#by car the rest of the way to denmark

[armenelols]

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Choke On The Sun

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd known John ever since the Academy, and even after losing touch, the love you had for one another was never gone. Like a snake, it had stayed hidden in unseen places. But it was always there.

WORDCOUNT: 13.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, torture, detailed descriptions of torture i.e. electrocution, loss of a finger, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, discussion of torture, canon-typical violence, death, near-death experiences, guns, weapons, abductions, betrayals, intended for mature audiences, happy ending, etc.

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

You remember a story you’d been told when you were a rookie—fresh off the cut and eager-eyed with far fewer scars. A more of a glass-half-full type of outlook on life, unknowing of what you’d experience during your years with the SAS: what choices you would have to make.

It went something like this. 

There was a herd of deer that had jumped over the side of a bridge. On either end of that bridge, there were two trucks with their high beams on—not moving but sitting there; the deer got pressured. Spooked. One by one they just…hopped over and died on the rocks below—no noise above the breaking of bone and the clatter of antlers shattering to pieces. 

You have to wonder if it was the fault of the first one who had jumped over for leading the rest to a quick end, or the drivers of the cars just trying to get where they needed to go; ignorant of the way they’d been ogling to see the panic in wide, black eyes. Either way, a whole herd of ten met their fate and left their bodies to feed the larvae and the birds. 

The story had been told over drinks at a pub, at the time you’d taken an interest in it with no more than a slow comment of ‘poor things’ before you’d brought your glass to your lips. You don't know why you’re thinking about it now. 

The timing could have been more opportune.

You send a bullet into the man’s kneecap, hearing the bone disintegrate and the flesh open like a flower. His scream follows, loud and hoarse—sobbing trapped behind a bitten tongue that drips blood down his chin. 

Hand snapping up, you grasp the lower half of his face with a grunt, head shoving itself forward until you lock onto fluttering eyes and get consumed by a whining sob.

“I asked you a question,” you lick your lips, tasting sweat as it slithers down your skin. Your voice is slow and even, grip tight. With a shove, you push back the man’s face, wrist limp with the Basilisk as you wipe at your nose with it, unblinking, when you get to your full height. 

The room wasn’t anything different from a million other black sites you’d been to. A single chair where your mark sits tied up, a desk that had been pushed to the wall, and a single door placed into the cracking foundations of a concrete wall. No windows. No vents. 

Hotter than hell, too, and that place was something you were acutely in tune with. 

“Anthony,” you say, waving your free hand as the scent of blood gets stronger, pools of it already on the hard floor. “I’m gonna call you Tony, alright?” 

Tony yells, wrenching his arms against the zip-ties and screaming until his voice is hoarse. 

“Damn you! I told you I don’t know anything!” He sobs. “My leg—I can’t feel my leg, oh, God it hurts.”

You frown, glancing at the door. 

“Stop lying to me,” you look back, eyes unblinking in the low light. “You still have one left—tell me where your buyer is and I let you keep the ability to walk upright with a cane.” 

“I don’t know his name—!”

“I don’t need a name, Tony,” you growl, irritated. “I need a location.”

“Copenhagen!” He wails, body spasming and hair dancing atop his head. “The warehouse is in Copenhagen, please, that’s all I know!”

You blink. 

“Denmark?” You mutter, brows furrowing. 

“Fuck!” Tony screams long, his skull tilting forward as he releases his guts to the floor through quick gasps. Backing up a step to stay out of the spray, you watch him silently; thinking. The flood of the man’s crimson fluids ripples. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“Denmark,” grumbling to yourself once more, you shake your head and sigh aggressively. “Of course.” 

Without another glance, you turn and exit the room, pushing your Basilisk into its holster as the gear on your chest clinks lightly like the sound of rain hitting a metal roof. The door closes behind you, voice calling to one of the guards as he looks up quickly. His face is pale. Tony’s wails still echo out; water filling a bucket. 

“Get a medic,” is what you settle with—slipping past on a fleet foot and new intel to pass on to Laswell. She’ll be intrigued, no doubt. 

One step closer, your mind hisses to you. Just a little bit longer.

It’s too late to gain a conscious now.

Emmett Kinsman had been dodging you for years—dodging the Task Force—but with one of his suppliers giving away a location you’d been unable to pin, there was hope for a swift resolution to this mess. 

The radio on your chest sizzles to life.

“Hart, sit-rep. How’s it lookin’ on the black site.” Kate’s American accent leaks into the earpiece attached to you, the cord looping the back of your neck and inserted into the shell; a device of black metal and plastic. 

“I have a location for Kinsman. Copenhagen,” you ease out, moving a finger to the earpiece and pressing. Glancing at the rows and rows of doors in this endless hallway of dark smoke and obsidian mirrors—you’re eager to get your boots to the ground. Your other hand snatches at the rag swinging from your belt, taking it out and rubbing at your face with it until the stain of oil and flecks of blood smear like frosting on a cake. “Where are the boys? I need to be wheels-up to meet them ASAP.”

“Coming to you.”  

“They’re here?” Your face twists as the words settle in, confused. “Why? Thought they were tracking another lead in Romania.” 

Kate’s voice is smooth in your ear, moving like water as you turn a corner, stuffing your rag back into your belt. 

“Are you surprised?” The woman jokes in a monotone; you’d only taken it as such because you knew her dry state of humor. “Really, Hart, you know he can’t stop until you’re back at his side. I was going to tell you sooner, but you were…occupied.” 

Your feet pause for a moment at the beginning of her sentence, instinctual heat moving the length of your neck until you clench your jaw and continue onward at a slightly slower pace—eyes narrowed on the floor ahead of you. 

“It isn’t like that, Kate,” you mutter. A low hum echoes the line and you fight a scowl as a group of soldiers walk past. Itching at your forearm, you shake your head. “John just likes having everyone together on missions like these. If it had been different, I’m sure he would have told me to fly back to them regardless of the intel. We’re tight on time.” 

“I’ve known you both for more years than I can remember,” Laswell sighs. “Don’t try that with me, Captain.” You frown, clicking your tongue. “They’ll be arriving on the tarmac—get ready for a quick exit. We need Kinsman by month’s end.” 

“Copy,” you utter, removing your hand from the earpiece and glaring ahead of you. A still-air silence envelopes the hallway, the only sound of your boots to the concrete and the reverberation that booms after. 

It was so quiet here. 

John Price—Captain Price—and yourself had a… complicated history. You’d joined up together; gotten through SAS selection neck-and-neck until time and its grubby fingers had forced your lives in different directions. Like two vines of reaching ivy, it had only been three years ago that you’d seen the other again, though you’d heard stories as you’re sure he had about you. 

Hart: not the kind that beats but the kind that bleats, you had to explain to most—you weren’t unknown to the darker side of the job and the people that specialized in it. Your file was stretched with so much black ink that when you’d gotten the call on your phone, an unknown number, you’d recognized the gruff voice behind it and the first question you’d asked was how the hell he’d gotten clearance to track you down. 

“No hello, then, Hart?”

“Not one for pleasantries, John. Explain. Quickly.”

“Business as always.” He’s wasted no time, voice going to a low grumble over the line that day. “Laswell took in a favor. You’ve been busy, Love…Room for one more joint-Op?”

It hadn’t panned out to only ‘one more joint-Op’. 

After the mission was over, it had been raining on base. The sky had shed tears from clouds deeper than the gray shades of your gear, splattering packed dirt and concrete. Above your head, the thin overhang off of the armory door had spared you some of it, but when the wind had shifted your clothes absorbed specks of water like spots on a fawn. Your eyes had been looking out—expression open. 

When the man exited the building and came up beside you, you both didn’t speak for a long time. You had been aware of his form, devoid of vest and gear, while yours was still layered with it to the utmost degree. You’d expected to leave that night—a good old-fashioned Irish Goodbye with a C-17 already waiting for you to board. To carry you off to another hellish deed done with ravaging cruelty for the sake of people who would never even know you existed.

The storm had stopped you…or, maybe something else had.

“Good to see you again, Hart,” John had stated, still not looking over at you as his arms had crossed, feet situating themselves. “Been too long.”

You had stayed silent—watching. The drain across the street was flooded. Sticks and leaves stuck at the drain as a whirlpool formed; only dangerous to bugs and the bits of garbage blown in by the wind. 

Only after the wind shifts again did you speak.

“And what has John Price been up to in that time?” Your eyes had slid to stare, piercing in the low illumination of the armory’s outside light. 

A huff of a chuckle, the one you’d remembered in the days of selection—coated in mud from crawling through man-made trenches and a sharp smirk of a snap when the barbed wire had grazed his back. 

There were too many stories here. Too many. So many it became impossible to wonder what could have been and what couldn’t—all that existed were the little moments of fondness.

The two of you were nothing else but souls long past redemption; stuck on that knife’s edge and waiting for the hand to shake and send you through it. 

You are made of memories. 

“That’s a story told over bourbon,” John’s lips had flickered, and you’d blinked slowly, head tilting. “Not anything worth reliving, yeah?” 

“Everything is relivable, Captain. You just need to find a reason as to why.” 

The man had nodded his head your way, conceding with his blank eyes ahead to the rain. A rumble of distant thunder had flown out, making your ears twitch. You couldn’t stop watching him now that you had the chance—the brunette strands; the fatigues, and that accent. The muscle you don’t remember him having in that specific place all those years ago. The wrinkles on his forehead from age and stress are shown in yours as a mirror. 

Tall; formidable. 

There was a tension in the air that you chose not to dwell on—the same that had been brewing for as long as you’d known him. 

“I want you to join up with me,” the sudden comment had made your body tense, eyes snapping away. In your pockets, your fingers twitch with surprise. 

“Join?”

“Thought I’d catch you before you disappeared again, yeah?” A sheen of slight embarrassment is over your skin. John chuckles again. “Extend a formal offer—Laswell was the one who suggested it.”

“Well,” you’d huffed, licking your lips. “Now I’m surely not accepting.” 

“Let me fuckin’ finish, Love,” John’s lips were pulled in a slight smirk—beard shifting. A pause as the wind whips again, shaking the trees before he grunts. “One-Four-One. My Task Force. Been thinking I’d need someone like you, but I knew you’d never agree to it.”

“Oh?” Your brow raises. 

“Not bloody stupid.” He sighs. “Thought I’d ask anyway. Give you a proper goodbye if you weren’t so keen on handing it out.”

“I don’t like goodbyes,” you mutter, hearing John’s feet shift—his boots scraping. 

“I know.” It’s low and even—not a prod or a dig. An observation. 

A hand is moved out to you, hovering. 

There isn’t any need for words when you glance down at it, and then up at him; staring into those blue eyes that so perfectly illustrate the hues of a roaring river, hidden away in the confines of a verdant forest.

A slow smile pulls at your lips, and you see the corner of the man’s eyes soften.

“Knew I’d get one out of you again,” he mutters as you slip your hand into his, a firm and all-encompassing heat of flesh and care. 

“Don’t get used to it, John.” Shaking his hand, you smirk, legs shifting. 

“Never,” he chuffs, squeezing your limb. 

You don’t know why you stayed under that overhang with him that night. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to explain it as you had looked up and seen the C-17 fly off without you in its cargo hold, hands resting on your vest collar and blue eyes watching you, slightly narrowed. 

You never even verbally told him you were sticking around…it had happened like a stray cat under the porch of your childhood home; taken in and cared for. Just the same, John never mentioned it beyond paperwork. 

Shaking your head, you blink back to the black site, turning that last corner and making it to one of the exits. Pushing the metal-reinforced door open, you shift outside and move a hand to cover the glare of the setting sun from your eyes, grunting. 

Laswell’s voice peaks back in as you jog toward the far-off body of a whirling plane, three figures just managing to walk down the ramp. 

“Hart? It’s Laswell.”

“Copy,” you say, knees taking the brunt of the heavy items you carry in pouches and have strapped to your form. “What is it?” 

“The Task Force is a go for Denmark—when you get there, I need everyone searching; we can’t lose him again.”

“Affirm. I’m on it, Kate.” You breathe. “John and I’ll get him. It’s personal for us, you know that.”

“That I do. Make sure to keep your heads on with this, Hart. Out.”

You lick your lips, nodding even if she can’t see you. 

Slowing as you near the plane, friendly smiles spark up from the two Sergeants. Gaz comes over, grasping at your shoulder and speaking above the engine behind him. 

“Ma’am! Good to have you back.” Soap chuckles, tilting his head your way as you grasp Kyle’s forearm—squeezing in greeting with a twinkle in your eye.

“Surprised to see us?” The Scot calls. 

You scoff. “Laswell gave you up.”

“Damn,” Kyle moves back, fixing the cap atop his head and glancing back at his fellow Sergeant. Simon nods from behind the two to which you respond in like. “She bloody betrayed us.” 

“Not as much as Kinsman,” the mood sours; lips thinning as you speak firmly. “Where’s John?” 

“Right here,” the man in question comes down the ramp, blue eyes meet yours. A second of inspection passes, eyes from both parties flickering up and down forms for any mistreatment—any ailments. “Kate already told me. We’re leaving now that we have you.”

Bumping Simon’s fist with yours as you pass him, you ascend the ramp, Soap muttering under his breath about the flight time from behind. 

Standing beside John, you pause like a bird, eyes half narrowed. “You didn’t have to pick me up, you know? I could have gotten another plane.”

The man the same rank as you hums, making sure the men are all inside and taking one last look out to the black site, eyes missing nothing down to the concrete structure to the lights that will soon illuminate the pure nothingness of the fields of this area.

“Wait time would have put us back.” Tiny eyes blink, a hand coming up to rest on his collar as his face shifts to you. “You good?”

“Always,” you mutter without hesitation. “Nothing from Romania, then?”

He grumbles, clenching his jaw and taking in your words. “Negative.”

A silence settles in which you quirk your brow—a small flicker of a smirk makes him turn away and stalk back into the hull, grunting in annoyance. You follow on silent feet. 

“That’s it? It must have been horrible, then. Care to explain?” 

“Get in your seat, Captain.” 

You hold back a low chuckle, walking beside him until you both come to the back of the plane—easing back into the hard plastic, you huff as you clip in your seatbelt. 

It’s all relative silence until the large metal beast is in the air; everyone's bodies shifting as the floor evens out. John and you take long breaths and, feeling the occasional jostle of the plane, you occupy yourself by picking at the dried blood all over your hands as the flight begins—Tony’s blood. 

Blue eyes blink down at you, watching from the side.

“He know anything important?” You stifle a yawn on your lips, one hand coming up to cover the open-jawed expression of tiredness. 

Glancing, you shrug with a slow response of, “Only a location. Even then I don’t know if it’ll pan out like we want it to, John.”

Everyone had been hoping for more, but they also knew that you were the best at interrogations and information retrieval. If you had called it that the man only knew a city and nothing else, John wasn’t one to question you. He knew better. 

A large hand shifts to grasp your right bloody one, picking it up and bringing it to his lap. You let him do it without protest, shoulders loosening at the roughness of his calluses moving across yours until the familiar ritual begins to take part like a black mass. 

Fingers twitching, you hear a hum as John takes out a rag from his pocket, opening it with a flick of his wrist. Moments later, the water bottle on the seat next to him is taken and the droplets that are left are scattered like rain over the fabric until they absorb. 

“All dirty, Love,” he grumbles as your eyes soften, watching him trace the lines of your palm with the wet rag—dabbing away the beads of red. Watching, you listen as he continues. “We’ll figure it out, eh?”

Blue locks with you, holding your gaze until the permanent set of his brows slowly loosens. “We will,” he reaffirms firmly.

“...I should have shot him when I had the chance,” you whisper to John, words low and tone nothing more than a mouse’s murmur; a small pebble hitting the ground. “Don’t lie and say it wasn’t my fault.”

“You’re going to fucking ruin yourself with that, Hart.” He advises, his cleaning of blood coming to a slow halt. “You did what you thought was best,” John leans in closer, not blinking as you try to move your head away with a half-hidden scoff. A damp hand grabs lightly at your chin, shifting it back as you blink in mild shock into John’s face. He doesn’t falter. “It’s all any of us can do, yeah?” 

As if it were nothing, he lets you go and shifts his focus back to cleaning your hand. You watch for a long moment, oblivious to the elbows hitting sides from farther down the hull, quick glances tossed between Sergeants and a Lieutenant who quirks a brow under his mask, huffing a sound in his throat.

“If I had,” you force back the stutter in your voice. “More people would still be alive.”

“Maybe,” John tilts his head, the rag brushing the length of your fingers. “Maybe not. We don’t know that, do we? No use wasting our breath talking about it then. What matters, Hart, is how we fix this.”

You sigh, repressing a shiver as his thumb brushes scars and blemishes, moving like moss over stone. 

“And we don’t leave our bloody problems for the next poor bastard, do we?” You puff air from your nose, shaking your head at the smirked comment. You watch John’s beard move with it—taking in the crinkling of his eyes and the way his knee hits yours. 

“Wonderful pep-talk, Captain.” You lean your head back against the netted sides of the aircraft, letting your eyes flutter shut; oblivious to the way he watches you. “The service is lost on you—therapist is right up your alley.”

“Fuck’s sake,” John scoffs. “I’d sooner go back to the academy than that.” 

“The food was utter shite, wasn’t it?” You agree.

“No need to bring it up,” John comments lowly, amusement thick in his words. 

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know that the pressure around your limb stayed there for a long while—the rag moving over every sliver of skin until only the base was left behind; like a painter creating an ocean scene, shrouded in mist, every bit of red was gone. 

Your dreams are plagued by Emmett Kinsman. His sharp face; his sly eyes and his knack for being undetected.

He’d been a part of your and John’s class in the Royal Military Academy—when all was done, he’d graduated and begun to serve in the 22nd SAS Regiment just as the both of you had. There was never much interaction there, beyond shared drinks and a few good words, a single operation, but the bonds of brotherhood run deep. If given the chance over any deployment or service, John or yourself would have given your lives for him—for the boy you’d bled and persevered with to a point of utter loyalty akin to beasts; unrestrained by any threat of violence, sharp attitude, or past faults.

And in the end, he’d thrown that all away to get into bed with terrorists. 

Location: London, England

Time: 1718

Operation: ‘Purple Cloth’

Your eyes rest behind the glass of the bookstore, gazing out over the street from the second floor with a level of new-found skill and a surety in yourself. Fresh off the cut, you aren’t overly eager for this, but you’re assured in your abilities. 

There can be no failure.

Emmett is down below, sitting at a café and sipping tea as John is stationed at a building farther down the street; waiting. Another man, directly relaying information to Emmett, is at the café as well, sitting in the corner reading a newspaper and facing the individual you’re supposed to follow. Only the four of you for this, and you’re not overly familiar with half of them. John was your only shining grace. 

“Target’s getting the bill,” you shift your head into the collar of your shirt, muttering. “He’ll move soon.”

“He carrying?” John’s voice slithers in, a soft murmur. 

You stare, expression lax at the large body that shifts and stands with a tight shirt on, waving off the barista when she tells him to have a good day. “If I had to guess? Negative. Nothing big—no bulge at his spine. At the very opposite end, I’d say an X13 could be concealed and accessed via a slit in the pant’s pocket and in a holster at his thigh. They’re baggy enough for it, but the draw time’ll be longer. Drug runners are sloppy.”

John grunts, and you address Emmett. “How are we doing, Mate?” 

A smooth, suave, tone moves into your ear. “Not too bad, Sweet Thing. Else, I'd be better if you were sharing a drink with me before I disappear.”

“Only in your imagination, Kinsman,” John interrupts, unimpressed drawl taking your attention. “Keep on it.” 

“I swear I rank the same as you, Price. Where do you get off ordering me around like your dog?” The comment is so easily dismissed as a joke between comrades that there’s no hostility there.

“Since I was given oversight,” the amusement is easily taken in John’s voice. “I’m the one keeping your arse alive, eh?” 

The other addition to your team speaks up, a voice that in the future you’ve already long forgotten. He says to cut the chatter, and you have to agree. 

Emmett and the target are nearing an alley. 

“I’m heading down,” you utter, already turning and heading to the stairs, swiftly moving down them and exiting the building. 

“Copy,” John’s voice fizzles the line. “I’ll head them off.”

“Emmett,” you move to link up with the fourth member of the team as he joins at your side, both of you sharking a glance and a jerk of your heads. “Keep him away from civilians. We can’t deal with casualties in this populated of an area.”

“He won’t have a chance to shoot them,” the comment makes your brows furrow, the tone not a cocky gloat but rather...quiet. A moment of silence wafts out. “What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, Kinsman?” You frown tightly, your gut swirling with something unidentifiable. The X12 in the back of your baggy sweatshirt is heavy—suddenly ten times more so. 

In the corner of your eye, you see John far across the way shift, leaning before on a trash can, now standing upright. You swear you lock eyes with him, both gifted in all sense when it comes to war. Perhaps it was ingrained into both of your DNA—a knowledge of all things deadly; of threats unseen. Some primal and horrible understanding spanning back to when man had first raised a fist to another. 

“Oi,” your voice pushes. “What does that mean?” Feet pivoting, you move closer to the alley where the light shade of hair disappears. 

The line is silent. 

Silent before a loud gunshot rings.

Birds scatter, and you instinctively duck down, hand snapping to your service weapon as your eyes go wide. Head snapping about, you dash to the alley opening above the screaming; pushing past fleeing people.

“Hart!” 

“He’s in the alley!” 

“Do not engage until I get there, do you hear me?!” You’re already at the entrance, X12 ahead of you, and the safety flicked off with a heavy finger. “Hart!”

The body of your mark is on the ground—a bullet in the back of his skull. 

“Fuck!” You shout, feet slapping the concrete as you zoom past. “Price—target’s down, Emmett shot him in the damn head, on his tail now.”

“Fucking hell.” The man is growling out at you, voice heated.

Your eyes snap this way and that, weapon at the ready as you take a sharp turn. At the very end of the opening, you see him. 

Kinsman slips his service weapon back into the base of his spine, pulling at his shirt to cover the grip as a mass of the crowd is just behind him. He rushes quickly on long legs. 

“Emmett!” Your voice makes him freeze. There’s a long pause before anything is spoken; you have your sights trained—a perfect line-up to the roundness of his skull. 

“I had hoped to be fast enough,” the man tells you, head tilting to the side, “but I should have known you’d move head-long into danger without backup.”

“Hart,” John’s voice nearly startles you from the line. “Sitrep, now!”

“Why would you do that, Emmett?”

“There’s more to this than being pawns, Hart,” Kinsman growls at you. “I play my game right, I always come on top. I needed to earn their trust; our target had a price on his head and no one else could get as close as me. Well,” he pauses, “us.”

“I’m taking you in,” you grit your teeth, hands tight on the gun. You don’t even want to think about what he means by ‘their’ or his ‘game’. It was always word puzzles with this man—one second you had the right piece, and the next the entire picture had changed like sand in the waves of a tide.

“Are you really that torn up about a drug runner?” A scoff makes you hold back a snarl, but your resolve is shaking. This was a man you had trusted—now fast can something that was forged with steel break?

“He was just some filthy nobody, Hart.” Emmett starts walking into the crowd ahead of him, and in your mind you know if you take that shot you run the risk of shooting an innocent civilian. “I’ll be more than a nobody. Or a grunt soldier. People are going to know me.” 

Bodies flee quickly—screams. Mothers, children, husbands.

Kinsman smirks, and as your finger tightens on the trigger, he’s already swallowed by the hoard. 

“I’ll be seeing you.”

John and you sit in the safehouse, for a moment, surrounded by quiet and the smell of hot tea. One week in Denmark, and you have no leads. The other three are away, sleeping in the rooms down the hallway. 

“You’re still thinking about him,” John speaks up, eyes on you. It’s blunt, but that was just how he was. 

You peek your eyes open slowly, your body slouching in the chair and feet outstretched under the table. Your boot lightly touches John’s own. A long sigh exits your nose, grumbling on your tired lips. 

“John,” you level, drawing the name out like the years of your life. A thin warning. 

The man clenches his jaw slightly, bringing up his cup and taking a slow slip. You see the flesh of his throat bob with the liquid as it goes down, the overhead light of the kitchen only a single bulb of warm glow. 

“Been chasing him for years, Hart,” he says when the item is back to the woodgrain. Voice a deep murmur—a scrape of vocal chords. “We both have.”

“He knows too much,” you reply. “I can’t let him get away again. Strategies, operators, everything.” Your eyes shift as your head raises, blinking away the sleep in your glinting orbs. “For years he’s been under our nose, getting away with who knows what—”

“Hart,” your rant is interrupted, and you stop with a snap of your teeth. Blue eyes lock a concerned sheen to them. “Breathe.” 

Your face moves away, arms loosely crossed over your chest tensing. 

John’s body shifts to you, leaning forward until his elbows are resting on his knees. He stares, brows a line on his flesh. You send a swift glance, lips pulling. 

“...Stop that,” your voice murmurs, echoing off the walls of the kitchen. John blinks, not speaking as you move in your seat. The man tilts his head, a slow something making his lips go back slightly. Gradually, your face goes hotter, blinking at him a few times; sucked in like a fox to a trap. “John, quit it.”

“M’not doing anything, Love.” 

“Bullshit,” you try and glare at the looseness of his expression, his smirk that makes your gut tighten. Goosebumps move up your arms. “You’re a horror.”

A low chuckle wafts out, John shrugging casually before he leans back. 

He takes up his cup again and takes down the last of the remnants. “Go to sleep,” hits your ears as your pounding heart takes a breather. It’s a grumble on the air—not as much an order as it is a suggestion. “It’s late.” 

You decide to sip at your own drink as well, eyes drooping at the steam that wafts around your face, nose twitching to the scents. 

“You?” John hums, looking you up and down; seeing the fatigue you carry. You’d been relentless for the week you’d all been here, holding the few strings of the lead you had to your chest—five-fingered grasping with a desperate prayer to all things unholy.  

“I’ll be here.” You tilt your head his way, eyes still half-closed in your seat. Your answer is easy, pushed out in a slow sentence. 

