Underlay: A good quality rug underlay enhances the rug's lifespan and provides additional comfort.

Caring for Your Hand-Tufted Rug

To maintain the beauty and longevity of your hand-tufted rug, follow these care tips:

Regular Vacuuming: Vacuum your rug regularly to remove dirt and dust.

Spot Cleaning: For spills, blot the area with a clean cloth and mild detergent. Avoid rubbing.

Professional Cleaning: Deep clean your rug professionally every few years.

Rotate Regularly: Rotate your rug periodically to prevent uneven wear.

Hand-tufted rugs are a wonderful addition to any home. With their combination of style, comfort, and durability, they offer a perfect blend of art and function. By carefully selecting the right rug and providing proper care, you can enjoy its beauty for years to come.

[lvtflooringdubai12121]

Hand Tufted Rugs Dubai

Hand-tufted rugs are relatively easy to maintain. Regular vacuuming and occasional spot cleaning are usually sufficient to keep the rug looking clean and fresh. It's important to avoid excessive moisture and direct sunlight to prolong the life of the rug and prevent color fading.

[shoparug01]

How to Spot a High-Quality Wool Rug: A Buyer’s Guide

Are you in the market for a new rug for your home but feeling overwhelmed by the countless options available? Look no further than a high-quality wool rug. Wool rugs are not only beautiful and luxurious but also durable and sustainable. In this buyer’s guide, we will show you how to spot a high-quality wool rug and why you should consider purchasing one from Shoparug.

Why Choose Wool Rugs?

Before diving into how to spot a high-quality wool rug, let’s first explore why wool rugs are a great choice for your home. Wool is a natural fiber that is known for its softness, warmth, and durability. Wool rugs are also easy to clean and maintain, making them an excellent option for high-traffic areas in your home. Additionally, wool is a sustainable material, making wool rugs an eco-friendly choice for environmentally conscious consumers.

Benefits of Wool Rugs

Soft and luxurious feel

Durable and long-lasting

Easy to clean and maintain

Environmentally friendly and sustainable

How to Spot a High-Quality Wool Rug

When shopping for a wool rug, there are a few key factors to consider to ensure you are getting a high-quality product. Here are some tips to help you spot a high-quality wool rug:

Material: Check the label to make sure the rug is made from 100% wool. Avoid rugs that are blends of wool and synthetic fibers, as these may not have the same durability and quality.

Construction: Look for rugs that have a tight, dense pile. A higher pile density indicates a higher quality rug that will be more durable and resilient over time.

Knot Count: A higher knot count typically indicates a higher quality rug. Hand-knotted rugs are considered the highest quality, followed by hand-tufted and machine-made rugs.

Weight: Heavier rugs are often indicative of higher quality. A heavier rug will feel more substantial and be less likely to shift or slide on your floor.

Color and Dye: Check the rug for uniformity in color and dye. A high-quality wool rug will have rich, vibrant colors that are evenly distributed throughout the rug.

Backing: Examine the backing of the rug. A high-quality rug will have a sturdy and finished backing that is securely attached to the rug.

Why Shop at Shoparug

Now that you know how to spot a high-quality wool rug, why should you consider purchasing one from Shoparug? Shoparug is a reputable retailer known for their wide selection of high-quality wool rugs at competitive prices. With Shoparug, you can shop with confidence knowing that you are getting a genuine wool rug that will enhance the beauty and comfort of your home. In conclusion, investing in a high-quality wool rug is a smart choice for any homeowner looking to add style and warmth to their space. By following these tips on how to spot a high-quality wool rug and shopping at a trusted retailer like Shoparug, you can find the perfect rug for your home that will last for years to come. So why wait? Shop for your perfect wool rug today and elevate the look of your home!

[curtainabudhabi1]

Hand Tufted Rugs Dubai

Hand-tufted rugs are relatively easy to maintain. Regular vacuuming and occasional spot cleaning are usually sufficient to keep the rug looking clean and fresh. It's important to avoid excessive moisture and direct sunlight to prolong the life of the rug and prevent color fading.

[topbedbugtreatment]

5 Vital Steps for Efficient Orlando Bed Bug Treatment

Bed bugs may be actually a hassle and also a source of stress and anxiety for property owners in Orlando. These very small bugs can rapidly infest your home, triggering pain and also frustration. Having said that, with the right method, you may successfully get rid of mattress bugs and protect against potential infestations. Listed below are 5 crucial steps for mattress bug treatment in Orlando:

Determine the Infestation

The very first step in handling a bedroom bug invasion is to validate that you really possess one. Bed bugs are small, reddish-brown insects that eat blood. They frequently hide in fractures as well as openings near the mattress, such as bed seams, head boards, as well as night table. Search for indications of bed bugs, featuring small bloodstains on pieces, black areas (feces), and also thrown away exoskeletons. If you believe an attack yet are not sure, think about employing a specialist parasite control firm for an examination.

Thorough Cleaning

Just before beginning bed bug treatment Orlando, it's important to carefully wash your home to clear away any sort of clutter and also possible hiding locations for bed bugs. Laundry all bed linen, linens, and also clothes in warm water and dry them on the highest possible heat setup. Vacuum cleaner rugs, rugs, as well as opulent furnishings, paying out attention to seams, tufts, and also upper hands. Use a tight comb to scrub bed joints and various other hard-to-reach areas. After vacuuming, seal off the vacuum cleaner bag in a plastic bag and get rid of it outdoors to stop mattress bugs coming from escaping.

Usage Pesticides

While cleaning is essential for taking out mattress bugs and their eggs, pesticides are often needed to completely eradicate a problem. There are numerous kinds of chemicals readily available for bed bug treatment Orlando, including sprays, powders, and foggers. When utilizing chemicals, make certain to adhere to the supplier's instructions thoroughly and take proper protection preventative measures. Bear in mind that some pesticides may require numerous treatments to successfully remove bedroom bugs at all phases of their life process.

Apply Heat Treatment

Heat treatment is yet another efficient approach for killing mattress insects as well as their eggs. You can use a clothes clothing dryer on high heat energy to address clothing, bedding, as well as other fabric products. For bigger products such as bed mattress as well as household furniture, look at using a specialized bed bug treatment Orlando system or tapping the services of a specialist bug control provider that offers warmth treatment solutions. Heat energy treatment works through heating to an amount that is deadly to mattress pests, typically around 120 ° F to 140 ° F.

Prevent Reinfestation

As soon as you've addressed your home for mattress pests, it's critical to take steps to protect against reinfestation. Tape gaps and holes where mattress pests can easily hide, including baseboards, wall sockets, as well as wallpaper seams. Frame mattresses as well as container springtimes in mattress bug-proof deals with to avoid mattress bugs from entering or even running away. Prevent delivering pre-owned furniture or clothes into your home without thoroughly evaluating it for mattress bugs. Additionally, think about executing regimen evaluations and also servicing to record any sort of possible bedroom bug issues early.

Lastly, dealing with a bed bug infestation in Orlando calls for a comprehensive approach that includes recognition, cleansing, chemical treatment, warm treatment, and prevention. By observing these vital steps and also finding professional assistance when needed, you can properly do away with bed bugs from your home and enjoy comfort once more.

All American Pest Control

390 N Orange Ave Suite #2300

Orlando, FL 32801

(321) 559-7378

Orlando Bed Bug Treatment

[shoparug]

The Ultimate Guide to Wool Rugs: Beauty, Comfort, and Durability

When it involves indoors layout, one detail that may rework a room from regular to super is a wool rug. Not simplest do those cozy ground coverings upload warm temperature and luxury in your space, but they're additionally highly durable and versatile. In this comprehensive manual, we will discover the world of wool rugs, discussing their blessings, types, preservation, and much extra. So, in case you're thinking about including a touch of elegance to your own home, study directly to find out the splendor of wool rugs.

Why Wool Rugs?

The Natural Elegance

Wool rugs are prized for their undying splendor. The herbal fibers have a rich and luxurious look which could decorate the cultured of any room. Their soft, velvety texture and complicated styles make them a versatile choice for both traditional and current indoors designs.

Comfort Underfoot

One of the primary reasons humans love wool rugs is the tremendous comfort they provide. The natural resilience of wool fibers ensures a plush and gentle floor underfoot. This makes them an first-rate desire for regions wherein you and your own family spend plenty of time, inclusive of the living room or bed room.

Types of Wool Rugs

Hand-Knotted Rugs

Hand-knotted wool rugs are a real paintings of art. Crafted through professional artisans, they are recognised for his or her brilliant great and durability. The tricky designs are woven by using hand, resulting in specific and extremely good patterns. These rugs are often considered heirlooms because of their lasting splendor.

Tufted Rugs

Tufted wool rugs are a famous desire for those looking for affordability without sacrificing high-quality. They are made with the aid of punching wool yarns via a fabric base, creating an opulent pile. Tufted rugs are available numerous designs, making it smooth to locate one that complements your decor.

Flat weave Rugs

Flat weave wool rugs are acknowledged for their flat, tightly woven structure. They are best for excessive-traffic regions due to their durability. These rugs are reversible and are available various shades and styles, making them a flexible choice for any room.

Caring for Your Wool Rug

To make sure your wool rug retains its beauty and longevity, it is crucial to offer proper care. Here are a few preservation tips:

Regular Vacuuming: Vacuum your wool rug at the least as soon as every week to cast off dirt and particles. Be gentle to keep away from damaging the fibers.