“Then so will I.”

John sighs under his breath. It’s a moment before an exasperated chuckle moves through your earbuds. You smile, eyes slipping closed fully. 

Yet, they startle back open as the cup is taken from your hands, your chair moved back firmly. 

“Up you get, then,” John grunts, and his arms snake around you. Blinking quickly, your jaw is slack as you get taken up into a tight carry; John’s chest firm and your nose brushing the side of his chin. 

Air getting sucked into your lungs, you stifle a hitch in your breath. 

It’s only after he starts walking forward, hiking you farther up into him, and his fingers gliding over your clothes, that you start to relax. His heat seeps like a warm fire.

Head sagging to the side, you grumble into his neck as you miss his eyes looking down at you, eyes soft in a way only you would have been able to see. “Can walk, y’know.”

He hums, head shifting back to the hallway as he carries you to the last door on the right, bumping into the wood with his shoulder and shifting to walk in sideways so you don’t let your legs on the frame. 

“Remember Preu? 05’?” John asks you, moving over to the bed and setting you down slowly, a tiny huff exiting his mouth. Your body sinks into the mattress, head to the pillow as your hand comes up to rub at your eyes. The man moves to grab the blanket at the end of the bed—knowing your trained habit of sleeping atop the comforter on operations; not tangled up in sheets just in case. He slips off your boots. “Carried you two miles.”

“I recall it,” you grunt, a tired flicker coming to your lips. “Bleeding out and all.”

“Well,” John hums, quirking a brow. “Wasn’t about to let my Hart die on me. Blood was the least of my worries.” 

Your pulse flutters at the title, even if it’s just your codename and not the beating muscular organ inside of your breast. 

My Heart.

But it’s never that simple. 

A hand moves up your cheek, a kiss pressed to your forehead. 

The both of you already know you love each other. It wasn’t a secret. You were smart; eyes sharper than a blade—you caught the way he watched you, saw the softness of his expression, and felt the drag of his hand. Just as he caught the way you stayed beside him, an ever-present pair of eyes watching his six. The content nature that only you showed him. 

With feet so eager to leave at any moment, it said much that you chose to exist near him simply because you wanted to. 

You loved each other. 

Boil it down, and you’d both known even back in the Academy that it would be the two of you at the end of all things. The rivers said your name. The valleys rustled with the breeze of your breath. You saw John in the bits of water that sloshed the rocks and in the earth beneath your palms. 

Over the years you’d been apart, the yearning hadn’t been any less sharp—any less potent. In every birdsong, the echoes of the other's voice flew and disappeared on wingbeats. In everything that existed, there was a fraction of what should be. 

What should be. 

“John,” your voice is a whisper, nothing more than a rustle of a cloth. He keeps his lips to your forehead, resting there for a moment against all sense and responsibility. John’s eyes droop down, lashes resting on the swell of his cheeks. “You know I love you.”

He takes a breath. Rain is in the air—the movement of a storm’s wind. A leaving C-17. 

It’s a low mutter into your flesh.

“I know.” 

You grasp at his wrist, pulling lightly. Without a noise, John slips in beside you, kicking off his boots with a single clop of the soles to the wood and the movement of your blanket. He grunts, pushing his nose into your scalp, arms going around your middle. Your head slots under his chin, lips to his Adam’s apple.

The house is silent beyond the murmur of the pipes—the buzz of awaiting electricity. 

So many memories. So many lost dreams. It was akin to two skeletons lying in a grave of their own making, forever holding the bones of the other. Duty and honor are etched into the fractures. 

But he still holds you, he still murmurs into your ear, “Sleep, Love.”

“And you?” You ask, mirroring the conversation in the kitchen.

John’s lips move along your flesh, moving into a soft smile as he glances down at you. His beard scrapes you delicately.

“I’ll be here.”

Then it is here you’ll stay, dreaming of deer and the way nothing could compare to how he held you in his arms.

—

“I have eyes on,” your head snaps up, blankly staring ahead as your fingers hover over the hanging beads of a wind chime. You stand outside of a restaurant in the heart of Copenhagen. 

Laswell had sent in more eyes for the Task Force to use—local soldiers that knew the layout of the city better and where would be a good place to look. For days you’d been moving through the streets; far-off storage units and hidden buildings providing fruitless harvests. Anthony had said a warehouse, but that was panning out as nothing as well.

False information? Possibly, but unlikely. The man had been genuine in his pain and pleading, and it only served to confuse you more.

You had Gaz with you and five others, taking over as the leader of this fireteam while John headed the other with Johnny and Ghost. They were on the opposite side of the city, and you can’t help but compare this to the moment Emmett had become an enemy. 

But divide and conquer was the only option in times like these.

Emmett had become someone, just as he said he would. The man was in charge of supplying arms to terrorist organizations all over the world, and with his knowledge of how the SAS operates as well as any number of special forces, he’d utterly disappeared off the radar.

A wraith of lies and murder.

He had locations all over the globe with his goods, shipped out for money and power. 

And now you have a positive ID.

“Where are you,” your voice is hard and stiff, the body already moving back from the chime and leaving its little bits and bobs swinging. 

“Café down the street,” feet nearly locking together, you continue down the street to where you know Gaz’s last position was. “He’s just…sitting there.” A pause. “You want to know what it’s called in English, Ma’am?”

“The café?” your brows furrow, jogging across the street. 

“‘The Warehouse.’” Growling under your breath, you shake your head and send a curse into the air after a pause.

“I think the man thought he was clever,” Kyle’s voice is smooth and teasing. 

“Should have shot his other leg,” you grunt. “You told Laswell? John?”

“Negative, I’ll get on it—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt. “Tell the others to group up at your position and spread out to create a choke point; we can’t let him get away.”

“Rog. Will do.” 

You patch into John’s frequency.

“We have him,” you instantly breathe out. “Down Holbergsgade—café called ‘The Warehouse’.”

It’s swiftly that an answer hits you. “Get him surrounded, we’re coming.” 

Your heart is moving rapidly, fast in your chest as you pass people and business quickly. You didn’t like this—didn’t like the similarities, the…nostalgic dread that builds. A café of all places? Sitting down? Waiting?

It was so ironic it made alarm bells go off.

“John,” you lick your lips, glancing at faces as they pass. “I think he knows we’re here.”

“Explain.”

“A café?” John’s low grunt lets you know he understands. “Just sitting there? He knows—he’s not dumb enough to throw away all of his secrecy just as we so happen to get here and begin looking for him.”

“How sure are you?” The man takes your words into account, and you hear his breath puffing as he runs to your location. 

“Ninety,” you breathe. 

“Then I’m callin’ it off.” Your eyes widen, feet skidding as you come to a stop. 

You have no clue as to how far John will go to keep you safe—even if it means potentially letting one of the SAS’s highest HVTs go. There wasn’t anything that could compare to the thought of you getting in harm's way. Not you. 

John had spent his whole life watching soldiers die in the worst ways possible; they haunted his dreams and he knew they’d follow him to his grave—men he’d led down paths that they never should have been on. 

Not you. 

Losing you would break what little was left of him, the remnants held on by tape and sheer stubbornness. One of the last old faces he could still look at anymore; could draw comfort from in the thin hours. To hold and to love. 

You both knew you wouldn’t stand for it.

“No,” your voice cuts across, monotone. “I’m not allowing that.”

“Bloody hell, Hart, listen to me—do not,” John growls, making your spine tingle, “go after him. If he knows we’re fuckin’ here, we need to pull back and close off the area.”

You’re walking forward, that same pressure of a gun at the back of your spine. It was almost poetic. 

A thought sparks. Years of knowledge and understanding lighting up. 

Emmett was a snake. 

A snake that liked to play games and prove points; greed stuck into his brain for reasons you can’t quite say for certain. Even if you did catch him, he would never tell the locations of his goods or the buyers.

But there was one way to find out. One way this might turn.

“There’s a tracker in my arm,” you speak, growing more sure of your actions with every fast movement of your body. The café is just up the street, and a head of blonde hair is a knife to your vision. “I asked Laswell to insert and monitor it years back when I had to infiltrate a cell before I joined up with you again. Cautionary procedure since I had to forgo my rig and gear.”

A sharp bark. He knew what you were insinuating. “Hart!” You were going to get yourself taken hostage.

“Get Kate to watch it, John.” You move off his frequency before he can comment again, half of a roaring refusal cut off. Speaking to Gaz with a restricted throat, you say, “Kyle?”

“Right here, Ma’am.”

“Good. Don’t engage—I’m moving in.”

A stiff breath is taken in. “W…what was that?”

You don’t reply, only saying, “Whatever happens, I order you and the others to stay back, yeah?”

Your hand pulls the earpiece out and shoves it into your pocket right as you slip into the chair directly across from Emmett Kinsman. 

“Emmett,” you say in greeting, moving up a few fingers to a barista with a low call of your order. The individual nods and moves off before you lock on green eyes; they nearly make you flinch. 

You can only imagine what Gaz is telling John right now. 

Kinsman blinks at you, but he isn’t surprised. You were right.

“Hart,” the man smiles. His voice is still the same, though he looks older. “Pleasure seeing you again. Enjoying the sights of the city?”

“Not particularly,” you stare at him.

He chuckles, tilting his head before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows and continues. 

“You always were serious. No fun.” You take the insult without any emotion, blinking at him slowly. What was his play?

“Why?”

“You already know why,” he shrugs, dressed in a nice suit. “I’ve made a name for myself—my name will be remembered for ages.” A twinkle in his eye. “SAS soldier turned weapon supplier; isn’t it exciting.”

“It’s a disgrace,” you lean forward, only stopping your voice from rising as a cup is placed down in front of you by the barista. 

Your face plasters a fake smile and you nod, moving it in front of you. Emmett watches with a smirk.

“I call it a change of heart.” He sighs, smirk simmering to a casual smile. “But I am glad to see you, you’ve been creating a big mess of things and I took it upon myself to have a meeting between us as old friends.”

“I’m not your friend,” you growl. “You’ve killed innocent people for no more than a fucking paycheck.”

“Well,” he snorts. “I don’t kill anyone. I’m the middle man—there’s a difference.”

Rage makes your eyes go to slits.

“And innocents, Sweet Thing?” Emmett leans in closer, face so smug and open you want to pull your weapon on him and worry about the consequences later. “What do I call what you do then?”

“A necessary evil,” you huff. “One I carry on my shoulders just like every other soldier does. One that was far better than supplying terrorists.”

Kinsman shrugs, moving back and picking up his drink, swirling it. “If you say so.” He hums. “You have to try the pastries here, you know. They’re very good.”

“I know you’re here because you expected us to find you, what I can’t figure out is why you broke your cover in the open instead of turning yourself in.” You look around at the faces in the outdoor seating, studying them trying to pinpoint if they’re civilians or in league with Kinsman. “Tell me before I decide to shoot you right here and now and end this regardless of hidden goods.”

“You already tried that, Hart,” Emmett laughs. “Pointing a gun at me didn’t work last time.”

“I’m not going to use a gun,” you ease out. “I’m going to take the butter knife on the table and slit your throat.”

“Uncivilized,” Emmet grumbles, frowning at the silver object near your hands. “It isn’t even sharp.”

“Good.” Green eyes narrow, unimpressed. He sighs, fingers moving in an outward gesture of exasperation. 

“If you must know before the main finale, I wanted to bring you here to say that I’m thoroughly impressed with your drive.” You try to stave off the shock in your stomach at the words coming out like a charmer’s flute. Raising a slow brow, you’re caught off guard. Emmett chuckles. “You nearly caught me at several instances throughout our game of cat and mouse. Many times I forget who the assigned roles were even given to; I’m telling you that I had fun.”

You stare, face tight. 

Emmett hums and his eyes go to slits. 

“But every game has to come to an end. I’m growing tired of it.”

The building across the street erupts into a great ball of fire.

—

John hears the explosion in the air, the shockwave that leaves his body halting to look into the sky in time to see black smoke.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Fuck!” 

He rushes into the panicked crowd, memories stuck in his head and a bone-deep fear he’d been feeling since you cut the connection in your earpiece. Gaz had been relaying to him what was going on action for action—a football game, only the difference was that your life was on the line. 

“Kate,” John shouts. “Get the authorities down here now! We have an explosion on Holbergsgade.”

“Explosion?” The woman’s voice is sharp and disbelieving. “What’s going on—”

“Hart’s in the bloody crossfire, there’s no time!” John’s face is tight, wind whipping past his ears as screams fly on the wind; crying. “The fool is trying to get herself taken fucking hostage for intel!”

Whatever else was said was lost to the wind—Gaz comes over the line, calling to him in a panic as Johnny and Simon join in. 

“The entire building just went up in—”

“Fucking Christ—”

“Price, what is this?”

“All of you get down here!” John sprints past people on the ground, ripping his gun out of the back of his waistband. There’s no arguing. 

When the Captain turns the last corner, carnage greets him. 

The building across from the café was reduced to nothing but rubble and a still-burning flame. Eyes wide, John only looks at it for a few moments, too preoccupied with you.

Where were you? 

His jaw clenches, eyes burning with rage. Such a perfect soldier yet such a flawed sense of teamwork, he had a feeling you’d try something like this—had left Gaz with you for that very reason. Fuck he should have been at your side. He should have known. 

A low grumble moves through his lips, head snapping all around. There are bodies on the ground. Blood pooling under thick building material—fabric in the breeze. 

“Hart!” John yells, running to the café and seeing the remnants of a fast fight. 

The Captain’s heart drops to his feet, face burning with hellfire so much that a sheen comes to his cheek. His hand moves out to touch the handle of a butter knife that had been slammed into the table now half-fallen over, eyes stuck on only one thing on the ground under it.

Through the wails and the call of sirens, the man stares at the two long fingers sitting in the dust.

Never in his life had he felt a fear like this.

—

“I wanted to be kind about this,” Emmett fiddles with the wrappings of his bandaged left hand, only three fingers remaining. “I was going to make it quick.”

You’re locked in a cell-like room, head to the side and blood leaking out of a cut face. Burns travel up your arm, the sticky puss leaking out only serving to make you shiver. You don’t know where you are—don’t know what happened after you severed Kinsman’s fingers with that knife.

But you know the pain isn’t something that you haven’t already gone through before. 

Your voice is hoarse but firm as it leaks out of you, vision spotty. You’d been thrown in here after a ride in the trunk of a car. The ground is concrete. 

“...Don’t make me laugh.”

Emmett growls, eyes wide with hatred. 

“Pathetic!” He barks eyes looking you over with disgust. “Look at what you did to my hand!”

His other hand connects with the bars of the cage, producing a metal ringing sound as you push yourself up with one arm, eyelids flinching in pain. Sitting up, your body falls back to the wall behind it, and you grunt when the air in your lungs is expelled. You lick at your dust-coated lips, your head ringing and your focus failing. Concussion. 

“Least of your worries,” you roll your jaw, a wave of pain making your body seize up and your hands tense with quivering shakes. Your mouth opens with sharp pants. Bile pools in the base of your throat. 

It’s nothing. 

John will come soon. The tracker. If Laswell can get it working again, you’d be out of here and you would have whatever this location turns out to be and the intel that it can offer you—computer databases would be a one-and-done game. You would get names, coordinates, and buyers. It could all be over. 

Your clothes are melted into your skin, and when you move, they peel away with the remnant of your epidermis. The flesh of your left thigh and arm had taken the worst of it—and the cut from flying debris over your left cheek hasn’t stopped bleeding. 

Blood drips from it, and a loud ache makes your head pound all the worse. 

You’ve gone through worse.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Emmett snarls, the crimson bandages thick over his hand. “But it isn’t a problem,” he says, moving his other hand to slick back his hair. “It isn’t a problem,” the man utters again. “You’re going to help me. Yes…I’ve made up my mind. I need you to understand why I do the things I do.” 

Your brows furrow, but above this burning in your head, it’s hard to understand what’s being said to you. Shadows move and Emmett orders one of his men to open the cell door.

You fight the black dots at the sides of your vision, leaking until you’ve accepted the reality of yourself going unconscious. As your body slouches to the side, hands ruthlessly grasp under your arms and drag you to your feet. 

“Everyone has a breaking point.”

—

“What do you mean,” John glares at Laswell, his arms crossed over his chest; hands tightly grasping at his biceps. “You can’t find her?”

“The tracker was old, John,” the woman tries to explain, furiously typing at her computer that rests on the table in front of her—her spine bent over as the rest of the One-Four-One stay in a limbo of anxious looks. “To get it working again, it would need something to restart it. I don’t know if you can see,” Kate’s eyes are hard as they lock with his, “but I can’t do anything if she’s not here first.”

“Well of course she’d not bloody here Laswell, fucking Kinsman has her!” He shouts, hands moving out in a display of aggression. 

“Captain,” Kate rises to the challenge, hand moving flat to the table and glaring with the heat of a thousand missiles. “Do not take that tone with me.” 

John snarls and jerks his head away, feet on the ground trading weight. 

The man was borderline feral—all snapping teeth and sharp glances. Gaz had seen him like this only a handful of times, MacTavish even fewer. Ghost, of course, knew, but even his brown eyes wouldn’t leave his Captain, absorbed in the way he was unable to stay still for even a moment. He was in full gear, too. Had put it on directly after returning to a local base. 

John was ready to go to war, down to the rifle that swung from a strap at his side, the ammunition stuffed to his chest—sidearm at his thigh. A rabid dog with intelligence and the knowledge of where teeth needed to be applied to a neck for a clean kill. Simon doubted he wanted it to be clean.

John was ready to rip people to pieces. 

“Give me something,” the Captain says in a low growl, beard shifting. “Give me what I need.”

Kate splays her hands. “All we have is surveillance of a car leaving the area—the smoke covers all chances of the drone we had flying picking up a clear picture. John,” Laswell eases, standing up, “there’s only so much we can do. We need to wait—”

“We can’t bloody wait,” Gaz speaks up, “What’ll he do to her in the meantime?”

“Garrick’s right, we need to be on the ground with this.” Johnny nods, mohawk bobbing. “That’s one of our own—we’re not sitting around with our thumbs up our arses, Laswell. Not with Hart.”

Simon blinks, humming. Laswell’s eyes shift to him, near pleading for one to be on her side with this and see sense. Ghost shrugs. “I’m with them. Hart’s one of our own; we’ll do what needs to be done.”

John’s chest swells with pride while his eyes get stuck on your file on the table, your printed picture, and your black ink—he’d never loved an image more, but nothing could beat the real thing. He needed you back. He’d gone through hell with you for his entire life; you’d suffered with him and only locked your hands together and held on tighter. 

That was love—that was duty.

John Price wasn’t against skewing his morals for the sake of your safety. You would always be his most important mission. The man didn’t want to think about what might happen if he found you too late.

“Give me the video of the vehicle,” he grunts, jaw tight and his eyes beady. His body slightly leans forward to Kate, love going lower. “Or I’m going out there myself.” 

Laswell frowns tightly at him. 

“I just sent it into forensics—they’re trying to get a match. Go out if you want, but I won’t be able to stop the firestorm that comes out of it.”

She closes her laptop and moves past him, sending one last comment into the stone man as he towers ever taller.

“She’s strong, John. If you’re smart, you’ll keep yourself out of the crossfire until we have a definitive hit.” 

Her voice echoes from behind him as his hands slowly move to clench into knuckle-whitening fists.

“If Kinsman gets a tip we’re still onto him—you’ll never see Hart again.”

—

Day Three:

Your days start blending. One moment you hear the snapping of your bones, and then the next you’re wasting away in this cell—ears ringing and eyes buggy. So much blood. Blood on the walls—blood on the chair they strap you into in the other room; even stuck in the groves of your flesh. 

You don’t think you can stop closing your eyes and seeing a deer at the bottom of a bridge drop-off. It’s stuck in your head like a virus; those car lights in the back of your mind just waiting for you. 

There’s no sense as to what they do to you—all its purpose is, is to prove a point to Emmett. A sort of broken retribution for your interference and his fingers. 

Vain man, really. You’d told him as much when he was watching you get your own finger torn off my pliers; spit it at him as the blood from your bitten tongue stayed his suit. You remember the feeling of the knuckle popping first, and then the burning heat of the flesh being twisted to the side. Two firm yanks and the flesh had sprung like elastic, fissuring, the tendon snapping. 

You think you blacked out after that, but you can’t be sure. All you remember doing is screaming. 

You woke up with your left pinkie finger completely gone, resting outside in the hallway to mock you from past the bars. Your eyes could see the bone sticking out of it, and all that was left on you was a badly cauterized stump. 

When Emmett had come to gloat, you started slurring out laughter. 

“I’m going to rip you apart.” Your broken body had jerked back and forth like a marionette doll, only succeeding in spreading more red over the floors as green eyes widened and went dumbfounded. 

It sounded like a choking fish.

All he’d done was left, quickly passing the pinkie left limp on the ground.

Day five:

You can’t move your body as they dump you back into the chair—the drain below you flooded over with crimson and bits of hair; vomit and torn-off fingernails. You’re unable to open your eyelids fully. 

A hand grasps at your face, yanking it up into the overhead light until a bucket of water is dumped directly over your head. Your body jerks, coughing and darting forward until you’re shoved to the back of the chair and the rope is tied around the front of your shoulders, the second at your wrists.

Trying to suck down air, you shiver with the strength of an earthquake. Whoever said that they would never be afraid while being tortured was a liar; whoever thinks that they would be able to push through it—a fraud. Emmett was right, everyone had a breaking point.

But you admitted yours would only come after your death.

Your legs are seized, bent up as you hiss as well as you’re able, teeth snapping. 

They’re dumped back down into a bucket of ice-cold water as droplets drip from your nose—wet skin for the moment only holding streaks of gore. Even with your scattered mind, you know what this means. 

Heart tight and eyes widening, you try to push back in the chair; try to fight the rope and the way your body won’t respond. 

A battery is rolled up beside you on a metal cart. Jumper cables. 

There’s a low chuckle at the way your face goes fearful. 

—

John shoves open the door to Laswell’s temporary office, already talking before it hits the far wall. 

“Do we have her?” His hands move beside him, brushing the grip of his sidearm. He hadn’t been out of his full gear for more than five minutes in days. Waiting day and night for any word; sleeping in it, eating in it. The forensics team had been stumped, unable to get more than a model out of the picture. 

But this might finally give him something to act on. 

Kate is moving, grabbing documents and her laptop, speeding past him and out of the door. 

“Kate!” John shouts, following after. “Hey,” he calls, grabbing at her arm to stop her. 

The woman only halts to say, quickly, “We have a hit. Follow me.”

John’s heart is rampaging, pulse wild under his skin as his gloved hands twitch. Finally. He can only smoke so many cigars—only think of so many scenarios until he feels he needs to vomit. You’d been gone for too long. Every moment had been like trying to walk with a cloth over his head; lost. 

He’d grown stiff. Stiffer than normal. Everyone had seen it.

“Where is it, then?” John asks as Laswell pushes open the door to the meeting room, the other three already inside.

“A property outside of Copenhagen—bought through a proxy on a fund that was linked to blood money in South America; it all went directly back to Kinsman. It was found only ten minutes ago.” A pause. Electricity in the air. “But that’s not how we found it.”

“How,” Simon asks, moving closer. 

John gives the woman his full undivided attention, hands moving to rest at his collar in a soothing gesture. 

“Her tracker came back on.” Eyes go wide, all sharing rapid glances as Kate opens her laptop and opens a man, turning the device for them to see. “Same location.”

Johnny blinks, his eyes narrowing. “And what does that mean?”

“That can’t have just done that by itself,” Gaz mutters, brown eyes sliding over to John who’s stiller than a wolf. The Sergeant pauses. 

His eyes are dead set on that screen. His thighs were so tense it was nearly like the Captain was about to sprint out of the room. Kyle’s face goes blank at that, never quite seeing the extent that your disappearance had on the man. His superior had bags under his eyes; far more pale than usual. His apparel was ruffled, too. Even in the more serious of situations, the Sergeant had never seen John so…out of it. He was always the one with the even head, even if he had a short fuse with certain things. Nothing was ever done without thought, he should say. 

But this is something else. 

“Torture,” Simon gives his two cents and John’s cheek twitches at the word. “Electrocution. They jump-started it and didn’t even know.” 

“Bloody Jesus,” John breathes. Everyone had already had a hunch, but no one had wanted to name it. 

It’s a low rumble that makes the rest of them freeze, though. It was so dead in tone that it even made Kyle’s spine lock up; Johnny’s eyes went a smidgen upward. Simon, although his face was covered, felt his lips twitch.

John looks at nothing but that dot on the computer screen.

“Am I green, Laswell?”

Kate looks at John. It’s like setting a hellhound loose. 

“You’re green, Captain.”

—

You’re tossed into the cell and your body rolls along the floor, bouncing and flinching until your back slams into the wall. Air is forced from your lungs, coming out in a loud grunt before you land on your stomach in a heap. Staying there, your nerves are fried. 

Every moment you think the twitching of your fingers will stop—the dance of your muscles responding to the aftereffects of electrocution, it only starts back up again. Your eyes blink rapidly; your clothes have the scent of smoke to them. 

Gasping for breath, you feel like you’re drowning and being set on fire all at once. 

Yet the question in your head was a simple one, one you’d been asking for days.

Where was John?

Emmett enters the cell, clicking his tongue as the metal hinges squeak. 

“I’m not surprised it’s taking this long,” he explains. “But I am surprised you’re still alive, admittingly.” 

A boot comes out and places itself atop your shoulder, pressing down slowly until its full weight is on top of you. Your mouth opens in a shuddering sound of a dying animal, blood dripping from your ears and nose. 

“I know you’ve taken torture before—even taken a part of it,” Kinsman sighs. “But, shit Hart, you really do scare me when I know you’re strong enough to get through th—”

Your body jolts up, grappling Emmet’s leg and twisting it to the side. Regardless of pain—of agony—there’s such primal rage inside of you that what little adrenaline you can bring forth is all that more addictive. 