Rotate Your Rug: To prevent uneven put on, rotate your rug every six months.

Blot Spills Immediately: In case of spills, blot the vicinity with a clean fabric. Avoid rubbing that can push the spill deeper into the fibbers. Professional Cleaning: Every 1-2 years, consider expert cleansing to cast off deeply embedded dust and allergens.

[etsy2store]

Handwoven Natural Jute Braided Rug Carpet.

Can Be Use Indoor And Outdoor Both.You Can Use It As Carpet Inside The House, For Landscaping Garden, For Decorating Balcony Etc CUSTOMERS BEWARE OF THIS: Some of the sellers imitating our products and selling cheap quality products. Customers may please ensure before ordering the product that it is Sold and fulfilled by Urban Home. tufted Hand rugs are still highly durable and can last for 15-20 years without a problem. Hand tufted rugs are made on a loom, aterial- 100% Premium Wool with soft touch,Care & Cleaning :-Vaccum Regulary Avoid Liquid Spill, Dry Clean Only ,Sizes Are Approximate Colours May Little Vary.And Tested To Provide Resistance To Water Spotting & Fading From Exposure To Sunlight.

[sillyrabbit81]

The Instructor - Part 4

Summary: Agent Walker continues your training.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 3.8k

Warnings: smut, Dom/sub dynamic (m Dom, f sub), dégradation kink, praise kink, slapping, rough sex, orgasm control, I think thats it?

Authors note: Not beta read, only edited by me. There will be errors, my apologies.

Masterlist

Part 3 Part 5

The Instructor Part 4

August took you to the surveillance room. The operation had the whole ninth floor to work from, you didn’t know how the CIA was able to pull off such a requisition, but you knew not to ask questions. Chances were, even August didn’t know how that was done.

Agent Thomas was there with two other Agents and although they were both men, they were so opposite in nature and appearance you wondered how they could possibly work together. One of them seemed to radiate constant joy and good humour, while the other seemed dour and uninterested in anything. You receive a handshake and a welcoming smile from Agent Ortega and got a short nod from Agent Turner. Despite August introducing you by your name, since Agent Thomas had beaten you to them, your name was New Girl.

Apparently, there were two more Agents you would meet when your shift finishes. The number of Agents on this case struck you as odd. Six agents plus August all in the field seemed overkill for any simple surveillance case. Four should be more than enough. Hell, you could probably do it with three.

Ortega was the agent you would spend the next 8 hours with, and you were relieved. You were confident you knew how to do your job, but since this was your first field assignment, you were nervous and Turner made it worse.

So did August, if you were honest with yourself. You found yourself playing with the golden circlet around your neck a lot and chided yourself for bringing attention to it. It was meant to be discreet but if you constantly played with it, eventually someone would notice. You frequently found your concentration lapse and you would focus on August instead of your job. He was becoming an obsession, he invaded your mind constantly. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, anticipating your next visit or, remembering your too few encounters.

During one such daydream, you caught Ortega staring at you, expectantly. You quickly realised it was because he had spoken to you but you hadn’t responded. “Sorry,” you say. “I tend to get really focussed on my work and block out other sounds.” You lie smoothly. Ortega waves away your apology and repeats the question.

You enjoy your time with Ortega, he was friendly and warm without being lecherous. Perhaps his simple wedding band helped to put you at ease. He doesn’t offer information about his partner and you don’t ask. You both eat a lunch of sandwiches made in the kitchen and while the work doesn’t stop, you and Ortega start chatting and you find yourself growing more comfortable with him. Even though he calls you New Girl, he doesn’t treat you like a rookie and you found your confidence increase as the day went on. You even found yourself sharing jokes with him.

However, an hour before your surveillance shift finished, August came back to the room requesting an update. As he comes in the door you were smiling, still getting over a laughing fit with Ortega. Although he shows no obvious reaction, you notice a slight tightening of his jaw. You keep the smile plastered to your face as you look away, but you know there isn’t a hint of a smile in your eyes.

August checks in with Ortega who reports the day’s events. He leans over Ortega’s shoulder resting one hand on the desk while the other held one side of a pair headphones up to his ear as he listens to some audio. You can feel August’s gaze boring holes into you, and you can almost hear him say, “Look at me, Pet.”

Slowly you raise your eyes and look at him. You had to smother a gasp. He wasn’t just staring at you, it felt like he was stripping you bare with his eyes. The fire is his blue orbs was scorching with desire. His gaze holds you captive, and you know if Ortega sees what was taking place, your secret would be out. Scandal at this point in your career would mean you were chained to a desk for the rest of your life, if you didn’t quit in frustration, which was usually what most people did.

But August doesn’t take pity on you, he knows the risks too and doesn’t avert his gaze. He licks his lips, drawing attention to his mouth. With a leering look he mouths, “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you tonight, Pet.”

You make a strangled noise and Ortega looks up at you started. “You ok, New Girl?” he asks.

You reach down and clutch your foot, slipping it out of your shoe. “Yeah,” you say, hiding your face while you rub your foot. “Just a cramp.”

August ignores the situation and keeps listening to the audio. You avoid looking at him and he leaves a few minutes later. Even after he is gone, you still feel your ears and cheeks burn and you doubt you will be able to regain your concentration. Then you receive an email from August that simply reads “8 pm.” The rest of your shift is a write off.

Not long before eight pm you stand nervously outside August’s apartment. With trembling hands, you knock on the door. You feel tipsy, you can’t think straight, you’re giggly with nervousness and your legs are unsteady, ready to betray you at any moment.

“It’s open,” you hear August call from inside.

You take a deep breath in a useless attempt to settle your nerves and open the door. You see him sitting at his dining table reading from his laptop and nursing a tumbler of what looked like gin or vodka. He didn’t get up, just flicks his eyes up as the door opened, saw it was you and flicks his eyes down again.

“Lock the door,” August says and you do as he asks.

He is wearing his suit pants and button up shirt, but he had taken his jacket and tie off. His sleeves are rolled up and a few of the top buttons on his shirt are open and you can see tufts of his dark hair on his chest. His hair is still impeccably groomed, but a five o’clock shadow dusts his jaw. Even without the suit, he exudes authority, from the set of his jaw, to his posture, the only thing casual about him was his laxed attire.

“You’re early again,” August says. You still can’t tell if he thought being early was a good thing or not. Until he said otherwise you would continue to be early because you were sure August wouldn’t tolerate tardiness.

You half shrug in reply, but don’t say anything. You realise you hardly say anything in front of August, he intimidated you more than else did. He made you nervous in a way that was so intoxicating that you found it hard to even think of anything you wanted to say. Unless, he asked you a question, then you can hold nothing back. Perhaps it was because you know there is no one in the world that has more power over you than he does.

“Take your clothes off, pet.” August says, still not looking at you. “All of it this time, except your stockings and heels.”

You try to swallow, your mouth feels dry, but you don’t hesitate to obey, his tuts of disappointment that morning still lingered in your mind. Your hands shake as you undress and fold your clothes neatly. You aren’t sure why you feel like its important to fold your clothes, maybe it was because even when August was relaxing, he always had an air of clean order around him. Like he needed things to be just so. However, you know that’s not completely true, you have seen the chaos dance in his eyes, the thin veneer of civility he wore like a skin suit couldn’t hide all of his primal urges and tendency towards recklessness.

“Come sit next to me,” you hear August say the second you had folded your underwear and placed them on top of your clothes. You didn’t think he had been watching but he must have been, because even now he seemed to still be focussed on the screen in front of him. You feel a little silly that you had undressed like you would have at home, you didn’t even try to make it look good for him.

So, you make an effort this time, to show him you want to please him. You let your hips sway just slightly as you walk, the movements feel natural, yet seductive as you near him. You pull a chair away from the table but August stops you, putting his hand over yours. His fingers are warm on your skin and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

“Not there,” he says.

You walk around to the chair on the other side of him, but August stops you again. “Not there.” He looks at you, then with a small movement of his head and a smirk, he indicates the floor. “On your knees, pet.”

You’re shocked and before you can stop yourself you say, “On my knees?” You look at the rug under the table. It was fairly plush looking and soft so your knees wouldn’t hurt. You wondered if he wanted you to take him in his mouth again, you couldn’t think of another reason he would want you on the ground.

“Yes,” August says, with little patience, but his smirk holds. He must find your bemusement funny. “Now.”

You slowly sink to your knees next to August, you feel a little humiliated, but you are curious to see where this was going. August lets out a content hum as you obey. The sound makes you smile and you look up at him, his smirk now looks more like a smile and he pats your head. “Good girl.” He praises. All thoughts of humiliation left you as those two words warm you. August places his large hand on the back of your head and guides it to his thigh.

Again, you’re confused, until you feel his hand stroke your head. He pats you, soothing himself as he finishes his work. He occasionally lifts his hand to do some typing and you find yourself watching his hand impatiently until it is returned. Occasionally he touches your collar, running his fingers along it, as if reminding himself that you as his. Sometimes his fingers slide up and down your back, with long tender strokes that make you break out in goose bumps and when he makes you shiver you hear him hum with satisfaction.

Eventually you hear August give a big sigh and he stretches his neck before closing the laptop and moving it out of the way. He takes a last swig of his drink before putting it aside as well.

“Pet,” August says. You look up at him and he gives his head a little jerk again and you stand up. He looks you up and down, his eyes seem critical as he inspects you, but you know he likes what he sees because his tongue licks his lips before he bites his bottom lip.