The man collapses in a heap, gasping, but you’re already on top of him, wrestling your hand to his neck, missing finger and all. Blood moves, staining his precious suit and dripping from your mouth into his hairline. You bare down your weight on him, teeth clenched and eyes wild—one orb holding nothing but red from burst veins and the other full of a vicious gleam of ferality. 

Hands snap up to your wrists, mouth opening in flapping panic. 

But Emmett has grown weak; he’s out of practice. All of those years out of the SAS, giving up on the training of the body to match the mind. The idiot wasn’t even carrying a gun when he walked into the cell of a charging stag, its antlers dripping gore, sharper than any knife. 

When the flaps of his eyes fall there’s no gloating speech—there’s no snort of a tall and proper victor. All you do is take the front of his face, grasp it, and start sending his skull back into the concrete floors. 

Crack.

…Crack.

….Crack.

Only when the sound of his head breaking open meets your ringing ears, do you force your wheezing lungs to take a large breath. 

Emmet Kinsman died as he lived. 

A fucking piece of shit.

“Fuck you,” you spit on his corpse, saliva bloody; his jaw is loose as you release the man’s face, eyes bulging. Falling to the side, you groan in pain, your body curling into itself until you resemble a sleeping fawn. You’re shaking more and more with every second, coughing with the force of an earthquake until your shredded vocal chores force you to stop. 

But the brain is a funny thing. 

In times of danger, survival is the only thing that takes priority. It was why, in a long shove of your hand to the floor, with your bones creaking and your vomit meeting the ground, you’re able to stand. It isn’t enough to help you heal the snapped bone of your right leg, however, and in a steadily failing stupor, you drag it behind you. In this state, nothing else matters to you besides a simple command: get out.

Your shoulder slaps the metal of the cell as you stumble out of it, careening into the far wall and letting out a loud shout. 

Eyes fluttering, you connect your temple to the cool concrete, trying to breathe. 

It hurts too much, your mind says. God, I can’t feel my limbs. 

A long trail of blood follows you down the hallway as you slide along the wall, using it as a brace. 

You want to see John, you whisper inside of your head. You want to be held by him—be taken into his chest; cared for away from all of this fighting. 

A trip back to Herefordshire with him, to go deep into the country together; rest in the green grass where no one can find you for just a few good hours. It didn’t have to be forever, you would say. Just a few hours. A few hours of sky and earth wrapped in a time loop of just your own. 

You want to kiss him there. In the open, out in the wild. You want to stay by his side, your mind thinks as you stumble over the three dead bodies in the left corridor, bullet wounds in their heads. You want to be by his side forever, no more gaps in years, not more longing. It’s so close you can nearly reach out and grasp it—

Your name is yelled on a heavy breath, and hands capture your shoulders as you fall straight into them with no more strength.

Blue eyes lock with yours as you’re hurriedly settled to the ground, body limp and eyes trying to stay open. 

Blue eyes on a grassy hill.

“Hart, fucking hell.” Hands move your body, pressing and sliding—finding every opening and spreading blood like water. “Fucking hell! Hey!”

You’re yelled at, and the ripping of pouches and the familiar sound of bandages being wrapped come to the back of your brain. A hand shakes your head, locked under your chin as you take slow, broken, breaths. 

“Please, fuck sake, please,” it’s a desperate growl, so familiar and yet a world away. Your body is moved and manipulated as every leaking wound is packed with so much gauze it hangs out of you like you’re a mummy. The burns along your flesh are crust and infected, open skin peeling back. 

But the pain is lesser now. Easier to manage. 

There’s such a ruckus that it’s hard to focus on John—the man on the hill. In the grass and the wind. Brown hair moves in the breeze as white clouds roll past. On the air, there’s the scent of rain, and in the far distance, you can see a group of ten deer grazing, ears twitching.

Maybe you’ll ask them if they blame their leader, or the two trucks on the end of a bridge.

“Keep your eyes on me!” You blink into John’s tiny blues, that mist rolling back. You stare for a moment as he frantically screams into his radio; night vision rig on his head and all-black gear covering him from you. His face is pale, his eyes glossy. “Look at me, hey,” he blinks as he notices you watching, surging forward. “Hey, keep 'em open, yeah? You keep them fucking open, Love.” 

Your chest is heavy. 

“John,” you push out a flicker coming to your lips as your vision slightly unblurs itself to the sight of a flood of blood on the man’s body—an unimaginable amount.

“I’m ‘ere,” his accent grows deeper with emotion, one hand holding your cheek and the other at your shoulder, keeping you still to stop any additional damage. “I’ve got you, you understand me? I’m not letting you go, so don’t you think that I will.” 

It’s a double-edged sword.

A smile peels back your chapped lips, red running from the corner of your mouth. You glance at his stained gear again. The abyss swirls at the corners of your eyes.

“Is that your blood, or mine, John Price?” 

You hear him scream for a medic, and then it all goes numb.

—

You dream of deer on a hill, but every time you search for John, he isn’t there. You go past rivers—

“She’s dropping!”

“Get me the defibrillator!”

—past copses. Your voice goes high and low, but all the while you look, there’s nothing but a nagging feeling in the back of your head that you shouldn’t be here.

“Again!”

It’s a strange nagging, truly. Like falling asleep in the middle of the day and waking up in the night without any remembrance of what had happened prior. A displacement of the mind. 

“We’ve got a pulse, Doctor, do we stop and—”

“No, I need to finish off the internal bleeding or else she won’t make it another day. Get me the cauterizer, now.”

You blink and grip your chest, a sudden pain sharp in your heart as the grass moves about your ankles. Coughing, you bend over, your eyes fluttering rapidly. In the deepest part of your eardrum, you hear a murmur of a voice you can’t place.

“The man came back, again. He’s been out there for days. He just…sits there, waiting until someone tells him something. He can’t come in, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sure hearing his voice would help more than mine, but you’re in too much of an unstable condition for that. If you get another infection, you won’t…hm, I shouldn’t talk about that. Everyone in school said only to talk positively to patients when they’re like this. I…I’m sure he’ll be able to come in soon. I think everyone calls him John if that rings a bell?”

“John?” Your eyes flutter open, sharp light above you making you snap them back closed. No one answers. 

It’s a long moment before you find the strength to breathe in the oxygen from the mask over your face, taking a long and deep inhale before a slight cough makes your abdomen tight. You flinch at the pull of stitches, all coming from so many places, that it’s unwise to move too much. 

Gradually, you open back up your eyes, pushing past the sting. Inside of your throat, the skin is so dried out you can feel it cracking at every articulation of your words. 

“Where's…John?” When you shift your head to the side, no one’s there. No one’s even in the room, either.

Blinking through the haze, your lips twitch on your face, skin tight. With a slap of your weak hand, you grasp the oxygen mask and pull it down to your neck, grunting in mild annoyance at the medicated numbness of your form. 

Your leg is in a cast—and your left side is tightly bound by wrappings to hide away the burns where skin grafts most likely live. With a glance, you see the missing pinky and the bandages that cover the strange remnants. 

The facial wound will scar, you know, but right now it’s patched over and healing. That’s all you can ask for. 

Sighing long, you blink slowly at the ceiling, licking your lips. You need water.

Outside, the murmurs are missed to you as your unmarred hand reaches for the nightstand table, where a half-drunk bottle of water sits next to a tray of food. Even if your stomach rumbles, water takes precedence. Your throat was like the Sahara desert.

“Forget something, John?”

“Bloody fork. The bastard gave me the slip. Dropped mine, needed to go back and grab another.”

“Oh, that’s alright—you could have asked one of us to get one for you. We’d hate for you to miss any time for visiting hours.”

“It’s fine; gets me moving, eh?”

“Just grab us if you need anything else!”

A low grunt is accented by the opening of the door; immediately you tense and pause, neck fighting itself to shift forward once more.

Wide blues lock with your own, and it’s like every pain fades away. 

John’s jaw is slack hidden under the layers of his beard bristles, brows going atop his head in an instant. The sound of a dropping metal utensil echoes through the room. 

You both stare at one another for a long time, and the murmur of nurses accumulates to some peaking through the crack; their expressions also going to shock. A few scurry off, probably to get a doctor. 

“What?” Your hoarse voice asks, unnerved by this. 

At the sound of your voice, John flinches forward on his boots. The nurses get shut out with beaming faces as the barrier closes with a small click of metal.

Walking to the side of your bed, John clears his throat, eyes looking you up and down in two glances. A million things are hidden in them. After an opening and closing of his mouth, which you watch closely while squinting, he speaks.

“How are we feeling, then?” You breathe slowly and in tiny puffs. John looks at the oxygen mask as if telling you to put it back on, but you refuse for a moment. 

“Like shit,” you utter, voice cracking.

With a huff, John pushes away your reaching hand and gets the water himself, unscrewing it. Bringing it to your lips, you take it down as he speaks.

“Easy, Love.” 

When you’d had your fill and the ache settled, you brought a hand to your head and rubbed at your injured cheek before John sighed and grabbed at it, intertwining his fingers with yours and lowering the limb back to your chest.

You stare at him, and he stares at you. 

“I don’t know what to ask,” you confess. 

“You don’t have to ask anything,” John mutters, and his face is tight with worry. “You’ve been in a coma for three weeks, all you need to do is ease back into it.”

Your eyes snap back.

“Tell me if it hurts,” He speaks slowly, moving on one word at a time so the realization doesn’t dwell in your brain. “I can get someone to come in, yeah?”

Your hand in his burns, and John pulls at the chair by the nightstand until he’s able to sit down in it fully with a tiny grunt.

“No,” you say, “no, it’s…I’m fine.”

Better now that you’re here, but your body is tense. Three weeks?

“Just need to take it easy,” the man states, thumb running up and down your knuckles. “You’ll be better soon.”

A dry look is sent his way, and he hides a soft quirk on his lips. “You’ll be better, Love.”

You hum, head moving back more heavily into the pillow. 

“When do I get to go back?”

“When you’re healed,” he grunts. “Not a fuckin’ moment sooner.”

“We get anything on the other locations of the—”

“Hart,” you’re interrupted. Blue eyes stare at you heavily, digging past every shield you’d put up and every fear. What happened was still heavy in your mind; it pained you to imagine it, even the way John had found you—even if it was all glimpses. “Slow down. That’s not an order coming from a soldier, it’s a caution from an old friend.” John says, squeezing your flesh. His other hand comes to your shoulder, sitting there heavily. 

“Breathe,” he orders, face gruff. “We always figure it out.” 

You close your eyes and sigh, frowning. 

A low chuckle moves along the air a second later. 

“Never sit down, do you?” A flicker dances over your lips like a butterfly. “Impossible, you are.”

“You’re one to talk,” you huff, eyes shifting back to him. 

He’s smiling at you, and you can’t help but mirror it right back at the sight. Your facial injury pulls and tightens, but you would welcome an ache like that for as long as it stayed. A scar born of the stretch of lips is one well-earned. Only John could ever make it a reality.

The man stares at your lips, his wide build eager to stay over you in this state. He can’t stop himself from caressing your skin; to feel you alive and breathing. Talking.

“Scared me,” John admits under his breath. 

You blink, your smile fading slowly until it was like it was never there. Your body builds with guilt; also something only he could bring. “I’m sorry, John.” 

A small thinning of his lips is what you get, accented by a hum. 

“Hart,” he grunts. “I…”

John’s eyes closed for a moment before opening back up—spearing you with their gaze. Your tired eyes crinkle in confusion.

“What is it?” Over the tingle of your flesh from where he touches you, it isn’t hard to forget the world is around you when he’s here like this. You’re nearly trapped by his eyes, yet you welcome it eagerly. His voice moves out, accent and natural gravel, all. 

“I love you.” 

Your nose lets a chuff exit. Was that all?

“I love you, too, John—”

“No, Hart,” he pushes slightly harder, moving closer and licking his lips as he glances away. “No,” John looks you dead in the eye as you lay here battered and broken within an inch of your life—a risk that you took willingly as if it had meant nothing. The both of you weren’t new to this; you both knew that on any day you or he would do it over and over again until it resulted in death. That was the way of this game; this trial. 

You had both always been content with that, but when had it changed? 

Why was the thought of losing you more fear-invoking than anything else he’d ever encountered?

You watch him as his lips utter the words, lips close to yours and your eyes locked. 

“I love you.” 

Your voice is caught in your throat, stuck in the throws of a quick gasp. Not blinking, the man waits for you—waits for an answer to the earth-shattering confession. But it all came far easier than you would ever admit to anybody besides him. It was already known, after all. 

All that remained was the pesky words.

“I love you, too.” You beam, words low with intimacy. “I think I always have.”

John chuckles, a large smile pushing at his reddening cheeks. “Good,” he nods, clearing his throat. “Good,” he says again. “Well, I—”

You softly connect your lips with his, and you feel him pause, breathing you down for a moment as hearts beat at the same tempo. He sighs, one hand coming up to capture your cheek, holding it there for you as you sag into it and live in this everlasting moment. 

It’s there you had a revelation.

It was never Hart to him. John had never been calling you that. 

He’d always just been saying Heart.

You breathe out a laugh, when you separate, beaming in a happiness you thought was long gone from you—stolen in the dark nights and sold through even darker deeds. Neither of you was worthy of this, of the love that breeds in broken things. Yet, here it is regardless. Here, among blood and the blue eyes of a man you’d known since knowing anything became important. You had always known it was John. And finally, finally, finally.

“I would marry you in an instant, John Price,” you breathe when you separate, not weak enough to stop the words from exiting from the deepest part of your soul.

His crinkled eyes watch, reverently gazing at every blemish and mark; everything he could learn new again. John’s eyes are as soft as you ever imagined them to be, and he gives them over freely to you.

He kisses you again and leaves the taste of his heavy, happy, chuckle tingling across your lips.

“Seems I’d better get on that, then.”

A/N: This fic is strangely nostalgic for me even if I just wrote it - I remember the first ever fic I posted on here was a rescue fic, as well as a John Price fic; it's amazing to see how far I've come in regards to overall content/story building and how my understanding of the character has evolved. This might not be the best work I've posted on my blog, but I'm glad to say I'm proud of myself and how far I've come. It's so wonderful that I can have this feeling for such a big moment and still feel so drawn back to the past at the same time. Totally not tearing up at the thought rn.

Thank you all very much for your support.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting , @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[aggieharkness]

Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 2

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: Avis has plans for the both of you, plans that change drastically when she finds you doing filthy things to yourself. She must punish you for that, mustn't she? Teach her dirty little girl a lesson.

Warnings: smut (+18), affair, swearing, oral (Avis receiving), fingering (Avis receiving), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), mommy kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, edging, teasing, public sex, car sex, dom/sub, power play, pet names, tit play.

Authors note: you all seemed to like the first chapter, so I came up with this. The plot changed as I was writing, so I started with one idea and finished with this. I hope you all like it, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking on something... I accept constructive criticism because it's very late once again and I don't know if this chapter is any good. If you want more, tell me. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Chp. 1 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5 Chp.6

Word count: 13K (yes, it's even longer. I don't know what I'm doing)

Skirt up and knickers off

Breakfast seemed like it had been so long ago. The cup of tea that rested next to the turned off lamp, which you had barely touched since arriving at the office since the lights in that hallway seemed to always be on and blinding, had turned cold a while ago due to the fact that the pile of work on your desk was monumental and you needed to get through it before more documents showed up the next morning. With Mr. Amberg in some business trip all the way in Denmark you had to do Miss Kincaid’s work as well as his. Again. Honestly, this had to be a fucking joke. Miss Stinton recovers, comes back and leaves with her boss and half of the fucking studio on a trip in less than a day leaving you in charge when you had just got used to your tiny little office once again, with your tiny potted flowers and the window that you had never been able to open. Good things really didn’t last for you, well, some things did. Lifting you gaze from the contract of a camera man that you had never seen in your entire life, they glued to those big doors that separated your boss’s office from the hallway. What had transpired inside that room a merely few days ago had been marvellous, and the memories of it sent shivers down your entire body, heat rising under the collar of your dress. Who would have thought Avis Amberg was so talented with her tongue in the bedroom as much as she was out of it?

She had worked on you slowly, with a caring touch at first that had surprised you. Her fingertips had traced every curve of your body, they had massaged and pinched and simply caressed you as if you had been made out of gold, her mouth following the same rules, never nibbling, never biting. You had adored it, but after a while you had got needy, and you had begged. With her naked splendid body on top of yours you had begged her to be rough, that you could take it and holy fuck, she had really taken your word for it, slapping you then, a single eyebrow lifted and a smirk on her full lips. It had stung, but the pain had turned quickly into pleasure and even though you had the shape of her hand marked on your cheek, your knickers had been absolutely flooding. Avis had seen a side of you then that she had told you the both of you would explore on another occasion, because the well behaved Ace Studios employee that had just given her three orgasms on a row liked it rough and she was so turned on by the simple thought of leaving the shape of her palms on your body, of leaving you utterly destroyed that it had not been a promise, it had been a fact. She had forgone her caring touch from that instant onward. There had been moments when the pleasure had been so close to the line of agony, when her teeth had bitten down on your neck enough to practically draw out blood, when her nails had racked over your breasts, pinching your nipples to the point where you could not differentiate between what moans where from pleasure and which ones where from pain, that your heart had practically leaped out of your chest with how fucking aroused you had been and  also by how panicked you had found yourself to be once or twice, but like the lady she was, she had never ever crossed the line. But she had offered you a taste of what things might be like when she had pulled you off the desk and instead had bent you over it, your ass up in the air while her right hand pulled your head back by your hair, whispering the filthiest things she could come up with in your ear.

-Look at you, dripping onto the carpet when I have barely touched you. You are such a slut.

It had sent a jolt of pleasure to your core, matching the way her hands had grabbed your ass, massaged it and then proceeded to slap both cheeks on quick succession, because she was in charge, and you were her puppet. Then without warning she had plunged two fingers into you, and you had been lost. Her pace had been even faster than yours, but then again, she was so turned on by her own actions that it was miracle she was not slamming you into the wood of the desk, not that the way her fingers felt as they curled and moved was bad at all. With her mouth she had began to kiss down your naked back, your breasts dangling, nipples brushing over the desk as she pushed you back down to gain better access to the shape of your spine, her hot tongue licking the layer of sweat that had begun to accumulate. Each lap of her tongue as it travelled down had made your walls clench around her fingers and then suddenly, she had pulled them out completely and had let go of your hair, your pants hard against the wooden surface. On shaky legs you had pushed yourself upward watching as she pulled her husband’s chair away from the desk before sitting on it, legs spread and her cunt glistening and dripping as much as yours, her red curls cascading and framing her gorgeous face. Her pupils had taken over her eyes once more as she had signalled for you to approach her, her hands grabbing your hips and sitting you down in between her legs as soon as you had been within range, your back pressed against her chest, her stiff nipples brushing on your skin. Her hands had traced the shape of your thighs as she had opened you up even further, swinging each leg over her own, leaving you completely exposed to the world.

-Look at you, showing your pretty cunt to the entire studio. Imagine it Y/N, everyone standing in this very room with their eyes on your body.

You had indeed imagined it. Mr. Amberg’s face contorted in anger, or perhaps passiveness as you had his wife behind you utterly naked, her salty taste still deep within your mouth. You had imagined everyone in that office staring dumbfounded, losing your train of thought for a moment as Avis squeezed your breasts before moving one hand back to your hair and the other between your legs not wasting a second before she was knuckle deep inside you again. Your head had lulled back of its own accord, eyes rolling to the back of your head as she moved them so expertly, so fast. Her lips latched onto your neck, which was absolutely bruised by then, listening to the squelching sounds that you both made as she fucked you. Your imagination only enhanced the experience, because now you could see your boss red with anger but unmoving, Dick, Richard, Ellen, everyone watching you both, so open, spread wide, and with one flick of her thumb over your clit you came crashing down, Avis’s name leaving your lips in a full-on scream. She had really worked you up; rather embarrassing for you to have cum so quickly when you had tried to prolong her pleasure for as long as you could. Her movements slowed down and you had been rather disappointed that she was not willing to give you the same treatment you had given her, pushing your body off of hers once you had come down from your high but honestly you should have known she was not done, alas your brain was still recovering from your orgasm and it did not click what she had planned next until she had sat you on her husband’s chair, kneeling before you.

Your walk down pornographic memory lane was disturbed, much to your dismay, by the phone ringing. Your eyes unglued themselves from the doors, but when you where about to move your right hand towards the receiver you felt it in between your legs. Looking down you saw your skirt slightly hunched above your thighs, underwear to the side and two of your own fingers knuckle deep inside you. Fuck, you really had been lost in your own filthy mind, but thankfully no one was in that hallway now that Mr. Amberg was on that trip. You had never done this in the office before, but then again you had never fucked Avis Amberg either, so there was definitely a first time for everything.  You contemplated for a second whether you wanted to pull them out, the phone continuing to ring, before you decided that you very much didn’t and took the receiver with your left hand sounding as professional as ever, if only a little bit out of breath. The sound of your boss’s voice bombed on the other side, and you rolled your eyes in exasperation before you began to listen to his rambling. Yes Mr. Amberg, the contracts had arrived, yes Mr. Amberg production for “A kiss at Midnight” has been halted until your return, no Mr. Amberg the studio has not gone over budget on Miss Crandall’s movie. The frustration of his stupid words was mixing with the frustration of your fingers not moving, adding fuel to the possibility of you talking back to him if he didn’t shut up soon and let you finish, but he seemed to be talkative today, and you were too fucking turned on by the memory of his wife to wait until he hanged up.

You slid your fingers out before plunging them back in, curling them so the tips would brush over that sweet spot. You bit back a groan, trying to keep your noises down to a minimum, not that you thought Mr. Amberg would even realise what you were doing, because now you seemed to be like a fucking therapist, listening to all his problems and what not without the chance of getting a single word in. Your pace had been slow, careful at first, but soon you found a rhythm that you enjoyed very much, feeling a slight burn in your arm from the exertion, but you wouldn’t stop now that you could feel your orgasm properly building. Placing the receiver in between your shoulder and your ear you had your left hand doing you the service of rubbing your own clit, brushing and pinching and putting as much pressure on it as you could. Mr. Amberg never suspected anything, he carried on rambling about this and that, soft “yes Mr. Amberg, of course Mr. Amberg” leaving your lips to keep him content. Your movements got more erratic, and the sound of his voice travelled to the back of your head as his wife’s moans and whimpers filled your mind, fuelling your arousal even further. At last, you heard Mr. Samuels call for him and Mr. Amberg was quick to end the conversation and hang up even before you could say goodbye, and thank fucking God for it, because you were far too close to keep the conversation going. But of course, good things never last, and you heard the sound of the elevator, pulling both hands out from in between your legs as fast as you could, the skirt of your dress back over your thighs, a frustrated groan having escaped your lips as you had been forced to let your orgasm fade when you had been right there, almost reaching the peak.

Whoever was on that elevator was going to receive the worst treatment in the world. Or not. Placing the receiver back in place and pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket to clean your fingers you watched as Avis walk out, her red curls perfectly coiffed under a black wide rim hat with a veil wrapped under her chin, her frame dressed in a gorgeous light blue, perhaps even greyish, two-piece. Her bosom was beautifully wrapped in a top that presented ruffles at the bottom, a long skirt hiding her legs from your view, her dainty feet in five-inches heels that matched the colour of her clothes perfectly. Looking at the outfit as a whole you thought she could have got away with just wearing the top; sure, the bottom of her blouse would have ended around her thighs, the longest part could have even reached her knees, but it’s not as if that could ever be a bad thing. If you could feast on Avis’s legs the better the choice of clothes. Alas, she was a lady, and she would never wear something like that, in public anyway you suspected. Her hips swayed with each step she took, her signature red lips smiling up at you, her brown eyes surveying you through her long black eyelashes. Getting closer she noticed your dishevelled state, how your cheeks were flushed, your chest rising and falling rapidly, even a few random strands of your golden hair had escaped your ponytail. She raised an eyebrow at you, her sweet smile now a smirk.

-Good morning, Y/N. Have I interrupted something? – her voice was low and sweet as she reached your desk, your hands still holding onto the handkerchief. The sunlight that came through the window bathed her face so beautifully, like a halo of utter magnificence. Her eyes shone brightly, the deep oak-coloured orbs like molten chocolate over your body, her olive kissed skin glowing, calling out to you the same way her red lips were as she smiled, your eyes racking over them. But you were most taken by the way her usually deep red hair seemed to shine with ginger tones that complemented her features perfectly, like a field of oranges on the coast of Spain. Even her perfume this time seemed to be more citrusy. She basked in the way you were so taken with her, the way you could not take your eyes off of her body, not even for an instant. She chuckled as she bent forward a bit more, her gloved finger under your chin, forcing your eyes to gaze upon hers. – Answer the question doll.

-No, ma’am. – crap, you had forgotten to return your knickers to their usual position covering your cunt, and the fabric was digging onto your thigh as you pressed them together. Why couldn’t she have waited a few more minutes? Her eyes narrowed at your words, her forearms resting over the light wood giving you a perfect angle to see her full breasts through the top.

-I don’t like liars Y/N, so I’ll ask again, did I interrupt something?

-I… Yes. Why do you ask if you already know ma’am?

-Why wouldn’t I? Better yet, how couldn’t I? Seeing you so… horny right in front of me. Honestly girl, does that pretty mind of yours ever rest?

-No when you are in it, ma’am.

-Sweet talker. – she grabbed one of your hands, bringing your fingers to her lips, kissing the tips before putting them in her mouth, her tongue twirling around them, licking and sucking. She closed her eyes briefly, a quiet moan rumbling from her throat as she tasted you in your own fingers. When she popped them out, she simply mover her pinkie around her mouth to ensure her lipstick was still perfect as if she had not just done something so positively erotic that had you writhing in your seat dripping and boiling under your collar. It didn’t go unnoticed by her. – Did I come by too early and didn’t let you cum, doll? - You nodded at which she chuckled and moved her hand to grab your chin with a bruising strength. – Poor little Y/N. Do you want to? – you nodded once more.