August guides your leg over his and you stand in front of him now, your legs on either side of his and your bottom rests on the table. You feel exposed while he continues to study you, and you want to close your legs as you see his eyes linger on your bare slit. You know he would see the slick wetness of your arousal, you could feel it on the inside of your thighs. You close your eyes, a little embarrassed by your obvious display of desire.

August starts to run his hands over the outside of your thighs, hips and waist and back again, while he leans in and kisses the soft skin of your belly. You involuntarily giggle and your hands reach for his head as his stubble tickles at your sensitive skin. Still smiling he takes your hands in his, pulls them behind your back and holds both of them in his huge paw. He returns his kisses to your tummy, but this time they are bigger, wetter and you can feel his tongue lick at your skin as he does. You try not to wriggle, you try and hold still for August, but his teasing touch is too much and you find yourself squirming as he plays with you.

Between kisses he says, “I think its time I got to know you better, Pet.” You feel the heat rise in your body and you feel your heart beat everywhere. God, he has barely even started and you were so ready for him. “Time I explored you.” His eyes looked up at yours as his tongue slid up your body and over your nipple briefly. He held his face in front of your breast, letting his breath tickling your hard bud. “Time I tested your limits.” He takes you in his mouth, sucking on your nipple, and letting his teeth graze you, your body shuddering with pleasure.

Looking up at you August’s voice is suddenly serious, “If you need me to stop, say Red.”

“Red to stop,” you repeat, letting him know you understand.

Letting go of your hands, August lifts you by your waist and sits you on the table. “Lay down, pet.” He says, pushing against your shoulder. He lifts your legs so that your heeled feet rest on his thighs. You moan, and want to draw your knees together, but you feel his hands on the inside of your thighs pushing them further apart. You are completely on display for him, you can hide nothing as he continues spreading your legs. You shut your eyes, tight. Your mind and body were in conflict. You were on fire, hot with lust and need, but your mind wanted to say no, to stop, you couldn’t stand the embarrassment.

“Spread your lips wide for me, pet. I want to see your cunt dripping wet for me.”

You shake your head, you can’t do that. It was too much. Already so exposed and naked, the thought of holding yourself open to him was too humiliating. “Please August,” you murmur “I can’t.”

The loud smack against your breast takes you by surprise. You hear the noise before you even register the pain. “August,” you cry. Your hands reach up, covering your breasts, and you try to rub the sting away.

“Hold yourself open. I want to see inside you.” August’s voice is low and firm, not angry, just stern. You lift your head to see him, he tilts his head and his whiskered lip curls in a cruel grin, almost like he was daring you to say no again.

Laying your head back on the table and squeezing your eyes shut, you move your shaking fingers down to your slit. You’re so wet and so aroused you struggle to hold your swollen petals apart. You hear August’s breathing start to quicken and his voice is barely above a whisper as he says, “Good girl.” You feel a finger slide teasingly over your exposed core and despite your shame your hips roll in desire. “You have such a pretty wet cunt, Pet.” His finger sweeps up your slit, his rough pad pausing on your clit. You gasp as he does, and a low moan escapes you parted lips.

August chuckles, “You’re very responsive, Pet. I like that.”

His finger moves back to your entrance, and with agonisingly slow movements he pushes his finger into you. You feel yourself clamping down on him already, you’re so desperate to be filled. Your hips start to rock as he curls his finger inside you, searching for your spot.

“Oh fuck,” you cry when he finds it, you unconsciously try to curl up into a ball as every muscle in your body contracts. Your hips move faster now, and you eagerly beg, “Please August.”

“You are an impatient little slut sometimes, pet,” August says as he lays an arm over you, stopping your undulating hips. “I think patience will be your next lesson, but lucky for you, today I want to watch you cum.”

Without warning, August pushes a second finger inside you. You cry out as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. You were so close to coming, your whole body felt pulled tight like an elastic, ready to spring apart when the tension got too much. Your fingers start to hurt as you hold yourself open. Even your fingers feel tight, ready for the release of your orgasm.

Your thighs start to tremble and you feel the warm wave start to rise from your toes. “Are you about to come pet?” You barely hear August through the fog bliss you’re feeling as his fingers dance inside you, coaxing you to your peak.

“Yes,” you say through your moans.

“Ask permission,” August says.

You’re so close you can’t make sense of his words. “What?” you ask.

“Ask me if you can cum. This is my cunt pet, I will control when you cum. Or I can stop now.”

You understand that threat, “No, no, please don’t stop.” Panting, and breaking out in sweat you say, “Please August, can I cum?”

“Yes, my needy little slut. Cum for me. Now.”