-Please, mother. - You could literally spontaneously combust by how hot you were, it almost felt like you were scorching in your own skin, not to mention in between your legs and the way her body was just so fucking perfect and tempting under that outfit, her cleavage a most out of body experience as they nearly spilled out of the top from her position. Fuck you could come just be staring at them.

-Well, you can’t. Not until I say so and I have plans for you and me, so get that pretty ass of yours up from that chair and get your coat. - she had pushed her body off your desk, adjusting her gloves and hat, her hands roaming the sides of her body as her eyes locked with yours, her lips parting slightly as the tip of her tongue roamed over her teeth.

-But… Please…

-Are you trying to talk back to me, honey? – her entire demeanour changed, that playful banter she had had with you turned into a low dangerous tone that only worsened your state, her eyes staring at you hard, her palms firmly on your desk as she towered over you. – Let me remind you little girl that I am in charge here. You don’t get to plead or beg me to let you do anything, I give you permission when I see fit. Understood?

-Yes, mother.

-For what you just did I think a punishment is in order, wouldn’t you say?

-Ye… Yes, mother.

-Stand up and remove your underwear. Now.

Your legs were so shaky that you had to hold onto the edge of your desk as not to fall over, standing from your chair and lifting your skirt with your right hand, grabbing the waistband before pulling your white knickers down your legs letting the skirt fall back into place. Avis removed her gloves at the same time, freeing her slender fingers and veiny hands, those hands that you had fantasied about every time you had got in bed since Friday night. The feeling of the fabric of your dress on your bare ass was distracting, to say the least, but you had already angered Avis once and you didn’t want to make it worse. The flimsy garment was now around your fingers and unsure of what you were supposed to do with it you would have placed it on your desk if she had not extended her hand in a silent command for you to placed it on her palm. She took it, twirled it in between her fingers before she spread the garment open, thoroughly inspecting the ruined material before she turned her head towards you, still standing there waiting for her command. What an obedient little pet you could be. She brought the knickers to her face and licked them slowly, her eyes never breaking their gaze over yours, thriving on the fact that your eyes had dilated even further, and your breaths were coming in hurried puffs, your cheeks, and probably chest as well, blushing a deep red. Avis hummed deliciously as she tasted you, your legs pressed so hard together that every muscle on your thighs was absolutely tense beyond believe, the woman doing one more lap over your knickers with her tongue before she folded them and put them in a little pocket in her purse.

-If you are a good girl for mama, you will be thoroughly rewarded doll. Come and stand here, let mama see you.

Your right hand remained on the edge as you rounded the desk, coming to stand in front of her on your shaky legs. She circled you, taking in the pretty lilac dress you were wearing today, the zipper on the side she noticed as her fingers lingered a bit over your stomach, travelling around your frame, moving to your lower back, right above your buttocks but never really touching them. You smelled just delicious, her nose brushing your neck as she inhaled your essence. Each feathery touch of her fingers upon your skin left a trail of goosebumps, your nipples stiff and perky under your dress. Coming back to face you her finger traced the collar of your dress, tight around your neck, hooking it underneath the fabric and pulling you closer to her, her lips hoovering over yours. It was a miracle your feet hadn’t tripped in the foot and a half that had previously separated you.

-You should let all those marks I gave you see the sun, honey.

-What would people think, ma’am? – your voice wavered slightly, her minty breath warming your lips, her hand on your waist almost as if she knew you could collapse on her any minute, your own hand shooting to stabilise yourself on her forearm feeling her soft skin under your palm.

-That you have a very diligent partner. No need to tell them that partner is me.

She considered herself your partner. The words rang musically in your ears. One night between the two of you, a very good one if you were being honest, and she already considered herself to be that someone you would want to spend every hour of every day with. And damn, you did want her in such a way. You wanted to return home and see her sitting on the couch nursing one of her fancy martinis, the record player in the background resonating to something slow and beautiful, like her. You wanted to woo her, take her to dinner, dance with her, take her on picnics and trips to the South of Spain and every little village in Italy, to see her relaxing at the beach. You wanted to hold her hands and in the darkness of the night take her to bed, undress her, kiss every inch of her skin, to watch her sleep as the moonlight bathed her after midnight, to wake up to her sleepy grunts, watching the thin bedsheet slip off her body revealing her naked form to the gentle morning light. Your eyes locked with hers, drinking in her intense gaze, realising she might too want the same thing. Her fingers undid the first two buttons of your dress tracing the shape of your neck with her nails, smiling as your skin turned red.

-You and I are going to have so much fun today.

A yelp escaped your lips as her left hand spanked you through your dress, kneading the flesh of your ass as her right one travelled underneath the skirt, over your thigh and in between them. Your legs parted for her, her index finger sliding through your wet folds as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hips buckling. That simple movement earned you another spank, harder than the previous one, her finger twirling around your clit for a few seconds, listening as your whimpers became more needy before pulling her hand away. You whined at the loss of contact, your peak right there, so close you could taste it but fading once more. Your eyes opened pleadingly, and you nearly begged her again, but the words never made it out through your lips as you watched her put her drenched finger in her mouth, sucking it before releasing it with a pop, grabbing her gloves from the desk. You wanted that finger in your mouth, in your cunt, you wanted to taste her all over and for her to taste you.

-Delicious. Grab your coat and put your hair in a braid, I don’t want you looking so dishevelled. Yet.

The way the material of the skirt moved around your bare flesh only fuelled your need for release, but you would not contradict Avis again. You wanted that tongue of hers on you and you would get it, even if you had to do questionable things to achieve it. Making your way to the coat rack you picked it up, throwing your arms in and tying it loosely around you before raising your arms to let your hair free before beginning to braid it. By then Avis had begun to walk towards the elevator without waiting for you, but you would not complain; her ass swayed deliciously under that tight skirt of hers and you knew she knew how much you loved it. You practically sprinted in her directions as the elevator’s doors opened, letting her enter it first and letting her exit before you as you finished tying your hair, throwing it over your shoulder, your frame always a couple of feet behind her as to not draw too much attention to you. If only the people you crossed paths with knew that you were commando under your dress because Avis Amberg had ordered you to remove your knickers, they would either faint or call you crazy, but what sweet madness it was knowing that it was true. Pushing the exit gates, you followed her into the bright sunny world outside that fucking building, because let’s be honest, it was shit having to miss such a beautiful day because one had to work, though you soon wished you had never left that fucking building. It was freezing, Avis had your knickers in her purse and your cunt would soon turn into a huge ass ice cube if you didn’t make it to her Cadillac soon.

The trek to the parking lot was both exhilarating for obvious reasons but also torture and you sighed in relief as that beautiful black car came into your plane of vision. Unlocking it Avis sat in her seat while you slipped right beside her, your arousal having diminished slightly, much to your dismay. From the corner of her eye Avis noticed that you were relaxed, far too relaxed for her liking, she had too many ideas in that pretty head of hers to have you grow cold on her, so after turning the ignition and reversing before shifting the vehicle into first gear, her hand shot out to grab your thigh, pulling your body closer to hers. Her fingers kneaded your flesh, drawing out sweet gasps from you, her voice ringing in your ears as she asked you for a cigarette. Your hands shook as you opened her purse, pulled one out and lighted it, handing it to her, but she did not take it, she smirked at you before raising an eyebrow, her silent command clicking in your brain after a moment. Your hand approached her mouth, the pads of your fingers touching her bright red lips as you placed the cigarette in between them, the carmine staining your skin as you pulled your hand back. She hummed in approval, rewarding you, or perhaps torturing you, when her hand slipped under your skirt and began to trace the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. It was positively hypnotising to see her take a drag before releasing the smoke around her gorgeous face, the cigarette resting in between two fingers of her left hand. The one under your skirt inched closer and closer to your cunt by the minute, your eyes moving from her face to her hand as if it were a tennis match. Avis’s brown eyes glanced at you every chance she could, listening to your gasps and moans.

Her own underwear was ruined already, but there would be plenty of time for you to take care of her once she had finished what she had planned for you, after all she had the house all to herself and she could do as she pleased in it. Signalling to turn left, her hand had to slip out from under your dress so she could swerve the Cadillac down Sunset Boulevard, the cigarette patiently waiting once more in between her lips, taking a long drag. The lack of her touch didn’t last for too long, as soon as the car glided down the road again, she placed her hand once more over your thigh and under the fabric. The grip you had on the seat had turned your knuckles white, eyes glued to her hand as it moved, her forearm bunching up the lilac material showing off your shapely legs until her fingers finally made contact with your dripping folds. The moan that escaped your throat was shameful, your head lulling back over the seats, but you didn’t care, not when they were moving up and down your slit slowly. Out of their own accord your legs spread to grant her better access, to which she chuckled, puffing the smoke of another drag in your direction never stopping her ministrations, quite the opposite. She gathered as much of your juices on her two fingers as she could before moving up to your clit, twirling it and rubbing it in short motions. You cursed, your breaths coming in short gasps and pants tasting the nicotine that floated in the air, eyes rolling when she pressed a little harder, grabbing her wrist to push her hand closer to you. Wrong move. Avis pulled her hand away with a disapproving hum before you could stop her, leaving you again close to the edge, refusing to touch you, not even planning on placing her hand on your thigh. Absolutely not; you thought you could tell her what to do, demanding her to please you? Then she would leave you wanting her until it drove you insane. Tears had begun to gather in the corner of your eyes at the frustration, but you would not cry because you honestly did not know whether she would like it or not. Perhaps she would end all this in an instant, and that you certainly did not want, so you swallowed thickly and closed your legs.

-I’m sorry mama. – you needed a distraction, not that the sound of her voice helped you feel any less aroused, not that the sight of her full lips wrapping around the cigarette wasn’t as erotic as she made it look, but perhaps starting a conversation could relax some of the tension in your body. - Where… Where are we going ma’am?

-I don’t want an apology Y/N. Don’t. Do. It. Again. – each word was accentuated by a hard glare your way, smoke escaping her mouth before she rolled the window down and flicked the butt out onto the road. She remained silent for a minute, ruminating in her head whether you deserved an answer to your question or not. Those pleading eyes and rosy cheek that were staring back at her were too adorable for her to keep you in the dark. Her tone wasn’t as commanding, but it definitely held an air of power that prevented you from interrupting her. - Ellen has told me that your car was beyond repair and that you have been using the bus to get to work since Saturday, so I’ve decided to do something about it.

-Som… Something about it? Avis, you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting?

-Yes, I am. Honey, I’m rich, I can spend as much as I want on whatever I want, and I want to spend it on you.

-You don’t have to.

-I know, I just told you I want to Y/N. You have been working yourself to bone at the studio. You have done everything to please my husband with your brain and you have done everything to please me with your skills. Such devotion deserves recognition.

-The raise was enough, ma’am.

-And yet you take the bus with all those strangers gawking at you, probably fantasizing about your body, about how you might sound with that pretty mouth of yours around their cocks and I for one, don’t like to share. – she braked at a red light taking the opportunity to turn her head fully towards you, her right hand grabbing your face, her fingers still smelling of your arousal, your mind hazy and rushing. As if it had ever stopped. – I’m the only one with the privilege of hearing and watching you cum. No one else.

-Of course, mother.

-If I see you faulting yourself, flirting in any way, in front of any of those men, inside or outside the studio, your punishment will be so severe you’ll have to call in sick for a week. I will have to remind you that you are my good girl, my pretty, desperate and delicious, good girl. Do I need to make myself clearer, honey?

-No, mother. I would never do that to you.

-Still, had I taken the stairs instead of the elevator I would have found you with your own fingers deep inside your cunt, pleasuring yourself. Were you thinking of me?

-Every minute of every day, Avis.

-Had I waited one more minute would have I seen you dripping onto your own hands, head lulled back, arching off the chair while you moaned my name? – you felt the huskiness in her voice in every single cell of your body, her left hand grabbing your hip with such strength you were sure she would add to the bruises she had left there the other night. God, she was so close to you, you could feel the heat radiating off her body. Watching the way you breathed her in, Avis thought of how incredibly worked up she was already when in fact you hadn’t even touched her but the way you reacted to her every word was just too intoxicating. She wasn’t sure for how long she could keep this up before her need for you took over her completely.

-Yes.

-Yes, what?

-Yes, mother. – this red light was giving you life, lasting what seemed to be hours. -Please, do I have your permission to-

-You don’t get to do anything, not yet, but perhaps an incentive might help you be mommy’s good girl. Because you want mama to reward you, don’t you?

You nodded and in the cabin of her black Cadillac Avis crashed her lips onto yours. Her soft, plump mouth pressed against yours felt like a wave of relief to you, as if you had finally returned home, your hands resting on her cheeks without a second thought before they travelled down towards her breasts, squeezing lightly, your mouth opening and letting her tongue dart inside it. At the feeling of your hands she gasped, groaning as she traced the shape of your teeth, sucking on your tongue earning a moan from you that resonated inside her body, her lips only parting from yours to breath after pulling on your lower lip, biting gently with her teeth. Her lipstick was smudged, but she did not care, she could fix it, but the sight of you with her favourite colour adorning your swollen lips made her groan wantonly once more. So, she was just as aroused as you were, good. She pushed your hands from her body and like magic the instant she turned towards the front glass the light turned green, and she quickly put the car in first gear again, continuing to drive. She did not touch again, but it was alright, the feeling of her tits spilling from your hands even through her top and that kiss, that fucking amazing kiss, could hold you off for a bit as you licked your lips trying to still get a bit of that taste that was Avis. Nicotine with a touch of something spicy and probably alcoholic topped by the carmine of her lipstick. Two minutes later you were at Packard’s own dealership, Avis parking the car in a corner before pulling the mirror down and grabbing her purse.

-As much as I love to see you like that, wipe your mouth. – you grabbed the tissue she was handing you, removing the red colour until only your own rosy lips could be seen, your eyes taking in the way she carefully removed the lipstick before applying it again, wiping with her index and pinkie fingers anything that was not utterly perfect. You could spend all day looking at her applying her makeup. Happy with the finished product she threw the tissue back in her purse, offering her palm to you and putting yours next to hers before snapping her purse closed once again, lifting her head to look at you. Her voice was serious, as if she were discussing a very important contract for the studios and yet her pupils were dilated as she looked at you. – Now, there’s a few rules that I want you to follow, firstly so you can get a proper car and secondly so I will fuck your brains out in the end. First rule, you are not to speak unless I allow you to. If I grant you permission I will nod to you, if you break this rule, I will add an hour until you can cum. Second rule, I can touch you whenever and wherever I please, so you better keep your noises to a minimum, if you don’t, the punishment will be the same; another hour. Third rule, your hands cannot touch any part of your own body or mine unless I want you to, which brings me to rule number four. You can’t cum. If you break either of them, I will have to take you to my house, tie you to a chair and have you watch me pleasure myself until you are begging me to let you worship me. Do you agree to these rules, Y/N? If you don’t, I will still get you the car, so don’t feel pressured to please me, but if you do want me to fuck you, agree.

-I do want you, everything you are willing to offer. I agree, ma’am.

-Good girl. Let us get you a car then, honey.

Stepping out of the car, she turned and bent over to grab her dark stole from the back seat, her perfect round ass up in the air. Your eyes were glued, as if it was calling you with the way it swayed and moved, her left leg lifted off the floor, bent over her ass as she finally grabbed the accessory. She had not said anything about not gawking at her body, undressing her with your eyes. If one looked for them, you could find a loophole. Standing back up and throwing the stole over her shoulders she closed the door. The sound startled you and you fought to get out of the car for a moment, your hands shaking and a little bit sweaty, practically leaping out of it, letting Avis close it before she turned and began to walk into the building. A pang of sadness graced your heart watching her move away from you. You knew that she was way above your station, that she was rich, famous, glamorous and should be way out of your league, but it hurt to be reminded this way that you could never be equals, that you had to walk a few feet behind her like the subordinate you were. You only desired to hold her hand, sex aside. Almost as if she could feel your every emotion, she turned her head over her shoulder, her deep eyes observing you with curiosity, taking note of your cast down eyes as you stared back at her, through her thick eyelashes. That curiosity turned into worry and then into understanding, a kind smile gracing her lips as she motioned for you with a gentle sway of her head to walk beside her. Your cheeks hurt form the way you smiled brightly at her, rushing to her side like a child that had been offered a lollipop. Simply being next to her was enough reward to you, not that you would mind finishing the day with her on top of you.

-If you want something from me, ask. You can break the rules if you need me to answer a question, whatever it may be. This should be enjoyable to the both of us.

-Can I hold your hand, Avis? – the question was not asked huskily or in hopes that you could get your way, no, it was genuine care that made you say it, and the surprised expression on her face was a perfect indication that no one had asked her that in a long time. One point to you, as you had managed to make Avis blush with a such an innocent and yet daring question.

-Trust me, honey, I would love it, but I can’t have people asking questions. I don’t want you to get hurt by gossip. – her now gloved finger tapped the tip of your nose, her words tainted with a gentle sadness even though her lips were smiling at you. You didn’t want her to feel that way, you wanted happy Avis, angry Avis, mad with lust Avis but never ever sad Avis.

-I understand.

-I know, you are a smart girl. How about when we are done here, we go on a walk? A private garden, or perhaps a secluded spot on a park where you can hold my hand and every bit of me as well. – her finger moved over your lips, tracing your jaw and down your neck, stopping right before reaching the swell of your breasts. It was outstanding the speed with which she could move from such an emotional moment to having you burning with desire again. - Would you like that?

-Very much, Avis.

-Then behave while we are in there. I will not reward you if you upset mommy.

With that said she turned and began to walk, but this time her steps were slower as to make sure you were beside her at all times. It made you so fucking horny and giddy that she would do this for you. Opening the glass doors for her Avis stepped inside the dealership, her commanding presence turning every single head in that place as you let the door close on its own. Every man in that building practically glided towards her, smiling and greeting her with fake smiles and disgustingly sweet words, almost as if she were a stupid little woman. It made you raise an eyebrow at their behaviour. Avis was quick to cut them short though, a smile on her lips and her voice dropping to that sugary tone that both scared you and turned you on, her fingers running over the jacket lapels of a young boy as she told them that she was not there to be convinced to buy a car, that she had an appointment with a Mr. Russell. The boy was absolutely smitten with her, and that angered you beyond believe. This was Avis’s entire personality, flirtatious, domineering, you were not worried about her, not one bit, you were worried about the ten different men that were practically dreaming of touching her, their eyes disgustingly racking over her body. You had to do something before any of them got too close for your comfort and you broke their noses, so you simply cleared your throat drawing the attention of her and the boys. You were jealous, Avis could see it in the way you stared hard at the men around her, the way you clenched your fists and gave them all a fake smile while murdering them with your eyes. It incensed her to know that someone adored her so much that they would probably be willing to fight for her, sending a wave of pleasure and want down to her core. Patting the young boy’s cheek she had addressed earlier she made her way to you, placing her hand on your lower back while smirking, pushing your body close to hers, the heat that you were radiating seeping through your coat and onto her palm. At the sight of the delectable Avis Amberg around you all those fake smiles faltered slightly, the men finally scattering back to their desks, not without sending you murderous glares first though. You returned them. That jealousy of yours demanded a reward for how wanted and desired she felt and a punishment for having stepped a little bit out of line, not that you had broken a rule, she simply wanted to. The slap that she delivered upon your left ass cheek practically echoed, making you yelp quietly and jump on the spot, her hand soothing the sting by kneading the flesh, her face close to your ear as she whispered.

-That jealousy act made mama so very wet, doll.

Fuck. You bit back a groan at her words, fingers twitching with the need to touch her, but you were not going to disappoint her and break the rules, as much as you wanted to. Your face turned to look at her, but she had already untangled herself from you, walking in between the cars that were on display, looking around without really paying any attention to them. She was going to be the death of you.  Her body swayed gracefully in between the multiple automobiles that filled the space, her hands running over the steel while glancing at your form over her shoulder. Following her around a Packard 120 she looked around, a naughty little idea taking form in her head, before resting her upper body on the trunk of the vehicle, motioning with her index finger for you to approach her. She was surely not suggestion what you though she was suggesting? True that in the secluded spot no one could see either of you, but she would not take the risk of getting caught, would she? Entering her personal space she grabbed your hands, bringing one to her face to kiss each of your fingers before licking its palm, the other one being placed on her left breast over the fabric of her top. The thrill of getting caught was utterly intoxicating and it made you even wetter; at this point you should be able to drown in your own arousal, your eyes glued to the way she was now sucking your index finger. You squeezed her breast, kneading, trying to find her nipple, but the fabric was too thick, and you could not feel her properly, so with a pleading look you moved your fingers to the hem of the neckline, asking her for permission without uttering a word. She nodded, moving your thumb into her hot mouth next, sucking and scrapping her teeth over your flesh. She gasped as your cold hand travelled underneath her outfit, raising goosebumps all over as you pushed the top of her corselette down as much as you could to free her breast. Feeling your fingers twirling and pinching her nipple had her lulling her head back, dropping your other hand as she placed her palms over the steel of the car to steady herself.

Her perfume filled your lungs as you bent over her body, using your free hand to support your weight, but you still did not break the rules, did not touch her without her permission as your nose ghosted over her long neck. A particularly hard pinch had her buckling her hips against yours enticing a gentle gasp. Your core was positively on fire, but she still did not command you any further, simply enjoying the way you expertly played with her tit. Moving your mouth towards her ear you whispered if you could touch her with your mouth, to which she nodded, feeling your tongue on her earlobe and the side of her jaw. You would have loved to take your sweet time, but you would not risk it right now, moving your lips to her collarbone, moving her top to the side to free her breast to the air of the room, your tongue circling her nipple. Her eyes had followed your every move, lulling back when you finally sucked on her tit, fighting back a moan; no need to draw any attention. The moment was disturbed though at the sound of a door opening and closing and a set of footsteps hitting the floor. Avis pushed you gently of her body, returning her breast to its initial place but not before engraving the image of her own hand squeezing it with a cheeky smirk on her lips into your brain. Two seconds later she was greeting a short bald man of blue eyes by kissing his cheeks like nothing had happened, her clothes perfectly straightened and not a strand of hair out of place. Observing the exchange, you felt that somehow this man in particular didn’t seem to be a threat, that you didn’t need to worry about Avis when he was around, not that your brain could handle much after having sucked Avis’s breast in a public space. Fucking hell, she was an exhibitionist you thought. The need for release was borderline torture now, the line between pleasure and pain thinner than ever before and she had done practically nothing to you.

-Hello Avis. I was absolutely delighted to receive your call.

-I know, I could hear you jumping in your office through the phone.

-Oh, please. – his laugh was melodious if not a bit loud, but it didn’t seem to bother Avis. – Okay, perhaps a little.

-So, what do you have for me? You know I won’t take anything less than perfection.

-Then anything from the 30s is out of the question. Oh, sorry madam, I did not see you there. – Looking over Avis’s shoulder his beady blue eyes opened wide, surprised at the fact that he had not seen you, correcting such a situation immediately. He was such a charming man, perhaps he swung for the other team, you thought. Not that it bothered you, at all, quite the opposite. He made his way towards you, taking your hand, kissing it and patting it to greet you before flashing you with a smile, his pearly white teeth blinding you for an instant. – I am assuming this is the lady that you mentioned over the phone?

-Yes. Y/N, please met Oscar Russell, one of the best dealers in Hollywood.

-Oh, Avis, you flatter me. I simply enjoy cars and seeing people in them. I’m sure you’ll agree with me Y/N.

-So, you don’t enjoy the cut that you get every time you sell one?

-I never said I did not enjoy the money either!

His joy was contagious as that laugh rang through the entire building. Avis had taken the opportunity then to stand beside you, her hand brushing your arm discreetly and yet her eyes remained on Mr. Russell, listening intently as he rambled about this car and this other one. You loved cars and would love to hear more about the ones he was talking about, but not when you were imagining Avis in the back seat of one with your head between her legs, licking her folds as you hummed at the taste of her. Your breath hurried a little at the mental image, which of course she picked up on, placing her hand on your back once more, painting lazy patterns over the fabric. Mr. Russell excused himself for a moment saying something about a catalogue, leaving you both alone once more. Avis took this impasse in the transaction to turn her head towards you while withdrawing her hand from your body, the spot where it had been now utterly cold, bringing the tip of her glove to her mouth and removing it with her teeth.  If she didn’t do something about your situation soon you might actually die you thought, because she was absolutely erotic and sensual in every single move she made, including grabbing her glove with her right hand before returning the left one to touch your lower back. Your breath hitched in your lungs when you felt her lifting the skirt of your dress, leaving your ass completely exposed to the world around you. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, and it only worsened when you felt her palm massaging and patting your flesh, that naughty hand of hers travelling between your legs to feel your dripping folds from behind. Her touch was featherlight, but it made your eyes roll into the back of your head while fighting the moan that wanted to resonate from your throat, your legs parting for her, shaking slightly. Tasting metal in your mouth you realised you had bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw out blood, but that did not matter, your entire world was Avis’s fingers sliding up and down, teasing you, building your arousal up even further.

Without so much as a warning she withdrew her hand just as Mr. Rusell returned with a pretty chatty catalogue of the latest models Packard had in stock, your dress falling back into place. Deep breaths, you thought, deep breaths or you would jump on top of Avis and fuck her without giving a shit who was in the room. Mr. Russell was flicking pages, still talking, allowing you to calm your racing heart before he handed the catalogue to you, your eyes travelling to Avis to seek her permission to grab it, which of course she granted with a pleased smirk on her lips. You were behaving so well, following all her rules, making her feel so utterly in control of you. Your shaky fingers flickered through the pages trying to concentrate on the images and the technicalities that your eyes could read, your cunt twitching at the need of Avis’s fingers inside it, inside you. After passing by the page of the Packard 120 you stopped. There, on the page, was a photograph was a most regal and luxurious car that never in a million years you would be able to afford. Avis saw the way you paused, eyes sparkling, and over your shoulder she saw what had captivated you so. Ah, yes, the Super 8 180. Not a bad line, it was certainly the type of car that Avis wouldn’t mind owning if she was not so in love with her Cadillac. You had expensive and exquisite taste, and she knew, otherwise she would not have brought you here in the first place. Having her breath so close to your neck threw your concentration out the window once more, not that your brain or words were needed. Avis took the catalogue and showed Mr. Russell the picture at which he smiled and began to rush around the place practically screaming that he should have known you would choose that one and that he had a surprise in store for the both of you. After a few minutes of running around like a chicken without a head he stood before you and Avis with a little booklet and asked you both politely to follow him to his office.