And you do. You don’t know if it was because he told you to or if it was because you were so close anyway, but when he said now, you felt a wave of warmth flood you. Your body pulsed and your core milks at his fingers and they keep hitting your spot. It feels like your orgasm lasts for an age and even as you come down from your high, you tremble in little after shocks.

You are in such a haze you don’t notice August removing his fingers until you feel both his hands on your knees, pushing them up and out as he stands. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he gives them a tug. Your ass is barely on the table and in your malleable state, you feel like you’re going to fall off, but he holds you there.

There’s a new sensation at your core, and you groggily sit up, resting on your elbows. You see August, cock in hand lining himself up. You whimper, not yet, you think. Augusts lifts his eyes and you’re caught once again in his piercing blue eyes. His shows you his teeth and grabs your throat as he impales you with his cock.

You would have thought that you would adjust to his size quicker after the euphoria of your orgasm, but you were wrong. You feel yourself reluctantly stretch around him, and despite the pain, as he fills you, tears you apart, it feels good, he feels good.

August pulls you up by your throat, and you wrap your legs around him for stability. You think he’s going to kiss you, but he studies your every facial expression, listens to every little moan as he starts to fuck you. Still feeling weak, every thrust from August throws you, his firm grip on your throat was the only thing stopping you from falling back on the table.

“You look so good, pet,” he grunts at you through his gritted teeth. “You look like a slut, with your pretty mouth moaning for more.” He leans in close to you, and growls into your ear, “But you’re not just a slut, pet. You are my slut.”

You cry out as he says it, his claim of you relights the fire between your legs and you start moving with him, trying to fulfil the growing need inside you. You grasp his shoulders, holding onto him as he keeps whispering in your ear, “You greedy girl, you want to cum again don’t you?”

“Please, August,” you say. He raises his head and sticks two fingers in your mouth, pushing them in deep, almost making you gag. As you build to your peak so does your boldness and this time you find Augusts eyes. You run your tongue around his fingers, before starting to tease them and suck on them.

August snarls as he watches, and increases his pace. You want to cum again, but you don’t want to stop sucking his fingers. But then August breaths a curse, “Fuck.”

You couldn’t hold it off now, you say around his fingers, “Pease August, can I cum?”

“Fuck, yes,” August is as lost as you are and as you fall over the edge, and your pulsing walls grip his cock he thrusts into like he wants to tear you in two. On his last pump he lets out a deep rumbling growl, before his whole body shudders. You had never seen a man who came like him, the way he doesn’t hold back, the way he lets his primal urges over take him, the noises, all of it was so fucking hot.

August leans his sweaty forehead against yours while you both get your breath back. His hand still holds your throat but he moves it under your chin, and with the gentleness that always surprises you, lifts it and kisses you with soft lips and a caressing tongue. You kiss him back, matching his mood, softly licking at his lips.

With a final kiss, August pulls away and helps you to your feet. “Ok?” he asks. You nod and he chuckles briefly, “Who knew you had both a degradation kink and a praise kink?”

You look away from him, embarrassment filling you. August sees it and lifts your face to his again. “I fucking love it,” he says. “Much more to explore.”

You smile, still a little shy about it, but not as embarrassed. “Come,” he says and takes you to his bedroom where you both get in bed and you lay like you had that morning.

You stay awake, pretending to sleep, keeping your breaths long and steady. Eventually August drifts off, and you wait until he falls into a deep sleep.

You slowly get out of bed and creep over to the dining table. You lift August’s laptop from the chair he had left it on. You open it and enter the password you saw him use on the plane. Your hands start sweating as the machine connects to the CIA network. You think you hear a noise and you look behind you, but you can see or hear nothing.

You type August’s CIA log in and enter another password. You are worried about this one, you aren’t sure if you had been able to catch all of it. You release the breath you didn’t realise you were holding when the CIA logo fills the screen.

You feel eyes on you and the hair on the back of your neck starts to rise. Terrified you turn around and come face to face with August and his unforgiving eyes. “What do you think you are doing, Pet?”

Part 5

Tag List:

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate

[bestiesenpai]

Idolatry - Getou Suguru

I love aliens and someday I will fuck one

Content warnings: manipulation/blackmail

“Mayday, mayday! Mission control, please come in, this is astronaut Getou Suguru!” The red emergency lights were on, multiple different sirens were going off in the background and Getou had just lost the rest of his crew.

“Mission control, can you hear me?!” He slammed on the control panel, desperately flipping switches and trying to regain control of his failing aircraft. All his training back on Earth hadn’t prepared him for the possibility of a black hole opening up and sucking in half his ship, ripping it apart and taking it somewhere unknown.

“Please, please, please!” There were frantic tears and sweat dripping down Getous face as he tried to get the thrusters back online. His ship was in shambles, slipping further and further into the blackhole.