This time instead of having you follow her, Avis took your hand in hers and pulled you with her towards the east side of the building, across a white door. Damn society, damn men and damn every law that prevented Avis from showing you off at every goddamn event she desired to take you. You were her perfectly behaved girl, and you deserved a taste of the rewards she was planning on giving you, starting with her hand, that not even five minutes ago had been in your cunt, holding onto yours. Your heart leaped in your chest, eyes glued to your intertwined fingers, feeling so happy you could have cried. She pulled you gently inside Mr. Russell’s office, pointing at a chair not wnating to let go of you when you felt so perfect in her hand. You were both aroused beyond believe, but this had nothing to do with lust, this was what Ace hadn’t given to her in years, what she yearned for, the simple touch of a hand in hers, a meaning of love and devotion that she knew you felt for her. Pushing the other chair closer to yours she sat refusing to let go, her eyes on your before they turned back to Mr. Russell.

-So, the Super 8 180. I have one here in the back, brand new with every feature available and the best quality materials. It’s a two door, but I don’t think that matters, and a convertible. Now, the most amazing thing about the model that I have it’s that is a custom Darrin, just like in the picture.

-Custom? Who didn’t want it, Oscar?

-A man who died. Very sad, but it’s brand-new Avis, not even I have driven it. The wheels are clean. That car hasn’t touched the road. I swear that once you take a look at it, you’ll fall in love with it.

-Colour?

-Burgundy and the leather in light tan. You know I would not suggest it if I didn’t think it was worth your time, Avis. It’s the perfect car if you want something timeless and glamorous.

-Go and get the keys and we’ll drive it around, see how smooth it is. – it was a miracle he did not take the chair with him at the speed he ran out of the room. Avis’s eyes went straight to you, letting go of your hand as she moved her fingers up your arm, pushing her chair closer to you. – So, what do you think, a custom car?

-I trust you and Mr. Russell ma’am. If it’s good enough for you, it’s perfect for me.

God, she could eat you up alive. Avis’s lips touched your cheek in a sweet peck, removing her other glove and shoving it in her purse, her mind made up at last about what she was going to do with you exactly. Her fingers traced the hem of your dress, parting your legs gently so she could feel your smooth skin, continuing with her light pecks, her red lipstick hardly leaving an imprint, thankfully. This time she decided, she would take a bigger risk, her fingers exploring your inner thigh before moving quickly but gently in between your folds once and then twice until she plunged them inside you without warning. Your head fell back, hips buckling upwards to match her movements, lips parted in a silent moan. Her touch felt explosive, a slow pace of moving her fingers in and out at first, teasing your clit with her thumb, building your orgasm at the speed of light. You needed more, and she knew, your cheeks the same shade as her lipstick, your teeth digging onto your lips as not to make a single sound, hands holding onto the chair as not to shoot out and grab her wrist. Not again.

After admiring you she began to pump her hand faster, curling her fingers; you were almost there, a few more strokes on your clit or her fingers curling on your sweet spot and you would finally finish, but she denied you your peak. Your walls were clenching rhythmically, signalling that your orgasm would explode any second, but she did not want to see you unravelling in a simple office like this, not after what you both had done in her husband’s grand one at the studio, so she pulled them out. The urge to whine and growl with frustration was astronomical and yet you did not utter a single word, a single noise, not even when you watched her put her fingers in your mouth, tasting yourself around them as you licked and sucked them clean. Her pupils had overtaken her eyes, chest rising and falling in husky puffs, her thighs tight at the image before her. She would need to take you to a nearby hotel after this entire business was done, because she refused to carry on denying herself your body, and your tongue. Once she was satisfied with your work and you released her fingers she pecked your lips; you were so obedient, so needy and yet so well behaved, remembering the rules. You were her very very good girl. You would have to study if Avis had some sort of psychic power, because just as she relaxed back into her chair with her hands on her lap, your dress back in place, Mr. Russell returned with the car keys, gesturing for you both to stand and follow him to the back. Upon seeing you so flushed and taking rapid breaths, he approached you to ask if you were alright, Avis covering for what she had done to you by saying that you were just so excited about the car and that whenever you got this way your asthma acted up. He nodded, accepting the lie without pushing the matter any further. Your legs nearly gave up on you when you stood, Avis shooting to take your arm in the crook of hers to support you as the man held the door open for you both.

The weather outside the building wasn’t as cold as it had been when you had first arrived, perhaps due to your internal scorching temperature; you were a fucking furnace right now. But then for a moment you forgot about your dripping cunt and the feeling of Avis’s lips, only for a moment. There in the glistening sun was the most beautiful car you had ever seen, aside from Avis’s Cadillac, of course. The colour was a beautiful burgundy with a gentle pink undertone, like Mr. Russell had said, but words could not do justice to the beautiful shade of the steel, the white top contrasting beautifully. You could not take your eyes off of it. This could be your car, but if Avis liked it, it would definitely be your car, and you could not help the smile that overtook your lips, your free hand shooting to touch it, but stopping mid motion to turn your head towards the beautiful woman you had in your arm. Oh my God, you were just too cute, still asking for permission to touch the vehicle when she had clearly stated that it was only your body and hers that you were not allowed to place your hands on. Chuckling lightly, she nodded, letting go of your arm gently to inspect if your legs could support you, following closely as you placed both palms over the smooth surface. Mr. Russell was talking technical thigs about it; it’s a 3-speed manual with overdrive, he said, with hydraulic drum brakes and so on. It all sounded wonderful.

-We will take it for a spin say… for half an hour? Is that alright with you Oscar?

-You know me Avis, just bring back the car and I’ll be fine. Take it for an hour, a day if you want to see how it does at rush hour, whatever you want.

-You are a darling Oscar, but we won’t keep it long, right Y/N?

At the sound of your name you lifted your head, turning to give all your attention back to Avis, nodding at whatever she had said. Regardless of whether it was a smooth ride or not Avis would get it for you simply because the look on your face was something she wanted to see every single day of her life. Mr. Russell approached you, dangling the keys from his fingers. Before you could ask Avis for permission, she was nodding to you and almost jumping on the spot you grabbed them, opening the car, letting the smell of brand new expensive materials fill your nostrils. From her spot, Avis could not say that she was disappointed in your reaction, bent over the front seat, your ass perfectly rounded for her eyes to feast on. She licked her lips as she waved a hand over her head towards Mr. Russell not paying attention to what he was saying as he returned inside the building. With one hand on the door and another on the white top you turned your head, motioning Avis to get in, which of course she was going to do anyway. It was a dream car, no matter what the magazines said about Mercedes or Lincoln, this was certainly the best of them all and once Avis had taken the passenger seat, it was utter perfection on the face of the Earth. Even the motor sounded sweet when you turned the ignition on, pulling the lever down to reverse out of the spot and towards the road. First gear in and down Sunset Boulevard you both went again, the feeling of the suspension over each bump making Avis agree and almost sigh in relief that the ride was a smooth one indeed. Swerving it into the side streets was beautiful, the steering wheel moving in your hands like butter, the car following your every order as willingly as you were following Avis’s. At the sight of the sign that said Road 101 you were quick to merge and enter the freeway. Steeping on the gas you felt the speed in your limbs, never surpassing the limits, at least not by too many miles. Suddenly Avis’s melodious laugh filled the cabin, making you turn your head towards her for a moment before retuning them to the road.

-Do you know how cute you are? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so excited about a car in a really long time. What’s the verdict, doll?

-It is amazing, Avis. I could not imagine a car that could be so perfect for us.

-Us?

-Yes. I intend on driving it alone as much as I intend driving it with you next to me. Or do you not want me to steal you away from Hollywood every once in a while?

-Where would you take me if I let you?

-Everywhere, anywhere. Where would you want me to take you Avis?

No Mrs. Amberg like her driver would always address her whenever she decided to make use of him, in that monotone voice of his, no emotion, no feelings towards her. To you she was simply Avis, and what a very fine smooth talker you were. Her eyes took your profile in, from your nose, the lovely pink shade of your cheeks, to your jawline and beyond, every bit of you that she wanted to kiss and cherish. Looking back to the traffic ahead she saw a sign for the old road that used to be used to get to Runyon Canyon, one that no one drove in anymore and that had several secluded spots. A naughty smirk filled her lips as she turned back toward you.

-Take exit 47 and I’ll tell you where I want you to take me.

-Yes ma’am.

Signalling you merged onto the right lane and then onto exit 47, braking the car gently as you followed a curve and back onto a long empty road. At the beginning the asphalt wasn’t too bad, but a few miles into it and not even this new suspension could cover up the bumps and potholes on the road, a new sense of dread beginning to fill you, fearing you might burst a wheel or get the car stuck somewhere. That fear was cut short when Avis pointed towards some bushes big enough to house the car without scratching the paint. You braked once more, moving the vehicle into the spot until it came to a full stop, turning the engine off. The sound of your heart beating fast against your ribcage filled your ears, because it did not take a genius to understand why Avis had asked you to stop in this place where not a soul could be found for several miles around. You were sure she could hear it as she moved closer to you, her hand playing with your braid as her lips began to kiss your jaw and neck, darting her tongue to lick under your ear. The grip you had on the steering wheel was turning your entire hand white, head lulled back to grant her better access unsure if you were allowed to make sounds or not. Kissing the collar of your gown she found that as pretty as that lilac dress was it was an obstacle, and she wanted it out of the way now. Forcing your hands to relax their grip she brought them to the zipper and in one clumsy motion you pulled it down, thrashing to get out of the offending garment as fast as you could. When had you removed your coat? Trying to think back as you pulled the dress over your head and off, you remembered vaguely seeing it on the back of the chair at Mr. Russell’s office. Good, you didn’t want to have to buy a new one.

With your shoes off now as well, kneeling over that brand new leather seats you stared at your perfect Avis. Except for a baby pink brassiere, you were naked before her, and she drank you in with such fire in her eyes that you could almost burst into flames just by the way she was gazing at your body. Her hands were once more on you, grabbing your waist and pulling you to her, crashing her lips on yours. Her tongue traced your lower lip coaxing you to open your mouth, biting down on it as soon as you granted her access, feeling a slight taste of metal mixed with her saliva. It was a battle of tongues and teeth nibling at each other, parting with loud pants as she took her hat off, throwing it over the dashboard before pushing you on your back, your dress protecting the leather underneath. Her kisses were hard, her mouth sucking on your pulse point. She had expected to feel your hands on her head, to hear groans and whines filling the cabin, but as responsive as you were being you were also rigid underneath her. Oh shit, you were still following the rules. It turned her on even more seeing you so obedient still, making her groan as her mouth approached your ear, never ceasing her kisses on her journey there.

-The rules don’t apply here, honey.

Like a resort your hand immediately shot to grab her head to keep her on your neck while the other one shot to touch her breasts under the fabric of her top. The noises you were making at last were absolutely delightful, her teeth biting down on your collarbone drawing a short scream before her tongue soothed the sting, a moan vibrating through your flesh when your hand pulled her corselette down freeing her plump tits, your thumb brushing over her nipples. Her mouth travelled down the valley of your heavy breasts, pulling that flimsy see-through garment down, massaging the soft skin before putting her mouth to work on your perky nipples, alternating between hard sucks and soothing licks. Toying with you like this was maddening, you were far too worked up to last much longer, pleading with her to let you cum at last. You deserved it, after all you had followed her every direction. Spreading your legs she kissed your thighs, moving gently to the inner part, biting down on your smooth flesh and in consequence earning a loud scream that only got louder when at last her tongue made one long swipe of your absolutely drenched folds. You wanted to keep her curls intact but the way she was licking and darting her tongue in and out of you, twirling your clit expertly, was proving far too distracting for you to notice where the fuck your hand was as the one that had been on her breasts was now holding onto the door above your head for dear life. Without warning she pushed two fingers inside you, pumping them at such a speed and with such force that you were moving up and down over the seat.

-FUCK! AVIS! DON’TSTOPDON’TSTOP…

She curled them hard, her nails scratching that sweet spot inside you, making your back arch, the heat inside the cabin raising exponentially as the windows began to fog up. She was relentless in her task, pumping and sucking your clit, your moans reaching a whole new pitch, sharp and loud as you were getting close, praying that she would not stop this time. The fire in your core was all consuming, and it was just there, on the edge, waiting for the string to be pulled to explode, your nails digging hard onto Avis’s scalp not noticing whether you were hurting her or not, too lost. She made one lap with her tongue, and everything just came together to send you into outer space; her fingers pumped hard into you, curling as her mouth sucked on your overstimulated bud finally coming after you didn’t know how many hours of being edged. And it was blinding. Your body arched off the seat, legs shaking violently nearly crushing her in between them as Avis continued her ministrations at a slower pace, letting you fly high, with her name on your lips being screamed as loud as your vocal cords would let you. Your walls clenched around her fingers for over a minute, until she felt you collapse back, panting hurriedly, her fingers stopping their motion as her lips kissed your thighs to bring you down from your orgasm, patting your calf and rubbing your knee. She had drunk every drop of your salty juices, smearing her lipstick, her mouth and chin glistening under the sunlight of midday. With gentle hands she let your legs close once she pulled out, climbing on top of you, her hand pushing random strands off your forehead as she pecked your cheeks, nose, eyelids, just like you had done to her. You hummed in approval forcing your eyes to open and stare up at her through heavy eyelids, your orbs still glazed with pleasure.

-Thank you.

-No need, you deserved to be rewarded. You pleased your mama immensely.

-I did?

-Yes. You were such a good girl for mommy. – Still a bit shaky and with your cunt twitching every once in a while, you let go of the door to caress her cheek. You wondered if her lipstick was smeared over your cunt as much as it was on your neck and breasts. Biting your lip, you pulled her down to kiss her, tasting yourself on her and deep withing her mouth, a groan escaping you, gently muffled. Suddenly your hands were on her shoulders pushing her onto a sitting position on her knees, breaking the kiss and letting you perch yourself in front of her. She raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

-I believe that I must thank mommy for buying me a car.

Your hands were on her blouse, fingers searching for the button that kept those gorgeous plump breasts hidden from your sight. As soon as you found it you pulled it open, hungrily taking them in as they fought over the corselette. She was the one at a loss for words now, her eyes burning as much as her core was at the sight of you bruised and marked, naked and covered in lipstick diving to take her tits in your mouth. This wasn’t what she had planned when she had first entered the studio but she would not fucking complain. Left hand kneading her soft flesh allowed the right one to be available for other purposes, like sliding down her side, not before grabbing her ass and throwing in a gentle spank that made her gasp, her hips jerking towards you before vanishing under her skirt. You didn’t want to tease, you wanted to watch her unravelling on what you were sure would be your brand-new car soon, fingers finding the material of her knickers absolutely drenched. Her head fell forward on your shoulder at the sheer feeling of both your mouth and fingers working on her, even if you currently were only teasing her through the lace as you twirled and sucked on her right nipple.

Pushing the fabric aside you slid your index finger through her folds, feeling the nails of both her hands digging onto the skin of your back, a small price to pay. Her clit was swollen, calling out to you as you did one fist swipe over it with your thumb, her hips moving, trying to get more friction, moans muffled by your neck. One finger in and she bit down hard on the junction of your neck and shoulder, two fingers in and she was throwing her head back, your teeth biting down on one perky left nipple, making her scream both in pain and pleasure, feeling a rush of wetness over your fingers. A third one in and you began to pump in and out of her with your thumb rubbing her bud. You wanted to taste her, but her breasts were too magnificent to let go, and there would be plenty of time for you to have her against the dashboard, perhaps even with the top down, under the stars with the sounds of Hollywood far away from your ears. She was whimpering now, matching the thrusts of your hand as she got closer and closer to her own release, her walls clenching faster, fluttering around you. You weren’t sure if she would be able to take it, but she needed just a little push to send her over the edge, anyone in a five mile radius could feel just how close she was and so you pushed another finger into her, curling them deeply. The stretch stung but the wave of pleasure it brought along with it had Avis arching her back, your face pressed in between her tits as she rode your hand at a maddening pace, screaming a continuous litany of curses and pleas.

-FUCK! YESYESYES! Y/N! FUCK!

Her juices dripped all over your hand, making you freak out for a moment about the leather, only to see that your dress was underneath her, capturing it all as her cum also slid down her thighs. She fell forward after a few seconds, her head on your shoulder once more, her entire weight dumped on you now that she was coming down, the hand that had been on her breasts now running soothing circles on her back. To be honest you had not expected her to orgasm so fast, maybe denying you yours had worked her up as well. She whined at the loss when you pulled your hand out of her, displeased with how empty she felt now. She clearly needed a minute to collect her thoughts, the gentle waves of aftershock still coursing through her veins, you using the time to lick your fingers clean, closing your eyes at the taste of her. Once you felt her body rise you lifted her head to stare at her eyes.

-You alright?

-If I ever tell you that I don’t want your fingers in me, kill me.

-Avis. – you chuckled at the teasing tone and gentle smile that met you, your fingers caressing her cheeks after a quick peck on the lips. – I would never kill you; I would remind you why you love my fingers so much.

-Please do.

-Question. Did Mr. Russell really mean it when he said that he would let you take the car for as long as you wanted?

-Of course, he lets me do anything as long as I return them in perfect condition. Why?

-My dress is drenched in cum and I left my coat at his office, so I don’t think it would be appropriate to go back looking like that, or naked.

-It would be a thrilling sight though, with that round ass of yours out on display, and your perky breasts stiffening in the cold, not to mention that dripping cunt that’s always so ready for me.

-You really are an exhibitionist.

-What can I say. This is Hollywood baby. – both of your laughter filled the car for a moment. The spell was right there, your eyes locked onto hers as your faces inched closer and closer, lips meeting in the middle in a sensual kiss that had none of the roughness of before, tongues exploring, moaning quietly. Breaking apart Avis crouched towards the window behind you, her breasts dangling beautifully as she moved the lever to roll the window down a little. – So, the car, do you see anything wrong with it?

-Not really, but maybe we could try a few more, different models, see how they do once we park them in this spot.

-Dirty slut. – she slapped one of your tits gently before reaching to sit back against her door, pulling a cigarette out. – Now be honest.

-I love it.

-Good, because after what we just did, I’m going to have to buy it. As for your clothes, don’t worry. Put your brassiere back in place and drive us to my house.

-You want me to drive all that way without my dress and knickers?

-Without the dress and knickers.

-Only if you keep your top open. I want to see you exposed as I drive down Sunset Boulevard.

-Don’t you prefer to have me with my skirt bunched up around my hips? – she took a drag of her cigarette, the smoke floating around her in rivulets that vanished in the winter cold. Fuck she was devious. You didn’t let her puff out all the smoke before you were crashing your lips over hers once more, hands on her hips, breathing the nicotine in. If you could get your way you would have her just as naked as you were sitting next to you, though her idea seemed more tempting than yours.

-Skirt up and knickers off. I’ll start the engine.

[fandomficsnstuff]

Old Lady - 1

A/N: Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Bodhi Day, Shogatso and any other holiday I may have missed! I know not all of these are celebrated on the 24th-25th but I wanted to include them anyway. I hope it's alright, I wanted to be inclusive but if it's somehow offensive or incorrect or wrong, I'm sorry and I hope all of you have had a wonderful holiday up to now and all the way through to the end. I love all of you, happy Holidays!<3

(Warnings: mentions of smut, blood, descriptions of getting shot, angst, Nosocomephobia, Latrophobia, it’s a fun one y’all lol sorry)

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You sighed heavily with a smile as you got out of your car, closing the door and approaching the men sitting by a table, drinking and smoking and chatting, your eyes instantly finding his salt and pepper hair, a warm feeling forming in your stomach, like warm butterflies that spread throughout your entire body. You grinned as you saw how he noticed you, slowly getting up, taking off his sunglasses and practically throwing them on the ground as he moved towards you. You couldn’t hold in the tears as you ran to him, jumping up and hugging him tightly as he caught you, taking a deep breath, taking him in, the feel of him, the scent he always carried around of whiskey, motor oil and leather. You sighed heavily again and hugged him tighter before parting from him, Chibs still holding you up by your ass. “God, I missed you” you said with a light chuckle, Chibs grinning and kissing you briefly before resting his forehead against yours, eyes closed “I missed yer too love, missed ya so fuckin’ much” he whispered and you giggled, kissing him as he let you down, your feet hitting the ground but his hands stayed on your ass as he continued to kiss you “how was Denmark, eh? Went back a second time” he murmured against your lips and you nodded with a grin “wet, cold, amazing… I missed it… spent so much time over there, I had to get back” you admitted, Chibs nodding with a smirk “aye, I know, still glad to have ye back, love” he whispered, leaning down and kissing you again, his hand grabbing your ass even harder, pulling you against him. “Get a room!” Juice yelled jokingly. “No!” Tig shouted back and you couldn’t help but laugh at them “didn’t miss them as much, though” you admitted, Chibs’ arm around your shoulders, your fingers entwined as you walked towards the boys. Jax got up and hugged you as you let go of Chibs to hug him back, Tig instantly being the next to stand up, arms open and you gently shook your head “no, not this time” you laughed, Tig’s smile falling and he frowned at you “why does Jax get one and I don’t?” he pouted and you couldn’t help but laugh more “because you always get a boner” you pointed out, Chibs smirking at Tigs “aye, ya do. Can’t say I blame ya tho’” Chibs said and gently put a hand on your lower back, you turned to face him, smiling up at him lovingly “which reminds me, excuse us gentlemen” he said and in one swift motion picked you up over his shoulder, smacking your ass as you yelped and he carried you inside the club house.

“Chibs! Put me down” you laughed and tried to hit his back but he just slapped your ass in return “not yet love” he said and you couldn’t help but laugh more as the boys, except for Tig, cheered him on. “I’m going to have my head smacked against something” you said as you tried to stop laughing, feeling Chibs shrug as he walked down the hallway “don’ worry, I’ll give ya bruise a kiss if tha’s the case” he said jokingly and you scoffed, deciding to accept your fate as he opened the door, carried you inside, kicked the door shut and then placed you down on his bed, immediately kissing you as if you were his last life line, his last hope for salvation.

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You frowned as you listened to what the guys were talking about. Chibs’ hand was on your waist as you sat on his lap, pretending to be on your phone when in reality you were listening in on what they were saying. “I don’t like it” you suddenly said, not even looking up from your phone as you continued to pretend to be occupied, though your attention was still mostly on the boys. Chibs frowned at you, his grip on your hips tightening briefly to get your attention on him “what? Why?” he asked and you shrugged, putting your phone away and giving the group your full attention “something’s up with you and Clay, Jax… and I don’t like it… something’s wrong, like-... like a rift between you two?” you asked with a deeper frown, Chibs mulling over your words as Jax shrugged “don’t worry darlin’, just some father-son shit, ain’t nothing to worry about” he said and you rolled your eyes “sure, and I’m the Queen of England” you said sarcastically, Jax scoffing at you with a smirk while Chibs chuckled, his hand giving your hip a quick gentle slap “tha’ would make me a king, wouldn’t it?” he asked with a smirk and you scoffed “only if you marry me, darling, until then, you’re just my concubine… my side-piece” you said with a smirk, leaning down and kissing him before getting up and walking towards Gemma, the guys laughing with Chibs while some of them wolf whistled, much to Chibs’ slight annoyance.

“Hey Gem, you need any help?” you asked, pointing to the boxes she was struggling with, not even waiting for a reply before you picked up two boxes on top of each other “where to?” you asked and Gemma smirked at you “back room, we got Bobby’s welcome home party tonight, stocking up” she explained as she led the way, you hot on her heels. “Are crow eaters gonna be there?” you asked with a bitter taste in your mouth, nose scrunching up in a grimace as you put the boxes down, Gemma chuckling lightly “yeah, but I doubt you’ll have any trouble, if you do, just do what I taught you” she said and put a hand on her hip as she leaned against a wall, watching you organize the boxes and taking stock of what alcohol you had and didn’t have “go for the face, elbow in the tits” you said and Gemma chuckled again “that’s my girl” she praised, walking out of the storage room with you. You smiled at Chibs and walked over again, leaning down and kissing him, one of his hands gently cupping your cheek as you parted “I’m going to go get some booze for the party, we’ve run out of whiskey” you said and Chibs smirked “what have I done to deserve ya lass?” he asked lovingly and you chuckled “want alphabetically or chronologically ordered lists?” you asked jokingly and Chibs leaned up and kissed you again, completely forgetting that the guys were watching, though Tigs was watching with more interest than he should have, but luckily he looked away just when Chibs parted from you, so he wouldn’t see him staring. Chibs lightly smacked your ass “alright, on yer way” he said and you scoffed “careful, I might buy irish” you said and Chibs looked annoyed “no irish!” he shouted after you as you went to your car, a big grin on your lips. “Hate the way it fuckin’ tastes” Chibs muttered, eyes still on you as you got in your car and drove away, Jax smirking at him as well as Clay, making Chibs frown confused “wha’?” he asked and Jax exchanged a look with Clay and laughed “you better marry her soon, or I will” he joked and Chibs scoffed “ye got Tara” he pointed out and Jax laughed, Juice and Chibs joined in but Tigs just looked slightly sour.

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You sighed as you carried the box of Scotch Whiskey to your car, putting it on the floor of the car in the back seat and making sure the box wouldn’t fall or slide too much from side to side while you drove. “Help! Someone please help!” a woman screamed, catching your attention, you frowned at her and quickly hurried over after locking your car “what’s the problem?” you asked, she looked frantic, horrified even. “T-There’s this g-guy and h-he’s bleeding and my phone is dead and I don’t think he’s breathing!” she said as she moved into an alley, you right behind her as you handed her your phone, running the way she was pointing “call an ambulance!” you called and ran into the alley she had pointed towards, only to be found with nothing. Some big trash cans but otherwise nothing, no one was here. “Fuck” you mumbled, turning around only to come face to face with a white man, a peace tattoo almost right on his throat and suddenly you felt a sharp pain in your gut. You didn’t even hear the shot until after, or maybe you just didn’t register it until you looked down at your bleeding stomach. Your eyes widened and you stumbled ever so slightly back, looking at the guy as he just walked away, leaving you to die. You felt your eyes water, your chest felt as though you could barely breathe, you didn’t even whimper, it was like you had been kicked in the chest, all air knocked out of you as you supported yourself against a wall, leaning against it as you walked out of the alley. You let out a small cry as you fell once the wall ended, the hard ground scraping your skin as you let out a small whimper when you tried to crawl further onto the walkway. You didn’t have the energy to call out, to cry for help, all you could do was clutch your gut and cry silently.

You closed your eyes tightly as you tried to deal with the pain, not seeing a person running towards you, you only noticed them when they tilted you onto your back and pressed down on your stomach, causing you to cry out at the pain it caused. You opened your eyes to find Hale, looking down at you as he was saying something but you were too caught up in the pain, tears rolling down your cheeks as he lifted you up so your head was on his shoulder, his hand still pressing down on your stomach. “It’s alright, you’re alright” he whispered, holding you close to him as you cried “help is on the way, I promise, just stay with me” he whispered, feeling how cold your skin was, his frown deepening as he looked around him frantically, sirens blaring in the distance “t-tattoo…” you whimpered, Hale frowning down at you “what?” he asked and you cried as you felt another wave of burning pain rush through you “he had a t-tattoo” you whimpered and lifted a bloody hand where you had seen the tattoo “a p-peace-” you were cut off as you felt Hale shift as the paramedics arrived, Hale being forced to move out of the way as they took over, but he stayed by your side. “Peace? A tattoo with ‘Peace’ on it?” he asked desperately and you whimpered as you shook your head when they lifted you up on the stretcher “n-no, s-symbol” you managed, Hale nodding as they put you in the ambulance, getting up in it without another word, holding your bloody hand as the ambulance drove off.

“You’re okay, you’re okay” he whispered and you couldn’t help but chuckle through the tears and pain, the pain fading into a cold sensation, a numb feeling that you barely registered “y-you’re a t-terrib-ble liar” you said through tears, Hale scoffing as he forced a smile for your sake “only when it’s with you” he said and you smiled weakly “I-I k-k-know” you stuttered, wincing in pain as the ambulance made it over a bump, shaking you body. Everything felt like glass, as though you were so close to breaking apart into a million pieces. You opened your eyes again and looked at Hale “C-Chibs… h-he d-d-doesn’t know, they’re g-getting re-ready for Bobby’s-.... Bobby’s party” you stuttered out and Hale sighed “I’ll call him, get him from the club myself, but only once you’re okay” he said and you nodded, eyes closing without your permission “I l-love him, H-Hale… I wish…. wish we could’ve been married… I’ve always wanted to wear one of those big dresses… all white… all pretty for him” you slurred with a blissful smile at the image you saw before you, you in a white dress, walking towards Chibs with a bouquet of flowers in your hands, an adoring look in his eyes, nerves fluttering in your stomach with excitement, the image was enough to dull out the pain, your head tilting slightly to one side, the monitor you were hooked up to gave a flat line as Hale watched in horror, holding your cold hand as you were no longer gripping it, the paramedic beginning CPR while Hale just sat there, eyes wide with horror, tears slowly forming in his eyes as he watched your pale, lifeless body as it moved whenever the paramedic pushed harshly on your chest. Hale flinched as the heart monitor began to beep again, but you didn’t wake up, it was as though you were already dead.

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Hale got out of his car and slowly approached the group that was outside. Jax, Clay, Tigs, Juice, Chibs and Gemma, all talking until they saw a blood covered Hale walk over, eyes on the ground as if he didn’t dare look at them “jesus, Hale, the fuck happened to you?” Jax asked but his joking demeanor faded as Hale just looked directly at Chibs “(Y/N)... she was shot, I was in the ambulance with her a-and she flatlined and-” he could barely finish his sentence, Chibs pushing past him, getting on his bike and driving off at full speed, most definitely over the speed-limit, leaving them all there as Hale just stood there, Gemma approaching him, taking in his shocked state “is she alive? Is my baby girl alive?” she asked quickly with worry and he nodded “the paramedics brought her back… she’s in surgery, but I promised her I’d get Chibs as soon as I could...” he said and Gemma nodded, looking over her shoulder at the rest of the group, all of them horrified at the prospect of losing you.

The rest of the club met Chibs at the hospital, his leg bouncing as he sat in a chair, staring at the ground, occasionally getting up whenever a doctor walked by, only to sit back down, just as disappointed as the last time a doctor walked by. Jax approached and sat down next to him, sighing heavily “Hale told me what happened… she’s gonna make it, she’s strong. She pulled herself out of an alley with a gut wound and then managed to tell who did it, no way in hell she’s dying on us” he said and Chibs looked at him with tears in his eyes, Jax pulling him into a tight hug. Clay sat on the other side of Chibs and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, patting it in a comforting manner.

The entire group spent the next ten hours waiting, stiff as a board whenever a doctor walked by, only to go back to the agonizing waiting time. Finally, a doctor walked up to them, blood covering their scrubs and Chibs instantly stood up, approaching him with a frown on his face “(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” he asked and Chibs nodded, the doctor sighing “stopping the bleeding and making sure she didn’t bleed out was by far the toughest thing about this surgery, she was in pretty bad shape but she pulled through, we’ve induced her in a medical coma so she can heal properly, it was a difficult wound to operate on. She will be in the coma for a few days, maybe a week, if everything goes according to the plan, you can be there when we take her out of the medically induced coma, though only the closest family” he informed and without thinking Chibs just spoke “Can I see ‘er now?” he asked desperately and the doctor sighed “yes, but she’s still out. I’ll lead you to her room” he said and turned, hearing multiple footsteps, turning once again to see the entire group following him, stopping abruptly as he stopped, waiting impatiently for him to continue walking once more to lead them to your room. The doctor hesitated but seeing the patches they were carrying, the name, he let them follow him to your room even though it broke procedure. He let them inside and took in the group, these dangerous bikers, all watching your unconscious form with immense worry, it made a small smile form on his lips. “You’ll have to be gone by visiting hours” he informed and left the room. Chibs instantly held your hand, noticing some dried blood on your throat, a circle with three sloppy lines inside of it. Chibs got up and leaned closer, still holding your hand with one while pointing at the symbol with the other “the fuck is this?” he asked quietly, Jax walking over and leaning closer, narrowing his eyes before looking up at Chibs with a small smirk. “Hale said she identified her attacker via a tattoo… she must have drawn this while she was still conscious, this has to be where the tattoo she saw was… told you she was strong” Jax informed, Gemma walking closer to see the bloodied spot, her entire body nearly shaking with anger at the sight of you unconscious, wounded and barely hanging on by a thread. “Baby? Ge-” Gemma left the room before Clay could finish, hurrying down the hallway as quickly as her heels allowed her, heading for the pediatric section when she finally found her. “Gemma? What’s happened? Are you-”

“Someone shot (Y/N)... someone shot my girl, Tara, and I don’t trust these pussy doctors not to fuck things up, you know how she feels about hospitals, all they’ll do if she panics is dope her up on whatever the hell they’ve got and you and I both know what that’ll do to her, these doctors don’t know who they’re dealing with, it’ll be shit for her” Gemma hissed in anger, Tara frowning at her before realizing the gravity of the situation. “Oh my god… oh my god! Is she alright?”

“She pulled through surgery… she saw his tattoo and drew it on herself with her own fucking blood to identify him, Tara” Gemma whispered in a harsh tone, Tara thinking things over before nodding to herself, walking into the empty chapel with Gemma and sitting down. “Oh my god… Did Hale get a description?”

“Yeah… you gotta look after her, these damn doctors don’t know shit, she hates hospitals, Tara… she’ll freak out when she wakes up and they’ll try to drug her and it’ll only freak her out even more” Gemma muttered in anger, Tara nodding softly “it’s okay, I’ll check in on her as much as possible, I promise…” Tara whispered, Gemma nodding after a second or two of silence before turning around to walk back into the hospital room where you were laying.

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The steady sounds of the heart monitor beeping was like a headache that wouldn’t go away, it’d disappear for a second only to come back. “Turn it off” you slurred, wincing a little as you tried to move, your eyes opening to look up at Chibs who smiled down at you with tired eyes. “Hey there, love” he whispered, leaning down and kissing your forehead, lingering there before pressing his forehead against yours, eyes closed as his breath wavered when he took in a breath of air. “Where am I?” you slurred, looking around with a frown as Chibs sat back down at your side, holding one of your hands “yer in the hospital, love, ya got shot…” Chibs murmured, a frown on your brow as you began to remember things before passing out. “Blonde, good ass…” you slurred, Chibs frowning at you with confusion. “The woman… blonde bob-cut hair, practically the perfect image of a daddy’s girl, good ass from what I saw… she was-... screaming for help, saying some guy was bleeding in an alley and that her phone was-... fucking shit I gave her my phone” you cursed in a slurred voice as you remembered, Chibs unable to not smile, gently shaking his head at you “that’s the first thing yer worried about? Yer damn phone?” he asked with amusement, a tired smirk on your lips as you looked at him “hey, I got some very private texts and pictures on that phone from my old man, I don’t want some blonde skank to go through my phone” you murmured, Chibs chuckling lightly. “How long has it been? Has Bobby gotten out yet?”

“Aye, ‘bout three weeks ago, love, but don’t you worry ‘bout that now, eh? Want you to heal properly-”

“Fuck that, I can’t stand that goddamn heart monitor, get me out of here-”

“Love-”

“I’m serious, get me out of here, I’ll sleep at the clubhouse, I have Tara’s number, I’m good-”

“I ain’t, ‘m not lettin’ yer outta this hospital before yer ready to do somersaults, love…”

“You’re going to wait a very long time because I couldn’t even do that before I got shot, I can’t do it with my fat ass” you joked lightly, Chibs smirking as he leaned over you, lips hovering over yours “aye, and what an arse it is” he purred, smirking when he heard the heart monitor indicate your heart rate going up. “Careful, I thought you wanted me to heal?”

“Aye, I do, but you’d have trouble bein’ careful too if you could see that arse of yours” Chibs whispered softly and dear god you were suddenly very aware at the lack of underwear these damn hospitals forced people to endure, a thin hospital gown really being the only clothing you had on. “Jesus Christ, Chibs… get me out of here” you whispered softly, pleading with him, Chibs gently shaking his head “not till yer ready-”

“Fillip, please, I’m good, I-”

“Ya have a hole through yer gut, love… yer alright in ‘ere, Happy’s alright with stayin’ guard while I’m not ‘ere” Chibs informed, a small sigh leaving you as you let yourself fall back down on your pillow “great, now I’m being guarded-”

“You were targeted, love… we got some idea who it was but we’ve never dealt with this type of shite before, ‘sides, Gemma’s been all weird as well, screamed at Clay ‘n kicked his bike-”

“Holy shit, I thought you said I’ve only been out for three weeks?”

“Ya have, love… shite’s fallin’ apart without yer, ‘bout a week after yer got shot, Gem’s got into an accident” Chibs’ voice was soft as he held your hand in his, a sigh leaving you as you closed your eyes and shook your head softly. Your free hand moved under the covers, feeling under your gown around your wound before nodding to yourself. “I wanna go home, Chibby… I don’t want to be here, it’s too-…”

“I know, love, I know. But ya ain’t healed yet-”

“Rick Grimes was good after a week or so” you shot back, Chibs shaking his head and smirking at you “yer ain’t Rick Grimes, love” he pointed out and you groaned “ain’t that the truth” you mumbled to yourself before forcing yourself to sit up, your heart monitor beeping like a fire alarm until you pulled the thing off your finger and those weird sticky things off your chest and ribs, Chibs moving around the bed to try and get you to lay down. “Love, yer ain’t-”

“Safe here, that’s what I’m not. I’m not safe here… the garage is basically a fortress, Chibs, I’m safer there. It’s been three weeks, it’s okay” you mumbled softly, cupping his scarred cheeks in your hands before standing up, wincing ever so slightly, Chibs reluctantly helping you up and holding you as you found your footing. Suddenly the door opened and Tigs popped in, mouth open like he was about to say something, until he saw your ass hanging out of the backless hospital gown. “I uh-... I’m-... like-... totally hard right now-”

“Get the fuck out yer creep” Chibs shouted, Tigs nodding, almost out of the door when he opened it back up with a small wince, knowing he was treading on thin ice. “Just wanted to say-... Jax needs you” he stated before hurrying out of the room before the Scottsman could slaughter him like a damn pig. You couldn’t help but shake your head and chuckle at Tig, he’d always been weird, you knew that, but he’d also always had a small thing for you since you returned to Charming from abroad the first time, either he was very, very attracted to you or he had a small crush on you, though you weren’t even sure if those things were separate when it came to Tig.

“Help me get dressed?” you asked softly, Chibs looking back down at you with soft eyes “aye, but I still ain’t sure ‘bout you leavin’” he voiced before hesitantly letting go of you on the bed to get a bag Gemma had packed for you for when you got released. “I know but-... I’m not a fan of hospitals, you know that. They freak me out and I can’t get better if I’m freaked out, right? That’s what doctors say? Lots of rest and all that? I can’t relax here…” you murmured, Chibs nodding with a soft sigh as he knew you were putting it lightly “I know love…” he looked up at you, kissing your bare leg as he helped you put your clothes on and get out of the hospital gown. “Hey, Tiggy!!” you called as you pulled your shirt down your body, being mostly clothed by now, the curly haired man entering with wide eyes, probably hoping to get another look at your ass. “Check me out, will ya? And I might let you see my ankles” you joked but Tig groaned like he was unbelievably turned on by your words, making you chuckle “absolutely, doll, whatever you want” he groaned, Chibs scoffing and glaring at him, making him nod and leave the room once more.

“Yer ankles?” Chibs asked amused, a smile forming on your face as you shrugged “you know, back in the day, seeing a lady’s ankles were the equivalent to porn or public sex” you stated casually, Chibs raising a teasing eyebrow at you as he was kneeling in front of you on one knee, his hands on your thighs, thumbs softly rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of your pants. “Yer sayin’ ya’d star in porn fer ‘im?” Chibs asked teasingly, a smirk forming on your lips as you leaned down, your lips brushing against his teasingly “for Tiggy? No, only for you, love” you whispered, giving him a quick kiss, hearing him groan quietly “yer’ll be the death of me, love” he murmured and you chuckled lightly before accepting his help to stand up, Tara nearly bursting through the door with Tiggy following. “Sorry, I tried to stop her-”

“You can’t check out yet, (Y/N), you’re not stable enou-”

“I’m stable enough to stand and walk, hell, even go down on my old man, I’m good” you spouted out, wincing and holding the side of your gut as you walked past her, Tig groaning quietly before following after you and Chibs, Tara hurrying after you. “You can’t sign out, you’re still healing-”

“Give me an AMA form and I’ll sign out against medical advice, I don’t-” you sighed and looked around, almost as though you were embarrassed, leaning closer to Tara with a frown “I don’t-... I don’t like hospitals, okay? And I don’t like doctors a-and nurses a-and all this medical shit” you whispered quietly, Tara sighing as she gently shook her head at you “I can’t in good confidence sign you out, (Y/N)... I-”

“Good luck tryin’ to get through to ‘er, doc, she won’t stay, my Old Lady’s not stayin’ ‘ere if she don’t want to, ‘n she don’t… don’t think a damn army could stop ‘er” Chibs admitted quietly, Tara sighing before getting the necessary papers that you had to sign, stating you were leaving against medical advice. Once that was signed, you let out a heavy sigh as you stepped out of the hospital, eyes closed for a brief moment “let’s go home, love” Chibs stated softly, wrapping an arm carefully around you as he walked towards the T.M truck, Tig getting on his own bike.

[boxboxblog]

Ex Driver Profiles: Kevin Magnussen

Updated December 2024

Name: Kevin Jan Magnussen

Age: 32

Nationality: Danish

Years in F1: 9 (Mclaren 2014, Renault 2016, Haas 2017-2020 and 2022-2024)

Number: 20

WDCs: N/A

Driving Style: An aggressive and no-nonsense driver, Magnussen is known for never backing down from a challenge and being particularly bold in wheel-to-wheel battles. He brakes particularly late, which can lead to some brilliant overtakes. Magnussen as also an extremely hard defender, and has a particular way of positioning his car that makes it difficult to overtake whilst remaining inside the bounds of legality. A negative of his style is that he often does not temper aggressiveness with strategic moves or calmness, causing many crashes and getting penalties often. This leads to him scoring much lower than he feasibly should.

History:

(Young Magnussen in his first kart)

Born into a racing family (his father was an F1 driver) Magnussen got his first kart at age 2, growing up driving. He started professional karting when he was 6 years old and showed strong promise. In 2008 he moved from karting to car racing, participating in Formula Ford in Denmark, and taking the championship with 11 wins. In 2009 Magnussen moved up to Formula Renault 2.0. He had an extremely successful debut season, finishing 2nd in the Northern European cup (NEC) and 7th in the Eurocup. He was also named rookie of the year in the NEC series and displayed strong promise for the future.

(Magnussen, 2009)

In 2010 Magnussen competed in the German Formula Three Championship, winning the opening round of the season at Oschersleben and taking two more race victories. His non-victory races also yielded high points, and he finished 3rd in the season, gaining the rookie of the year award for this series. In 2011 Magnussen moved to the British F3 Championship and had a great year. He won multiple races, and finished 2nd in the standings

(Magnussen on podium in British F3)

Magnussen moved up to the Formula Renault 3.5 Series in 2012 and had a few race wins and high points finishes. He ended the season in 7th place in the championship. He competed once again in 2013, and it was far more successful for Magnussen, claiming five victories, eight other podium places and eight pole positions. He finished the season in first sixty points clear of the runner-up, winning the championship.

(Magnussen after winning the 2013 championship)

Throughout all of this, Magnussen had a relationship with F1, taking part in the Mclaren Young Driver Program from 2010 to 2013. In late 2013 it was announced that Magnussen was signed to Mclaren for the 2014 season, partnering 1x WDC Jenson Button. His first year in F1 was a mix of few highs, few lows, and many middles. His first race was a major high, as he would end the race in 3rd (later getting promoted to 2nd) and become one of the few drivers in F1 history to get a podium in their debut race. The middles were that most of his finishes for the rest of the season were in the 8-10 range, making low points his most normal result. He only finished outside the points a few times. While his performance seemed promising, especially for a rookie, he was replaced for the 2015 season by 2x WDC Fernando Alonso, becoming Mclaren's test and reserve driver.

(Magnussen after achieving podium in 1st F1 race)

The next time Magnussen would have a seat is for Renault in 2016. This would effectively cut off his relationship with Mclaren. His season with Renault would be an unlucky one. A number of races he was forced to retire due to engine problems, punctures, tire failures, and crashes. Regardless, he outperformed his teammate, Jolyon Palmer, scoring a majority of Renault's points. He finished the season 16th in the standings.

2017 Magnussen switched over to Haas, the newest team on the grid. There he would partner Romain Grosjean for the next four years. His time with Haas would be mostly results negative, as the team experienced car issues, money troubles, and other such problems. They almost never produced a competitive car, and so most of Magnussen's results remained in the low or no points positions. He did, however, out perform his teammate every single year they raced together and have a handful of standout performances in 2018. Beyond lower results, Magnussen created a reputation for himself as a dangerous driver due to his aggressive style, and was often at the epicenter of crashes. In 2020 both him and Grosjean were informed that they would not be back in the Haas seats for the 2021 season.

(Magnussen with teammate Romain Grosjean)

Magnussen returned to F1 to replace Russian driver Nikita Mazepin following the Russian invasion of Ukraine (and subsequent European sanctions) in 2022, and signed a multi-year deal with Haas. He partnered Mick Schumacher, son of a F1 legend, and their first year together was spent gaining mostly low level points and a few surprise high ones. 2023 was a more difficult season, and Magnussen (now partnering Nico Hulkenberg) saw a drop in performance. This was due to the fact that the 2023 Haas car did not respond well to Magnussen's driving style, and so he struggled the entire year to get into the points.

(Magnussen in his 2023 Haas)

2024 was a more positive year for Magnussen, especially the tail end of it. He scored multiple high points finishes, was ahead of his teammates for a lot of the latter-end races, and had some great performances. His highest finish was a 7th place finish in Mexico, and he finished 15th in the standings

For the 2025 season he does not have a seat.

Major Races:

2014 Australian GP - Magnussen's first race in F1, and his first podium, getting 2nd place. His solid qualifying and composure during the race made him a standout, and he had a stellar drive.

2014 Russian GP - One of his most underrated performances, Magnussen achieved a 5th place finish after fighting up the grid from 11th. He performed several fantastic overtakes and helped develop a strong strategy. This race displayed his ability to recover from setbacks.

2018 Bahrain GP - With a 5th place finish, Magnussen showed he still had potential in the Haas car. He was able to come back after a rather negative stretch in F1 and gain his team some valuable points.

2018 Austrian GP - Another 5th place finish, Magnussen solidified himself as one of the best midfield drivers, and helped Haas achieve there best ever constructers results. He showed his skill, avoiding race chaos, and navigating his way to a higher points finish.

2022 Brazilian GP - During sprint qualifying Magnussen secured his first ever pole position, His sensational lap showed his ability to capitalize on tricky conditions and pull a strong performance out of a struggling car.

Cheers,

-B

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

First I just want to say I literally adore your writing and get so excited every time you post! Thank you for all of your amazing work!

If you don’t mind, I really loved your scenario with the FACE family bringing their s/o to dinner, would you be willing to do something similar with the Nordics?

Thank you very much, and I’m glad you liked that one. It was fun to write, and now to revisit.

FACE

Denmark’s Darling: Upon hearing his sweet darling’s request to join the family dinner, Markell was surprised. Didn’t you listen to his stories? As fun as the tales are, those dinners aren’t a place for something as soft as you. He doesn’t want to risk you getting hurt by one of his brothers… or taken by them.

But you were persistent and asked in ways that made his cold heart melt. So, you win but only if you follow his terms.

Those terms being that you must follow his lead and commands to a T. If he says don’t eat, then don’t. If he says you can only have water, drink it happily. He’s doing it to keep you safe, trust him.

He does warn his brothers ahead of time that this dinner is to introduce them to his darling. But they don’t believe him. With his stoic nature, they think he’s just talking about a close friend or some favorite politician’s kid forced to hang out with him.

It wasn’t until you walked in on his arm and kissed his cheek did they realized the truth.

There is a lot of loud talk as they all ask questions. They range from surface-level topics like how you met and your favorite color to the more personal topics of whether he is truly keeping you happy.

Just follow his lead and the dinner will go well.

If they or you screw up, then Markell will just keep you away. After all, it’s easier to hide one person than four bodies that regenerate.

Finland’s Darling: Niilo’s answer is no. Absolutely not. There is no way in hel-

Wait. Who’s at the door?

It's his brothers' for dinner. And boy were they shocked to see him with you.

Yeah… Sadly that is the only way you’ll meet Niilo’s brothers. All it takes for him to forget he was hosting. Then you have no choice but to help him out and cook while enduring the mischief of his brothers.

The other members of the Nordics will filter in and out of the kitchen as they help the two of you cook while interrogating you. Even if the questions all stay lighthearted, Niilo would be quick to put himself between you and whatever brother and shoo them out. Threats of bullets and dog teeth if they don’t move fast enough.

Once dinner is cooked, and you all sit to eat, the brothers launch an assault of teasing and questions. Niilo’s easy on you since he thinks it's cute that you get along with his family, but the rest not so much.

Their personal questions and picks at y’all’s relationship make him bristle as he keeps a pistol on the table as a silent threat. Which they proceed to ignore.

At some point in he’s temper blows, and he shoots one of them (Most likely Sweden). As you gasp, he hugs you before you can question him and tells them all dinner’s over and get out.

As the pack of artic hyenas laugh their way out with a couple of them ‘welcoming’ you to the family, Niilo hugs you tighter and sighs.

You can only chuckle as he explains himself, and you hug him back.

Here’s hoping the next dinner goes smoother.

Iceland’s Darling: You had only known Erlingr for two weeks when he decided it was time to introduce you to the family. You didn’t even know he had brothers nor where he lived when he decided this.

When he tricked you into coming to his house, and meeting his family for the first time, none of them were shocked that you were there. If anything, they gave you small looks of pity as they realized you were oblivious to what he was trying to do.

The dinner went well. Lots of food, games, and tales were told. It wasn’t until everyone tried to leave that you realized he had problems.

For starters, Erlingr broke your car. And it's not an easy break, it’s was control arm behind both front tires. Which means you can’t drive on it at all.

Then when you tried to call for a tow truck, Erlingr ‘accidently’ bumped you and your phone fell into the full sink.

As more misfortunes happen, each of the brothers shakes their heads and pat you on the shoulder before leaving. One of them, feeling some pity, said someone would come for you in three months.

Before you can question the last brother as he leaves, Erlingr hugs you tightly. He practically purrs with happiness as the door shuts.

It's just the two of you now.

Norway’s Darling: Lidolf was excited when you asked to meet his family. After all, it means plenty of attention for him too!

He doesn’t tell anyone when he will bring you to the family dinner. He lets it be a surprise when he walks in with you on his arm.

They’re surprised when he moves you to sit on his lap as he introduces you to them all. Then vibrates as the two of you are given loads of questions. He soaks up the attention and answers it all. Lidolf will let you answer from time to time, but otherwise, it's easier to let him go through all the details.