Looking up through the windshield, his view of space before him was slowly fading away and he felt an intense pull from behind him, almost as if he was being ripped apart himself as he and his ship were pulled into the blackhole.

Getou didn’t think he’d wake up after that. The world had gone completely black, all the oxygen yanked from his body and the cold vacuum of space compressed around him. Getou hadn’t expected to wake up on firm, solid ground. And much less surrounded by otherworldly creatures.

“Is it really him?” He wasn’t sure how he understood the things before him, their voices warbled and distorted, but he could. Getou could only watch with fuzzy edged vision as the creatures crowded around him and their features became clearer.

“It must be! Just look at his face!”

“He’s got the hair as well, and his skin is milky white like in the stories!”

“Our God has returned to us, what a joyous day this is!” Someone cried and Getou was lifted up from the ground and removed from the rubble that was his spaceship. Struggling to breathe, he was sure there were a few cracked ribs under his skin.

“Be gentle now, the journey from the heavens wasn’t kind on him.”

“To the temple, at once!”

Placed on a long gurney, Getou was transported to the temple in question. With his vision going in and out, he could just barely make out the bright blue trees and foreign animal sounds passing him by. The creatures that had lifted him up were now closer to be viewed and Getou could tell they weren’t of human origin.

“Oh, how we’ve waited for this day!” The heat of whatever jungle Getou was in had a light sheen of sweat gathering on his skin, but the warm air helped lull him into a more relaxed state, almost falling asleep despite the situation.

Carried up the steps of the temple, Getou barely came to when he was stripped and submerged into a pool of light green water, nearly scalding him and scented with what appeared to be rose petals floating around him.

“Call the shamans, we need to make sure everything is correct!” There was rustling around him, figures darting in and out of his half lidded gaze. Someone was lifting one of his arms to wash him, immediately letting go when he let out a pained groan.

“He needs medicine, quick!” In an instant something was being poured down Getous throat, an ice cold liquid that spread across his body and made a shiver go through him. There was a heavy silence in the air for a moment as he was observed, and all of a sudden, he felt better.

Sitting up a little straighter in the solid gold tub he could now see, Getou stayed silent as his body was washed. The creatures around him avoided eye contact, bowing their heads when he turned to look at them.

They were gentle, washing the dried blood off Getous face and combing through his hair with their long pointed nails. He’d never received such lavish treatment before, and as he relaxed further into the tub, a man dressed in robes not unlike the ones Getou owned back home came to the side of the tub with a heavy tome, reciting something in an unknown language over Getou.

He was lifted out of the tub and dried gently, dressed in a soft green robe like the man that had prayed over him, and escorted to another room. He could tell this was at the heart of the giant gray stone temple, a skylight and large windows high on the vaulted ceilings letting in plenty of natural light and illuminating the lavish scene in the middle of the room.

In the middle of the room atop a short flight of stairs, sat a golden, red tufted stool only a few feet up from the ground and surrounded by a multitude of pillows and ornate gold decorations. Several oriental rugs were draped across the floor, covering the cool limestone underfoot.

A thick mattress lay just behind the stool with semi-sheer curtains curtains concealing it and the many pillows and blankets atop it. Hundreds of candles were lit around the room as well, lighting up dark corners or simply for decoration around and atop the rugs and stool.

Able to walk on his own now, Getou slowly went up the steps with only a mild drag in his sore legs. Skimming his fingers across the seat of the stool, he walked past it and to the bed, pushing the curtains aside and melting into the squishy mattress.

Even though he couldn’t really keep track of the time, Getou was sure a week had passed since he’d crash landed on this mysterious planet. In that time, he filled in the blanks of what was going on around him.

He was being worshipped as a God, an altruistic being that had fallen from the heavens as foretold in the legends of the people that lived here. Apparently, he was one of many gods and goddesses that the planet believed in, and it just so happened that his sudden appearance aligned with a prophecy that he would arrive.

Not one to live in a lie, Getou had originally wanted to tell the truth once he was able to speak more properly. It wouldn’t be right for them to place such strong faith into him when he truly wasn’t what they wanted, but he found it harder and harder as time went on.

And that was because of the treatment he received. He was bathed everyday, fed delicious meals whenever he wanted and was showered in praise and admiration at every second. To say Getou was soaking up all the attention was an understatement; he was absolutely drowning in it.

“My Lord, may I approach?” It was midday, the sun beaming down through the ceiling directly onto Getou, warming him up and making him radiate with light. A temple worker he’s never seen before enters the room, head bowed and with a familiar set of objects in their hand.

“You may.” Getou quickly noticed the basin, towel and pitcher of water and sat up a little straighter in his stool. It was time for his midday foot bath. You made quick work of the steps and knelt down before him in a moment.