Overall, his dinner is the smoothest. Its light hearted and happy as he gets to do a few of his favorite things. Take the spotlight, have your pretty body on his arm, and have his brothers’ jealousy.

Sweden’s Darling: Bernard would fall further in love if you asked to meet his brothers. After all his sons already loved you, why wouldn’t they?

He hosts the dinner but asks his brothers to keep the location quiet due to introducing you. Bernard wouldn’t want his boss to take you like he did the others.

The dinner for the most part is normal. Just maybe a little louder as Bernard enjoys showing off his latest treasure to the family.

At least it would have been if it wasn’t raided.

Poor you, pulled away by a swat team as the brothers scatter and had to watch as Bernard went berserk as he reached for you.

After your government-sponsored rehab period, you’ll know your true feelings. If you really loved Bernard, you’re returned and he’ll throw a welcome back party with his brothers. If not… Sleep with one eye open and a bag packed. Bernard will be at your door soon.

Regular Dinner: A normal ‘family’ dinner between these five is usually chaotic. Especially when Sweden brings his boys over. But, it’s the kind everyone wants to be a part of. The loud chats about their current life status, retelling of old tales, and reminiscing of times long past. Once in a while, these dinners do get a bit violent. Someone just has to bring up a victory over the other and rub in too much salt on an old wound. Then hit the deck as bullets and flames fly between the strikes of blades.

[andiatas]

Royal House expert: -⁠ Seems to have forgotten the art of celebrating with the people

Royal House expert Trond Norén Isaksen believes the Norwegian Foyal Family has much to learn from its Danish royal guests.

There have been magnificent parties, receptions and a lot of glitz and glamour in connection with the new Danish royal couple's visit to Norway this week.

- It is the task of the royal houses to highlight the state and its symbols with a festivity that the political power holders cannot afford, says royal book author Tor Bomann-Larsen to VG.

He thinks that it is natural that the display of splendour is at its strongest in the meeting with our old union partner, Denmark.

- The contrast with the state visit from Moldova is almost striking, although the political significance of this visit was perhaps just as great, Bomann-Larsen insists to VG.

- The so-called "pomp and splendour" stage makes the monarchy visible, but monarchies are not alone. There are also republics, such as the French one, with much pomp and splendour. This contributes to exalting the monarchy or the president, says historian and royal house expert Trond Norén Isaksen to VG.

- Then, it is the case that tiaras and gala dinners attract more attention from the media and the public than all-weather jackets and breakfast meetings. Therefore, a little pomp and splendour can help to increase the royal family's visibility, continues Isaksen.

"Most people"

He is of the opinion that in Norway, the royal family's current goal is for the royals to be like most people.

- People appreciate a down-to-earth royal house but also expect there to be something a little special and different about them. They shouldn't be exactly like the rest of us.

Norén Isaksen points out that the Norwegian royal house has much to learn from its royal Danish guests and the Swedish and British royal houses.

- When King Carl Gustaf celebrated his 50th anniversary last year, there was a grand gala dinner at Stockholm Palace. But the royal couple also went on a carriage and boat procession through the city, which ended with a large outdoor concert at the castle—a concert that was open to all and attracted many people. The Danish throne change was also a public celebration, and 174,000 people gathered outside Christiansborg Castle.

VG's commentator, Yngve Kvistad, writes that King Frederik is the influencer king.

- Europe's youngest monarch is criticized for being less visible than her mother. But King Frederik has several platforms where he meets people, writes Kvistad.

It is far from the Norwegian royal reality, according to Norén Isaksen.

- The Norwegian royal family, on the other hand, seems to have forgotten the art of celebrating with the people. When Princess Ingrid Alexandra celebrated her 18th birthday in 2022, the castle balcony was empty, and she drove in a closed car from the Castle to Deichman. "Why not an open car down the Karl Johan [street]?" asked people who were disappointed that they couldn't see her or take part in the celebration in any way.

According to Norén Isaksen, another example is the Crown Prince Couple's celebration of their joint 50th birthday last year.

- It took place behind high fences in the Palace's backyard with specially invited guests, again without the people being able to see them or participate in the celebrations. It would never work in Denmark, says Trond Norén Isaksen.

But there are several sides to the magnificent glitz and glamour celebration that we experience these days.

- You can wonder if a visit we've had by the new Danish Royal Couple with a lot of pomp and splendour can quickly become an escape from reality from all the bad things happening around the world, says TV 2's Royal Expert Ole-Jørgen Schulsrud-Hansen to VG.

Balance

Norén Isaksen points out that people expect that there will be some stardust.

- But not so much that it becomes unrealistic, tone-deaf or provocative. At the same time, there must not be so much pomp and splendour that it stings the eyes or that the content of what the royal family does is lost in the glare of the light. This balance varies depending on time and social conditions and is not always easy to strike.

Bomann-Larsen believes there is a sensitive tipping point in the relationship between domestic festivity and international misery.

- But in the deepest sense, the state visits clarify the countries' independence, mutual respect and recognition. A symbolic demonstration of power such as the one we see unfolding in the capital can be significant when many feel that national independence is threatened. Perhaps that is precisely why it is applied so thickly?

Translation and editing for clarity by me of an article by Jørn Pettersen for VG (Verdens Gang). The article was published on May 15, 2024, at 20:40, and updated at 21:57.

[houseofbrat]

I don't have to prove anything to idiots like you.

Kate was pregnant when she held her first Christmas concert in 2021. She was pregnant all the way through her mini-visit to Denmark in February 2022. Then she lost it after that trip to Denmark sometime prior to her & William doing engagements for St. David's Day (01 March 2022).

THAT is the miscarriage that is so "personal" to Kate that she feels compelled now to post about it. Because that life event caused Will & Kate to act in ways they shouldn't have, and in ways they both now seriously regret.

As for that fourteen-month-old baby girl, we're going to be discussing her after Charles & Camilla finish their tour. That moment might get hijacked by whatever befalls Andrew but whatever. That's Andrew's problem. And his ex-wife's and children's and sons-in-law's problem.

You can sit here and whine on my posts all you want, @cr19x. It's not my problem. I am not interested in doing idiot compassion, which is what you and the rest of the Wales fandom like to do when you sit down in your fantasyland.

Of course it does.

Because it is.

It's not surprising to me that Kate is now making select public statements on social media whether it's the ballet or sailing or child bereavement. Kate was perfectly happy to not be as vocal about certain things because her husband is the actual royal. She's just the consort. William has far more personnel devoted to him than Kate does to herself for this very reason. For more than twelve years, Kate did not have a problem with this situation.

Until she did, late last year.

When exactly?

I don't think the exact time frame really matters, but it was probably after she wore her thirteenth pantsuit on 10 October 2023.

So, yes, Kate is making "odd", "weird", and context-free social media posts. These kinds of posts will continue in the future even after the shit has publicly hit the fan. Because Kate has known for more than 10 months that the shit was always going to hit the fan and not make her look so good. It's not at all surprising when you realize that Kate has engineered her future as a public recluse. And she did it of her own accord.

You don't seem to grasp that part, do you, @cr19x? That Kate becoming a recluse was her own doing. Completely and 1,000% her own choice.

Guess it's time for me to post that quote again to see if you guys can actually solve this puzzle, before you wake up one morning with the answer rudely splashed across the international media.

“I spoke in the car about the hole at the center of this doughnut. And yes… seems at first glance to fill that hole perfectly. A doughnut hole in the doughnut’s hole. But we must look a little closer. And when we do, we see that the doughnut hole has a hole in its center. It is not a doughnut hole at all, but a smaller doughnut with its own hole, and our doughnut is not whole at all!”

[lilac-amethyst-skies]

(If you do multiples or please choose one you like best) Romano, Italy, and Denmark walking in on their gf fast asleep on the couch or bay window having been reading. Stormy night outside, candles or fireplace lit, her book on her lap and glasses slightly askew. Plus size again please? You are truly amazing!! ❤️❤️❤️😍😍😍

Romano, Italy, Denmark X Plus-sized!Reader on a stormy night

Romano; Lovino had had a terribly long day. The stresses from work and life seemed to wear him down a little more than usual today. And now, as if to top it all off, it was absolutely pouring rain outside. Not even the weather would give him a break and the moment he got out of the car, Lovino became pelted with the ongoing rainstorm, leaving him soaked to the bone.

Lovino cursed under his breath.

He was sure this day really couldn’t get any worse.

Trudging up to the entrance of his home, he ripped open the door and slipped inside. Never had he been more thankful for the respite of his house. Lovino hopped a bit clumsily toward the bathroom, attempting to spare the hardwood flooring with little luck. He snatched a towel and did his best to dry himself off but couldn’t find himself trying too hard. His clothes would be coming off to be thrown into the wash anyhow.

With that idea in mind, he set off down the hallway. Lovino made a passing glance at the study on his way and stopped his brisk walk when he caught sight of you. Lovino hardly felt his wet clothes anymore when his eyes drank you in. Stepping further into the room, he found you fast asleep in that little nook in the window. You loved that bay window. To the point that Lovino had bought cushions to make it more comfortable for you to sit in—or, in this case, sleep in.

Your glasses were endearingly askew on your face, and it made Lovino chuckle out a breath. You made it easy for a smile to find his lips, and for that he was so thankful. Here, you looked so gentle and soft and entirely peaceful. So unaware of the world around you as the weather crashed outside.

Lovino found himself right beside you and couldn’t stop the urge to brush a few pieces of hair away from your face.

As cute as this was, he figured you would be terribly sore if you slept like this all night. The window was good for a nap, but not for a full night’s sleep. So, regretfully, Lovino decided to wake you.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and still leaning over you whispered, “Sweetheart?”

You mumbled a bit in response, and he could only smile.

“You should move to the bed. It’s not good for you to sleep here all night.”

Finally, you opened your eyes to look at him. After fixing your glasses and a deep yawn, you nodded and sleepily found yourself on your feet, swaying a little too much in the process. Lovino was quick to steady you, but his proximity had you accidentally bumping into him. Your brow furrowed in confusion.

���Why are your clothes all wet?”

“Probably because it’s raining outside,” Lovino talked a bit too smartly and nodded toward the bay window to further drive his point. You shot him a look. Typically, you looked more ferocious, but due to you being so tired you were hardly a threat.

Lovino only laughed as you found your way to the bedroom.

Italy; These nights felt so easy. It was entirely too lucky how the storm started on your cozy night in. The wind howled and the rain hit harshly against the paned window, but here, Feliciano’s arms were wrapped around you just right and everything was as warm and comfortable as it could ever be. The two of you had leaned back on the couch. With your head rested on his chest, you could feel the rhythmic beating of his heart stirring. At first, his heartbeat was racing at a rampant pace, but the more you settled into the evening the more it calmed. Comfortable just as you were.

You had to admit, Feliciano providing his body heat was the least he could do, considering he was the one that had woken you up. Sometime earlier Feliciano had found you fast asleep on the living room couch. You’d started the fireplace, and after having wrapped yourself in blankets it seemed as though you couldn’t stay awake any longer.

Even now, Feliciano saw you struggling to hang onto your consciousness. The ambience of flickering candles you’d lit prior was hardly helping either. Your hair was charmingly messy, and your glasses were clumsily hung askew on your face. Feliciano pressed a smile to the back of your head, hugging you a little tighter. He closed his eyes taking in the scent of your hair.

He loved you like this.

Your breaths became slower and slower, and eventually they were steady and easy. You had fallen back asleep. Just as you were before, but this time you both were able to enjoy this rest together.

You nestled your face into his chest, and your glasses would have fallen off if Feliciano hadn’t grabbed them in time. As silently and carefully as possible, he placed them on the nearby end table. He knew you wouldn’t forgive him if he woke you up twice in one day. Though the thought did make him laugh a bit.

Feliciano allowed himself to sink into the cushions. No stress, no work—just the warmth of the fireplace and most importantly, you.

Denmark; Matthias gently closed the front door to your shared home. The warmth of the house kissed his face, and he already felt his chilled skin begin to soothe from the bite of the wintery, wet storm. He began to shed his gloves, his coat, his boots. All the while, Matthias was being uncharacteristically quiet while the wind howled outside. He had noticed the lack of lights the moment he drove in. Though, you had graciously left the lamp on in the entryway so that he would be able see what he was doing.

Odds are, you were already fast asleep. Curled up in the bed—warmly inviting.

Matthias let out a deep, relaxed sigh at the thought. It’d been a long day, and he wanted nothing more than to find his place right next to you. Without further ado, Matthias easily started his way up the stairs. In reaching the second floor, he had intended to make it all the way down the hall to the bedroom, but his eyes were drawn to the flickering light coming from the reading room instead.

It was then that he could also hear soft music playing. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

Maybe you were still awake?

Matthias quickly learned that this assumption was not the case. Leaning against the frame of the doorway, he took you in fondly. The light from the fireplace danced across your skin in a lovely dance as you slept comfortably on the couch. You had even gone so far as to light a few extra candles that left a delightful scent to the room.

After a moment, Matthias left his spot in the doorframe to make his way over to you. Upon further inspection, the book you had been reading was still loosely held in your hands resting against your lap. Your breath was easy and deep, and with the way your head tilted in your slumber, Matthias was impressed that your glasses hadn’t fallen off and onto the floor below.

Matthias held back a laugh as he snuck up beside you at the foot of the couch. Gently crouching down to your level, Matthias rested on his knees. Slowly and carefully, he attempted to readjust your glasses so that they would sit on your face right. Unfortunately, the tickle at your face was undeniable and you drew a quick breath in.

Matthias froze. His hand still hovering by your glasses.

Upon opening your eyes, you jolted a bit, obviously not expecting anyone to be there. You sleepily took in Matthias’ face and his hand right next to your face.

“…What are you doing?”

“Fixing…your glasses?”

You huffed out a laugh in response, sitting up a bit and putting a little distance between you both.

“What time is it?”

“Late.”

You could hear the fondness in his tone. So much so that you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. Matthias hummed sweetly.

“We should probably get to bed then…” your reasonable tone quickly shifted into childishness as you dramatically stretched out your arms, whining, “Carry me.”

Matthias dramatically rolled his eyes as he all too easily bundled you into his arms and lifted you off the couch. Playful laughter fell out of you as he brought you down the hallway and to the bedroom.

[jormvngandrr]

5 for dialogue prompt, with Danny and Peter :>

[5] - “We’re lost, aren’t we?”

Denmark & Sealand

Human AU

A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck as Peter yet again forced one foot in front of the other, and then the other, and again the other to keep walking.

He reached back to wipe it away instinctively since it tickled like a bug crawling on his skin, and as he felt his whole neck wet, he let out an impatient grunt.

“Come on, we’re almost there.”

“You said that hours ago,” Peter responded, huffing as he stomped his little feet and wrapped his fingers tighter around the straps of his backpack.

“Yeah, well, that means we’re even closer than before.”

Peter didn’t believe that, though. Whatever turn they took a while back seemed to him like it sent them straight into another country. For all he knew, they could be arriving back in Sweden by this point.

He should have listened to Niklas. ‘Good luck going with uncle Mathi; he doesn’t know the way’ he had said in his stupid know-it-all tone and that stupid smug smile of his. The worst part? He had been right.

Peter frowned as he imagined Niklas sitting in the back of their dad’s car, unbothered, playing Minecraft on the way to Väinö’s cabin and then hiking swiftly the rest of the way when they couldn’t get the car any further into the forest. Papa could take them to and fro blindfolded, although that wasn’t saying much since he was already pretty blind…

Anyway! The point was that, had he stayed with his dad and his brother, he would already be at the cabin, all warm and cosy and having hot chocolate and a piece of pulla.

Instead, he was sweaty and tired after a long hike—longer than it was originally meant to be—and they were still going. His shoes were beginning to feel a little too tight on his feet, and his face was starting to get all red from the exertion.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time to go with uncle Mathias and fetch the bedrolls, and meet up at the cabin later whilst everyone else got a head start over to get dinner started. And it had been fun, up until this point.

After walking for a couple more minutes, uncle Mathias stopped for a moment, sliding the bedrolls and big backpack off his shoulders. He sighed, looked up into the trees, and then down at Peter.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”

“I haven’t been here in a while,” he answered sheepishly, pushing a hand back through his hair.

“Can you call my dad?”

“No signal.”

“So…”

“You don’t know the way?”

“You’re the adult!” Peter cried, and uncle Mathias whined.

“You’ve been here more than I have! Let’s just keep going, then. Do you need help with that?” He asked, jerking his chin to gesture at Peter’s backpack on the ground. He, too, had taken it off to rest for a moment.

But his uncle was carrying all their other stuff already, so Peter shook his head despite the light strain at the middle of his back.

The rays of the setting sun had already painted the sky warm by the time they finally got there. They had seen the smoke from the chimney swirling up into the air and followed it, and before they even got to the clearing, Peter’s dad was already hurrying over to them.

“Papa!” Peter exclaimed and ran to him, forgetting all about his tired feet.

His dad picked him up, and rested him on his hip as he fussed over him and mussed his hair with his free hand.

“What took you so long?” He asked after pressing a small kiss to his forehead. The question wasn’t directed at him, though.

Still, he replied: “uncle Mathias didn’t know the way from the parking.”

“Yer an idiot,” Papa said to his uncle, and Peter pressed his lips into a thin line not to laugh.

“Not my fault your boyfriend decided to live in the middle of fucking nowhere,” uncle Mathias said, wheezing as he threw down the rolls and the backpack. He placed his hands on his hips and arched his back. It popped, and he let out a little, relieved noise.

“Watch your mouth,” Papa said, shaking his head in the same way he did whenever he caught him eating just one jelly baby too many.

“Oh, they’re alive,” a small voice spoke from a distance, sounding disappointed. When Peter turned around, he spotted Niklas standing by the doorframe. “You win,” he called out louder as he turned around and headed back inside.

Peter wiggled in his dad’s arms, wanting to be put down, and as soon as his feet were back on the ground, he squirmed out of his backpack and sprinted into the cabin.

“You bet on us dying?!” He cried accusingly as he ran after his brother, and from where his dad and uncle remained standing, Niklas’s response wasn’t loud enough to be intelligible.

“Sigurd and Eiríkur’re already here?”

Björn nodded. “‘S just the two of you missing. Dinner’s ready, too.”

Now that Peter was gone, he could feel the weight of Björn’s scrutinising gaze on him.

“There was no signal.”

“Of course there isn’t,” Björn said. He leant over to pick Peter’s bag up from the ground and hung it over his shoulder. It looked comically small on his broad frame. He pushed his glasses up into his nose. “I gave you directions.”

“Ej - every single tree looks exactly the same. Let’s head inside, I wanna beer.”

Mathias moved back to where he had dropped the rolls and the backpack, and before he reached for them, he looked back at Björn.

“You gonna help with this?”

“Nej.”

———

Väinö - Finland

Niklas - Ladonia

[boatdriinks]

aaaand part 3 of the ex-spouse series

Let's talk about Louise

After the unremarkable marriage that was his relationship with North, Kerry went back to his old ways for a time. Having fun, dating and sleeping around, while trying to be a present-enough father figure for his daughter.

For over 20 years, he went through several relationships. Some were serious, but most left him with a bad taste in his mouth and a resentment toward the other person.

He would meet and start dating Louise Nordin in 2054 while she was working as a model in Denmark. They dated long distance for two years and Kerry would invite Louise to move in with him on their third anniversary. He could see this was going places, and he was cautiously looking forward to taking things further.

He loved Louise's similar boisterous energy to his own. They could party, they could make all jaws drop in formal events for each other's careers, and they could talk to each other about anything. Kerry genuinely believed he'd met his one. He was able to talk to her about Johnny, about Derry. About how he hadn't treated his first wife that well, and Louise provided insight of how Zoh might've been feeling.

Despite what she heard, though, she didn't turn away. Kerry valued that. Not everyone could even begin to handle the trucktons of baggage that came with Kerry Eurodyne.

After 5 years of dating, they married in 2059. They lived blissfully alone together until April 28th, 2063 when their son, Theodore Nordin Eurodyne was born. Kerry's only son. And things were still good, but cracks would begin to form soon enough.

Drugs and alcohol took hold again during a particularly bad pass of the anniversary of Derry's, and then Johnny's, death. Kerry was spending more time away from home after Louise reluctantly retired for the sake of raising their son, because she and Kerry both hated the idea of their children being primarily raised by nannies.

In the midst of the conflict, the arguing, and trying to fix things, Kerry and Louise's daughter was born. Kimberly Nordin Eurodyne was born on December 1st, 2069. Kerry tried to clean up his act for the sake of his kids, but found that was far easier said than put into actions.

Kerry would catch Louise cheating in mid-2070, and that really sent him off on a war path. He'd cheat on her in return, out of revenge more than anything concrete. Kerry and Louise "patched things up," but he had a feeling she was still cheating after that point. He'd never question whether Kim was his. Whether she was actually or not, she was always going to be his.

It all came to a head, however, when Kerry was arrested for drug possession, assaulting a police officer, and public indecency in 2071. He was sentenced to 15 months in prison, where Kerry would only receive one visit from Louise and their children before being served divorce papers.

Ever since Kerry got out of prison, things have been shit with Louise. She got some of his cars, his home in Tokyo, and worst of all: full custody of the kids. He guessed he couldn't blame her there. Kerry was unstable, and honestly? He didn't want the kids to see him while his mental health was deteriorating. It sure as hell wouldn't help when Louise would occasionally dangle the kids in front of his face in her worst moments, but Kerry rarely had the fight left in him to argue with her too much about it.

And yet, despite all of the bullshit since they finalized the divorce in 2072, Kerry still loved her. If he hadn't fucked it all up, he felt like he could've been with her for the rest of his days.

[saphira5]

David x Lycan Reader Part 2

Y/n stays on the ground crying, until the sun rays hit your back. Y/n gets up and turns around, y/n takes a couple of deep breaths. You decide to talk to David, y/n begins making your way to the castle. The doors and windows were all closed shut, y/n keeps a of distance from the castle, y/n walks deep into the forest, you dig a hole in the snowy ground.

Y/n then lays in the hole, you wait until the sun goes down. Y/n was about to crawl out when y/n heard two voices. 

"Selene's blood can give us the power to walk in the sun. But David is a problem, he is always by her side". A female voice says, then y/n hears a man's voice "don't worry, I will take care of David".  

Y/n can smell that the vampires do not belong from the Nordic Coven. They smell like vampires that belong to the Eastern Coven. Y/n hears them walk back to the castle; you listen for any sounds, once y/n thought it was safe, y/n crawled out of the hole, y/n covered the hole up. Y/n didn't want to leave anything to chance, y/n looks at the castle one last time. Then y/n turns around and y/n begins making your way to the Eastern Coven.  

It took y/n a couple of days to arrive in Czech Republic, you had to swim across the North Sea, were y/n arrived at Denmark. You then made y/n way to Hamburg; y/n then goes through Germany. And finally, y/n arrives in Czech Republic.  

You begin climbing to the top of a mountain, and once y/n reaches the top you see in all its glory the Eastern Coven.  

The sun was beginning to rise, y/n walked around the castle. But y/n keeps a good distance from the castle, because of the cameras that surround the castle. Y/n then heads into the forest surrounding the castle, y/n tries to find a place to rest.

You want to stay close to the castle, but y/n doesn't want a vampire to find you. Y/n decides to climb another mountain near the castle. 

 Y/n digs a hole in the ground, you get in and y/n covers the entrance.  

You sleep for a bit, y/n then begins digging out of the hole. Y/n sees the sun was at its highest in the sky, y/n seats down and you take off the backpack. Y/n had got a lot of interesting things from Denmark and Hamburg, y/n had found a shop selling the blueprints of the Eastern Coven's castle.

Y/n pulls out the blueprint, y/n places it on the ground.  

Y/n study's the blueprints thoroughly, you then place the blueprint back in the backpack. Y/n puts the backpack in the hole, you then cover it up. You climb a tall tree and look at the windows and door of the castle, y/n wanted to get a good layout of the castle. 

 When night falls you stay near the entrance to see who enters and leaves, the only vampires that leaves are death dealers and to your surprise humans also join them.  

You had eaten all y/n rations, beef jerky from Denmark, y/n couldn't get supplies from the town. Y/n didn't want to be spotted by vampires or humans. You also couldn't hunt deer because of the blood.

But y/n didn't mind, you have gone without food before. Y/n then begins making a routine, during the day when the sun is out y/n patrols around the castle.  

You have found out a lot about those who reside in the castle. 

 Y/n had found out who was in the woods talking about David. Semira was put in command of the Eastern Coven while Amelia was away in America, Semira's lover was a death dealer, Varga. Four days have passed since y/n had arrived, nothing but peace in and out of the castle.

Then the night came, and y/n saw about 10 cars, you knew the first car was carrying someone important. Y/n watches to see who steps out of the car. 

 Y/n sees an older man with white hair walkout first, Thomas, vampire elder and leader of the Western Coven. Then y/n sees a woman in a lovely grey sparkly dress with a huge diamond neckless around her neck, Amelia, vampire elder and ruler of the Eastern Coven. She is also a founder of the Nordic Coven, then y/n sees David. He steps aside and out comes a woman.

She has black hair and white tips, y/n thought it must be Selene.

[lemonpastilles]

Fender Bender - 1

She was really doing it. She might as well. She had already cut off everyone she had ever known, and Clemetine was not willing to go to yet another therapist. And yet, something still bugged her, every time she heard someone laughing, when the window was open in her dorm room. For the past two weeks, Clementine had been sorting all her belongings. She had always praised herself on being a minimalist, but suddenly the fifteen moving boxes didn't really add up to that. And so, she gave most of it away to charity. Even the things, she knew she was gonna miss. She didn't deserve nice things. And that's also why she let her hair grow out of the mullet, that she loved so much, and that's why she told her last therapist that she was fine. The fact that he believed her, always made her laugh, feeling some sort of accomplishment from decieving him. She felt proud of herself. For once. Was that really what he got paid for?

Dropping out of uni was not always the plan. Well, Clemetine's whole personality had always been to stick to the plan, stick to what she was told, but suddenly, psychology wasn't her calling. If she had to be honest, it never really was from the beginning. And now she had wasted two years on it, and not willing to waste another one, even if that meant having to sit with disappointment at the dinner table with the rest of the family. Another reason to move away. A few months ago, Clementine was scrolling through the traveling agency, and finally found her dream destination to run away to - North Shields. A new country, and a place, she knew she didn't belong in. And most importantly, no known relations, no expectations. And today was the day; she threw the key to the dorm room in the letter box of the uni and took the train up to the airport. Her journey on the train felt too long, and she almost felt like she couldn't breathe. Knowing that she always almost got a panic attack on the train, she quickly brushed the feeling off, trying to focus on the bushes outside the window. She had taken a backpack with all her essentials in it and a bigger suitcase with the rest of her home in. Clementine was sitting by the window, beside a larger man, who had been listening to the same song on repeat and way too loud for the past twenty minutes. The girl in front of her was picking her nails, and so when Clementine wanted to bite her own, she was reminded not to. Denmark was boring this time of the year. Well, it always was. Clementine had always said that winter was her favorite time of the year, and that hadn't been a lie; she loved not having to have an excuse for wanting to sleep all day and not wanting to see anyone. She loved that the sky was mourning with her. But today, the rain had only seemed a nuisance to her. She had been wearing a raincoat, that was sitting on the table in front of her on the train, but her blue hoodie was still moist, and her pants were almost soaking wet, when she first walked onto the train. Nevertheless, she acted the way she always did; unbothered, and so when the larger man had offered her napkins to dry, she simply smiled and shook her head no. That girl could really use that napkin right about now, Clemetine thought, looking at the girl in front of her, whose blood was peeking through almost every nail on her left hand. But suddenly the girl looked up, and noticed Clementine looking at her, so Clementine was quick to drift her eyes to the window again. Ever since she was a little kid, she had always wanted to learn how to truly let her eyes rest through a window, so they'd follow the movement of the passing buildings outside the window. Like the people she saw in the movies, where their eyes would go back and fourth looking outside a car's window. But she had never learned, and always felt nauseous after a while, trying to do it actively. And today had not been any different. Trying to make up for it, she closed her eyes, and immediately saw stars. And that's how she spent the last ten minutes of the train ride to the airport.

She checked herself in, and dropped off her big suitcase, only taking her blue Fjällräven backpack with her at the gate. Not a lot of people were going to Newcastle airport, just how Clementine wanted it. A few hours passed, and she was on board on her way to her new home.

When Clementine had landed in Newcastle, she had spent an hour or two, trying to figure out how to buy a train ticket to North Shields, until she had to cave in, and ask information, who almost seemed flabbergasted at a question, that, apparently, had such an easy answer. The machine by the train. Of course. At least, Clemetine could be on the move now, to get to her hotel, but when she stepped off the train, she walked and walked and walked, and was starting to lose faith in finding the hotel. Google Maps had, multiple times, announced, that the destination was in front of her. Clementine was on the verge of crying, but instead decided to sigh heavily and sit on her suitcase in front of the alleged hotel. She needed a moment of rest. But a moment turned into minutes, and minutes to an hour. She had already paid the hotel, and was almost certain, that she wouldn't be able to afford a new one at this hour, which she wouldn't even be able to check, since her phone was almost out of battery. So, she just sat. And people walked by her in streams. Older women, who tried speaking to Clementine and help her, but the thick Geordie accent had gotten on her nerve. She didn't realize that it would be this hard to understand people around here. But when a group of younger men came her way, she was relieved in their accents being a little diluted in comparison to the elder citizens. She had spotted them a few meters away, because one of them, who was wearing a cap and was a little shorter than the others, had pointed her way. They sped up, and Clementine flinched, but decided not to make a run for it, expecting them to walk right past her. But they didn't, instead they stood right in front of her, looking at her, like a lost puppy. "Alreet bonny lad?" one of them said. He was the tallest one of them. His shoulders broad, and his hair all over the place. She couldn't really make him out in the dark, but his voice and the odor of the boys had let Clementine to believe, that he was a smoker. "I'm sorry?" she asked quietly. And then there was, what seemed like, an "aha"-moment in the group, who now realized why, they hadn't seen Clementine before. She wasn't Geordie. And that's when Clementine realized that North Shields wouldn't let her be as anonymous, as she had hoped, because everyone knew everyone, and she'd stick out like a sore thumb. She was already sticking out like a sore thumb. 

[thepitofjob]

Job 22: 22-30. "The Push."

Learning drives out evil, so it is the learned who must always be in charge. We should no more put ignorant men in charge of the temple than we should let them operate during surgery but we do. The reason for this is we believe we have achieved the maximum amount of enlightenment from religion that we can and attainment that is at the discretion of a didactic few. The Gemara is used to refute the capacity of man to learn.

This belief is what is called the Ophir, "to obtain what is desired at the expense of what one has when it is depleted of strength." The desire to be ever new, always free is the result of the Hebrew term. We can and must always fathom God and the creation and they are never the same due to what is called Shaddai El, "the gods that keep things stirred up." We do not say God is experimenting on us, trying to keep us off balance, but nature has certain dictates to which we must adhere and one pertains to the instability within the Self, especially as we age, as mankind ages.

The prophet says the choices we make must change along with us if we want the Almighty to be our God and find the bounty hidden in His Words. As the Psalter says, one little thing remains a secret to us even after all this time:

21 “Submit to God and be at peace with him;     in this way prosperity will come to you. 22 Accept instruction from his mouth     and lay up his words in your heart. 23 If you return to the Almighty, you will be restored:     If you remove wickedness far from your tent 24 and assign your nuggets to the dust,     your gold of Ophir to the rocks in the ravines, 25 then the Almighty will be your gold,     the choicest silver for you. 26 Surely then you will find delight in the Almighty     and will lift up your face to God. 27 You will pray to him, and he will hear you,     and you will fulfill your vows. 28 What you decide on will be done,     and light will shine on your ways. 29 When people are brought low and you say, ‘Lift them up!’     then he will save the downcast. 30 He will deliver even one who is not innocent,     who will be delivered through the cleanness of your hands.”

Why is man not happy, why is he not good? Job, the dreaming man asks. The answer is he has decided not to sharpen his aptitude. It's not as if we don't have the knowledge or experience to be an highly evolved and sophisticated mankind, we have decided this is not for us, and subjected the rest to hell on earth. The Rab hypothesizes it is because of the love of money, which it might be but there is immense profit in the relief of poverty. All the roi on earth one could want is to be found in the redemption of man through the relief of poverty.

The King of England, the King of Denmark, any monarch with a constitutional right to mint money and the Federal Reserve in the USA can print money with impunity without a need to pay it back. All money in circulation is printed by the government, its not done by magic and flows into the hands of government employees and private enterprises. An initiative designed to intelligently mint money for the sake of paying back the debt of poverty and turn $2 a day households into $200 a day households due to higher earning power would cause the private sector to boom. Cell phone and internet companies, clothing stores, restaurants, car manufacturers, hotels, airlines, furniture stores, appliance manufacturers, concert halls, all of it would benefit if our governments were to invest in the poor. It is very wise and very good to this and it would make people happy and not too corrupt, because the implications are these things are the product of a general increase in the aptitude of the world's population. It would permit a more thoroughly illuminated dialogue about what to do at any time.

To add this feature of Ophir to a Gemara, the Values in Gematria state:

v. 21-22: Submit and be at peace.

There are laws that decide how well educated our children must be all around the world, and there are standards well above this. Territorial governors that are falling short in educational standards can be relieved of duty and arrested.

Convention against Discrimination in Education: This 1960 UNESCO instrument is the first international instrument to extensively cover the right to education. It is binding in international law and has been ratified by 107 states. 

International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights: This document states that primary education should be free and compulsory for all. It also states that parents should be free to choose schools for their children that meet minimum educational standards. 

OECD Legal Instruments: These guidelines aim to encourage international cooperation and improve the quality of cross-border higher education. They also protect students and stakeholders from low-quality providers. 

Blueprint for Global Legal Education: This project aims to develop a global blueprint for legal education by comparing practices, developing benchmarks, and raising awareness of standards.

The Number is 10745, י‎ז‎דה, yazda, "you need to know."

v. 23-24: Remove the wickedness from your tent. Just as the male wiener reproduces sin, so does the mind when it harbors ignorance and guilt. All tents and their tent poles begin in the mind. If the tent is pitched with something artisanal in intent, it can lead to Shabbat. If it is a whore's tent, it will lead to disease and death. Either way, one cannot live in a tent.

The Number is 12722, יב‎ןךב‎, yavnechav, "find someplace you can rest."

v. 25-26: Surely then you will find delight in the Almighty and lift up your face. No one puts on a skirt leans an autoharp on their lap and strums away singing hymn songs to God once they find Him. That is just outrageously stupid. The Sanskrit equivalent of delight is the result of what is called mumuksutwam, "a burning desire for liberation." All the conditions in the mind must be prepared for Self Liberation, what is called Shabbat by the Jews is the result of what is called mumuksa.

We force young people to endure the Shule or the Ashram whether they have discovered mumuksa or not but still we talk about it, we fan the desire knowing one day, self-definition will one day save the person's life.

Cute dumb and happy, while highly desirable are an unlikely combination, so we follow the Torah and used forced labor to teach young people how to be competent just to be sure.

Forced labor is found in two places in the Torah. One, in Shmot, suggests the Egyptians used it against the Israelites who were too uppity for their liking. Recall the Egyptians hated progress and change, they were brutal about it. There was a caste system, and that was the end of them...notice they are no longer here:

6 Now Joseph and all his brothers and all that generation died, 7 but the Israelites were exceedingly fruitful; they multiplied greatly, increased in numbers and became so numerous that the land was filled with them.

8 Then a new king, to whom Joseph meant nothing, came to power in Egypt. 9 “Look,” he said to his people, “the Israelites have become far too numerous for us. 10 Come, we must deal shrewdly with them or they will become even more numerous and, if war breaks out, will join our enemies, fight against us and leave the country.”

11 So they put slave masters over them to oppress them with forced labor, and they built Pithom [house of Pitah, "evil engineering"] and Rameses [son of the sun] as store cities for Pharaoh. 12 But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread; so the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites 13 and worked them ruthlessly. 14 They made their lives bitter with harsh labor in brick and mortar and with all kinds of work in the fields; in all their harsh labor the Egyptians worked them ruthlessly.

=Egyptians = miserly and miserable people like the Mormons and Evangelicals who worship themselves and each other like little gods, and invest everything in the afterlife while the real world rots.

Forced labor is the essence of the Ophir as change requires it. This is very good for society as persons who self-realize the details of their lives that make them happy are unlikely to forfeit them too easily nor borrow others by force. Self-definition protects all of us.

The other mention of forced labor is found in Shoftim, in which God says a Jew is always the slave master, never ever the other way around, and why:

20 When you go to war against your enemies and see horses and chariots and an army greater than yours, do not be afraid of them, because the Lord your God, who brought you up out of Egypt, will be with you. 2 When you are about to go into battle, the priest shall come forward and address the army. 3 He shall say: “Hear, Israel: Today you are going into battle against your enemies. Do not be fainthearted or afraid; do not panic or be terrified by them. 4 For the Lord your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies to give you victory.”

5 The officers shall say to the army: “Has anyone built a new house and not yet begun to live in it? Let him go home, or he may die in battle and someone else may begin to live in it. 6 Has anyone planted a vineyard and not begun to enjoy it? Let him go home, or he may die in battle and someone else enjoy it. 7 Has anyone become pledged to a woman and not married her? Let him go home, or he may die in battle and someone else marry her.” 8 Then the officers shall add, “Is anyone afraid or fainthearted? Let him go home so that his fellow soldiers will not become disheartened too.” 9 When the officers have finished speaking to the army, they shall appoint commanders over it.

10 When you march up to attack a city, make its people an offer of peace. 11 If they accept and open their gates, all the people in it shall be subject to forced labor and shall work for you. 12 If they refuse to make peace and they engage you in battle, lay siege to that city. 13 When the Lord your God delivers it into your hand, put to the sword all the men in it. 14 As for the women, the children, the livestock and everything else in the city, you may take these as plunder for yourselves. And you may use the plunder the Lord your God gives you from your enemies. 15 This is how you are to treat all the cities that are at a distance from you and do not belong to the nations nearby.

16 However, in the cities of the nations the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance, do not leave alive anything that breathes. 17 Completely destroy[a] them—the Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites—as the Lord your God has commanded you. 18 Otherwise, they will teach you to follow all the detestable things they do in worshiping their gods, and you will sin against the Lord your God.

19 When you lay siege to a city for a long time, fighting against it to capture it, do not destroy its trees by putting an ax to them, because you can eat their fruit. Do not cut them down. Are the trees people, that you should besiege them?[b] 20 However, you may cut down trees that you know are not fruit trees and use them to build siege works until the city at war with you falls.

-> Recall Moses told the 20 year olds to lay siege to Canaan and take its resources for themselves,  18 Otherwise, they will teach you to follow all the detestable things they do in worshiping their gods, and you will sin against the Lord your God.

Va'etchannan says this war takes Seven Days to wage, to turn rough terrain populated by troglodytes and losers into a Land of Promise:

-> There are Seven Nations and Seven Days:

The First Day: Hittites "who fears".

The Second Day: Girgashites "thieves, infertile",

The Third Day: Amorites "talkers", 

The Fourth Day: Canaanites "royals",

The Fifth Day: Perizzites "rural villager", 

The Sixth Day: Hivites "tent villagers" and

The Seventh Day: Jebusites "those trodden down".

The Number is 10520, יהך‎, yehach, "willpower."

v. 27-28: You will pray and he will hear you. God does not want to hear us pray, he could care less. Other men need to hear us pray. Prayers are a signs of supplication to other men with whom we share reality. Men who are free listen to prayers, men who are not free make the prayers.

The Number is 14818, ידח‎א‎ח, "Push."

As the passage above from Shoftim states, among other things Judaism represents the art of warfare, in the mind and the real thing. The world is petting the PM like he is a nice dog, but the Lord has stated he must kill his enemies and not his smile while he does it. Other men of other faiths can be weak and diplomatic and wring their hands over explosions of activity on a geopolitical basis but as the Psalter says, the enemies of God shall not live alongside His friends. The enemies of Israel are all going to die and they are going to stay dead.

This is what it means to push.

v. 29-30: When people are brought low, lift them up. The Number is 16156, י״וי״הו‎, "the Eleventh Century."

=1824, יהודא, "Judah"

Ten centuries. a thousand years, is how long it takes for mankind to achieve one Ophir, to exhaust a negative tendency and replace it with a noble virtue.

The First Century is 1226, אבו, abu, "a want", and the Twelfth is 2080, ךף, "a spoon."

Since we can combine Hebrew terms in any degree or order and obtain the counsel of the Almighty what we have so far is "A desire is a spoonful of glory."

You take the spoonful, I'll take the whole pot.

A tent is too small, and a fight is not big enough for the glory God had in mind for us. So our Gemara says the usual, the world must work with greater speed and efficacy towards the Mashiach and this means the beanbags we have working for us in public office need to be told to pony up. Our public education and justice systems are just fucked and there is no good reason why. Our lives therefore are on hold, trapped in a tiny well the size of a spoon until they clean their hands up and act.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

066 of 2024

The Red Survey ❤️

by joybucket

1. Do you like the color red? Yeah. Particularly together with black. 

2. List three things you like that are red. Strawberries, sunrises/sunsets, rubies.

3. Would you rather shop at Kmart, Target, or Macey's? We have none of these in Europe, so no idea.

4. What is one thing that makes you angry? Injustice.

5. What is your biggest passion? Trains and radio signal identification, can't choose.

6. Which of these words would you say describes you best: strong, determined, easily angered, passionate, or bold? Determined. And probably strong.

7. Name three things you can see in the room right now that are red. Can of Coca Cola from my husband, glue stick, grocery bag from Kruidvat.

8. Are you wearing anything red right now, and if so, what? No, not at the moment.

9. Do you like tomatoes? 🍅 I do, but I rarely like them raw. I love tomato soup, though.

10. Do you like cherries? 🍒 Yes, but I prefer sour cherries over sweet cherries.

11. Do you like red apples? 🍎 I've never been a big fan of apples.

12. Which of these cartoon characters do you like best: Minnie Mouse, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Elmo, Mr. Krabs, or Lightning McQueen? Minnie Mouse. I barely know the rest.

13. Would you rather eat spaghetti 🍝, sweet and sour chicken, or cherry pie? All of these sound good. Can't choose.

14. Would you rather eat red velvet cake, strawberry shortcake, or a raspberry snowcone? Strawberry shortcake.

15. List three random things you own that are red. My tablet (the cover is red), a small gift box that I use to keep stuff in, star-shaped candle holder.

16. Are you a fan of Taylor Swift? No. Honestly, I don't understand the hype.

17. Would you rather travel to Japan 🇯🇵, Morocco 🇲🇦, or Denmark 🇩🇰? Japan. I've been to Denmark already :D

18. Would you rather travel to Kenya 🇰🇪, Canada 🇨🇦, or Mars 🔴? Canada, definitely.

19. Name one celebrity you like who is from Canada. 🇨🇦 Keanu Reeves, hands down. The most genuine famous person ever.

21. Do you think you look good in red? Probably better than in orange :P

22. What is your favorite shade of red? Cherry, ruby, amaranth.

23. What is your least favorite shade of red? Brick red, probably.

24. Would you rather celebrate Valentine's Day or Christmas? Christmas. I'm not romantic :P

25. Which of these cartoon characters do you like best: The Cat in the Hat, Ariel (from The Little Mermaid), Sebastian (from The Little Mermaid), Bob the Tomato, or Mickey Mouse? Ariel, I think.

26. Have you ever driven a red car? 🚗 I don't drive, but I've been a passenger in a red car.

27. When was the last time you wore red lipstick? 💄 I've never worn a lipstick.

28. What are three things you dislike that are red? Apples, rhubarb, watermelon (it's red from the inside right?).

29. Do you like tomato soup? I love tomato soup. The Belgian way with little meatballs, or the Polish way with either rice or pasta.

30. Did you ever play the game Red Rover at recess as a kid? No, and I don't think we have such thing as recess here in my country.

31. Which of these cartoon characters do you like best: Santa Claus, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Cupid, Mario, or Spiderman? Mario <3 definitely.

32. Which of these names do you like best for a girl: Passion, Ruby, Cheri, Apple, or Rose? Ruby or Rose.

33. Which of these words would you say describes you best: loud, proud, attention-seeking, loving, or strong-willed? Proud, loving, strong-willed.

34. What was the last thing you ate that was red? Strawberries.

35. What was the last thing you drank that was red? Probably cranberry juice.

37. List three of your favorite Arby's menu items. I don't know what Arby's is. Never heard of it.

38. When was the last time you ate at Arby's? See above.

39. Which of these names do you like best for a girl: Valentina, Garnet, Robin, Lacey, or Crimson? Probably Lacey.

41. If you're female, list 3-10 words you could use to describe your period. 🩸 I'm not female.

42. Have you ever donated blood? No, I'm not allowed for medical reasons.

43. Which of these careers sounds the most appealing to you: firefighter, Santa's elf, paramedic, wedding planner, or flamenco dancer 💃? Paramedic.

44. Do you like ketchup? I do, but I not always fancy it.

45. Have you ever seen a total lunar eclipse (aka blood red moon)? 🔴 Quite a few times. Pretty spectacular.

46. When was the last time you shopped at Kmart? We don't have them in my country, but hey, at least I now such a shop exists :D

47. Have you ever lived in a red house? Yeah, red bricks. Even my current house is made of red bricks.

48. Do you know anyone who is colorblind and can't see the color red? My husband has some trouble distinguishing red from brown, but otherwise no.

49. Do you own a Raggedy Ann doll? Never heard of them.

50. List three things you like that haven't been mentioned already that are red. Cranberries, bell peppers, beetroots.

[earaercircular]

Swedish comet on its way to the stock exchange: could be Europe's biggest IPO since several years

At Northvolt's factory in Skellefteå in northern Sweden, batteries for electric cars from Volkswagen and BMW, both co-owners of the company, are produced, among other things. The factory here has a capacity of 16 gigawatt-hour batteries, corresponding to batteries for around 300,000 electric cars per year.

Eight-year-old battery maker Northvolt plans to go public next year and has the prospect of reaching a larger, triple-digit billion valuation.

There is money – lots and lots of money – in producing batteries right now. The Swedish battery manufacturer Northvolt[1] stands to be worth up to 20 billion dollars in an upcoming IPO, writes the British financial newspaper Financial Times[2]. This is far more than both Visa and Facebook achieved when they went public in 2008 and 2012 respectively.

The eight-year-old Northvolt[3] aims to build the world's greenest battery with the smallest CO₂ footprint in production and subsequent use and with the greatest possible recycling. The company, which both produces lithium-ion batteries and battery systems and is the largest in Europe in its field, was founded by the two former Tesla executives Peter Carlsson and Paolo Cerutti, who are now respectively CEO and deputy commander in charge of day-to-day operations . They have the Danish businessman Jim Hagemann Snabe as chairman of the board. He is also chairman of the board of the German conglomerate Siemens and for some years was chairman of the board of the Mærsk group in Denmark. Previously, he himself was co-CEO of the German IT giant SAP.

According to the Financial Times, the Swedish battery manufacturer will go public in Stockholm, probably in 2024, and with the prospect of 20 billion dollars or almost 141 billion Danish kroner, it will be one of the largest stock market listings for a European company in several years. Northvolt itself will not comment on information about the preliminary plans for the stock market listing, which may change.

The battery market is hot

Northvolt dances with the wave that carries battery manufacturers forward.[4] The batteries are the decisively important part of the advancing electric car market and to be able to store energy – typically green power produced by wind turbines or solar cells.

There is a race going on to develop and produce the most efficient batteries, which are also manufactured in the most energy-friendly and environmentally friendly way with materials that are sustainable and cheap.

At the same time, the rest of the world is struggling to free itself from the firm grip that China currently has on the world's battery production by virtue of the many raw materials that China possesses and which are included in battery production. This has led both the EU and the US to open state support for battery manufacturers to establish themselves in the two areas of the world. Here, Northvolt has a clear trump card by virtue of its Swedish origins.

Among Northvolt's owners are the investment bank Goldman Sachs and the German car giant Volkswagen (VW), which is the world's second largest car manufacturer after Japan's Toyota. BMW, Siemens and the capital fund Blackstone have also bought into Northvolt, which is headquartered in Stockholm, but has production in Skellefteå[5], Västerås[6], Gothenburg[7] (together with Volvo) and Borlänge[8] in Sweden, as well as in Gdansk in northern Poland and in Heide west of the city Kiel in Northern Germany. The construction of a sixth factory will be started before the new year just outside Montreal in Canada and should be completed in 2026. It is part of Northvolt's five billion dollar investment in the North American market.[9] According to the Financial Times, Northvolt is the European entrepreneurial company that has raised the most capital.

Source

Thomas Breinstrup, Svensk komet på vej på børsen: Kan blive Europas største børsnotering i flere år , in: Berlingske 24-10-2023; https://www.berlingske.dk/virksomheder/svensk-komet-paa-vej-paa-boersen-kan-blive-europas-stoerste

[1] Northvolt AB is a Swedish battery developer and manufacturer, specializing in lithium-ion technology for electric vehicles. Northvolt is building a factory in Skellefteå, northern Sweden, and another one in Salzgitter, Germany, as part of Northvolt's plan to increase production capacity of 32 gigawatt-hours by 2023. Its headquarters for research and development is in Västerås, Sweden. https://northvolt.com/

[2] Northvolt plans Stockholm listing for potential $20bn IPO. Battery maker could go public as soon as next year in one of the largest IPOs for a European company in recent years; https://www.ft.com/content/ca7a87b7-8f37-411e-851e-cb83750dba0f

[3] Read also: https://www.tumblr.com/earaercircular/668037918724669440/a-battery-for-cars-made-from-old-batteries?source=share&ref=_tumblr & https://www.tumblr.com/earaercircular/672075783410434048/swedish-northvolt-kicks-off-european-battery?source=share&ref=_tumblr

[4] Read also: https://www.tumblr.com/earaercircular/732253772398657536/automotive-stellantis-and-orano-join-forces-in?source=share&ref=_tumblr & https://www.tumblr.com/earaercircular/682712149928394752/umicore-becomes-major-supplier-for-electric?source=share&ref=_tumblr & https://www.tumblr.com/earaercircular/713316858967801856/canadian-li-cycle-sets-up-a-battery-recycling?source=share&ref=_tumblr & https://www.tumblr.com/earaercircular/709766435386392576/france-allocates-30-million-euros-to-2-battery?source=share&ref=_tumblr

[5] Skellefteå is a city in Västerbotten County, Sweden. It is the seat of Skellefteå Municipality, which had 74,402 inhabitants in 2022

[6] Västerås is a city in central Sweden on the shore of Lake Mälaren in the province of Västmanland, 100 kilometres west of Stockholm. The city had a population of 127,799 at the end of 2019, out of the municipal total of 158,653. Västerås is the seat of Västerås Municipality, the capital of Västmanland County and an episcopal see.

[7] Gothenburg (Swedish: Göteborg) is the capital of Västra Götaland County in Sweden. It is the second-largest city in Sweden, after the capital Stockholm, and the fifth-largest in the Nordic countries. It is situated by the Kattegat on the west coast of Sweden, with a population of approximately 600,000 in the city proper and about 1.1 million inhabitants in the metropolitan area.The city's population increased by 9,292 during 2022

[8] Borlänge is a locality in Dalarna County, Sweden, with 44,898 inhabitants as of 2020. It is the seat of the Borlänge Municipality with a total population of 51,604 inhabitants as of 2017.

[9] Read also: https://www.tumblr.com/earaercircular/726885760561725440/billion-dollar-investment-for-swedish-battery?source=share&ref=_tumblr