Getou watched as you silently poured the water, keeping your head bowed per usual. Craning his head up to the sky, Getou lazily studied the windows above him. There were no clouds in the sky on this planet, but it didn’t stop the sky from looking beautiful.

“You’re quite handsome, my Lord.” That comment had Getou’s head snapping back down and coming eye to eye with you. No one else had ever made eye contact with him, not even the shamans that spoke with him about sacred texts. The sudden change unnerved him, making him blush.

“I didn’t know you were allowed to look upon me in such a way.” Getou said, dipping his feet into the bath and relaxing his legs. “I am a God, after all. Wouldn’t a comment like that be considered blasphemous?” Regaining control over his suddenly rapid heartbeat, Getou still felt a light veil of heat across his face.

“It would be, if you really were a God in the first place.” Getou nearly choked on his spit as he heard the words come out of your mouth.

“E-excuse me?! I am a God!” His face erupted in a dark blush. This was bad, really bad. The smirk on your face told him all he needed to know; the jig was up, you saw right through him. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still try and keep up the ruse.

“An arrival from the sky may have been foretold in the legends, but you are not what was promised to us.” Your words were quick and concise, an almost harsh tone underlying them. “It was my job to go through the rubble of the craft you arrived in, and I found quite a few things labeled from a planet called ‘Earth’.”

He and Gojo just had to have too much fun with the label maker, didn’t they?

“Earth is what us God's call the place we reside.” Clearing his throat, Getou tried to soothe his burning cheeks.

“Then why did I find this?” Digging into a hidden pocket within your robes, you pulled out a thick manuscript, personally typed and signed by Getou outlining his position within the team and the duties he’d fulfill while on the mission that ultimately brought him here.

The edges of the paper were all burnt and crispy, but most of the pages were still intact. Flipping through them, you showed him all the polaroid pictures that were stuffed inside of Getou in his space suit and at the control panels of the ship, and with Gojo and other crew members.

“I didn’t think a God would carry around so many papers about his job. I thought you just knew.” Tossing the manuscript to the floor, you sprinkled smelling salts into the water and grabbed onto one of Getou’s feet, raising it only slightly as you let him mull over the new information before him.

“So, I assume you’ll have me killed for lying, then?” There was a heavy pit sitting in his stomach, but Getou knew this day would come, it was only a matter of when.

“Kill you? Never!” Your sudden laugh gave him pause.

“Then what? What will happen to me now?”

“I intend to use this information to my advantage.”

“You want to use me to climb the ranks at the temple, don’t you?” Narrowing his eyes, Getou could already see the plan formulating behind your eyes.

“Precisely, my Lord. Over the course of a few months, I will become your most trusted advisor.” Letting go of his foot, your hand slid up Getou’s leg, your pointed nails scraping against his skin. “And before the anniversary of the sun’s return, I will be the highest shaman in the temple. Your right hand, if you may.”

As you spoke, your hand went higher and higher, skimming the edges of his long silken robe and going under it, cupping his knee for a moment before stopping midthigh. If anyone walked in right now, what would they say to the scene in front of them?

“What’s in it for me?” Getou shuddered as your nails dragged lightly along his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake that had his senses tingling. You flashed him a smile, one full of rows of shiny black teeth.

“Why, you get to remain the all powerful God of this land, bestowing wisdom upon the subjects that worship you.” Sidling up to Getous legs, you fully pushed apart his robes to reveal his soft cock. “And…”

“And?” Getou pressed as you trailed off, subtly opening his legs as much as he could with his feet still in the basin. You chuckled at him, hand grabbing gently onto the base of his cock. Getou had come to learn that the creatures on this planet were often colder than he was, and your lukewarm hand was a testament to that.

“And I’ll keep you nice and happy.” Brazenly leaning over his lap, you sucked the tip of his cock into your mouth, your long tongue lapping out and wrapping around him, the tip going all the way down to his balls.

“Ah!” The unexpected pleasure shooting up his spine made Getou curl inward, knocking over the basin and spilling water onto the rugs. His hand shot out to grasp the back of your head, urgently trying to ground himself as his mind turned to mush.

“Don’t worry about the mess, my Lord. I’ll clean it up.” Pulling off his cock, you licked your lips and looked over your shoulders.

“You- what’s your name?” Getou panted, his legs already starting to tremble.

“(Y/N), my Lord.” You grinned, beginning to slowly jerk off his cock.

“(Y/N).” He tested the name on his tongue but he couldn’t speak any further as you thumbed the tip of his cock.

“But you don’t need to worry yourself about that now.” Now that his feet were free, you could slide in between Getou’s legs and get to his cock easier. “Right now, it’s all about you.”

[homeimprovement216]

Why Are Hand Tufted Rugs Ideal for Both Modern and Traditional Interiors?

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