#captain jag

[catchcrows]

"What about the other Jedi spread across the galaxy?" "Their betrayal will be dealt with."

[totallycorrectjediorderquotes]

Comet: It's spooky season!

Jag: Every season is spooky season when you're haunted by your life decisions.

[barriss-and-coffee]

I know TCW gave a few of them one off episodes, but I've always found it disappointing how little attention the RotS commanders have gotten in both canon and legends, at least Cody got a spotlight episode in Bad Batch!

Did Commander Thire understand that Vader and Anakin were the same person since he found Vader on Mustafar? What about Appo when the chips made him and his brothers storm the Jedi Temple, and attempt to kill a Senator before gunning down a youngling? What was Jag's relationship to Plo, and Wolffe? What did Bly think in the aftermath of Order 66, where he and his brothers literally shot their general in the back? What are Baraca and Neyo's stories?

[bullet-prooflove]

I’ve got a request for Harm and Sav on their wedding night (your last Beau story got me thinking about Harm’s big day)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @keyweegirlie @buckysteveloki-me @sca3a @flopiboni

Companion piece to Chevy Corvette - Harm asks you for an answer regarding a very personal question.

There has never been anyone as beautiful as you, especially in white lace. Harm thinks that, the moment he sees you walking down the aisle towards him in an off the shoulder wedding dress. When he puts the silver wedding band on your finger, for the first time in his life he feels complete. It’s never been like this with another woman, they’ve never been able to make him feel the way that you do.

The day moves quickly, the ceremony, the photographs, the reception, it’s a constant stream of congratulations and merriment. Harm finds it exhausting, all he wants is a couple of moments alone with you but you’re constantly being stolen away and so is he.

It’s much later that you find yourselves in the Corvette overlooking the water, the moon shimmering as the waves lap against the dock. Harm’s stayed dry throughout the day, sipping from the champagne flute instead of drinking it. He wants to enjoy the time he spends with you tonight, to treasure it.

He’d intended to drive the two of you back to the hotel but he’d found himself here, at the spot where he’d got down on one knee and proposed to you properly. It’s the place you watch for his ship when you know it’s coming in. A unique scenic space tucked away from the rest of the world.

It’s there that you make love for the first time as man and wife, his fingers threading through your hair as you rock together in the darkness. There has never been a moment as perfect as this, the sensation of being with you underneath the stars. Your breath quickens and your body tightens and Harm, he can’t tear himself away because you are absolutely stunning. You take him with you when you climax, the ecstasy echoing through the night as he spills his release deep.

“Oh Mrs Rabb.” He whispers, his lips brushing over yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

Love Harm? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[nikkeisimmer]

Kimber "Jugs" Benton

I still think that she's the prettiest sim, I've made so far.

...and she's in love with her CO and thanks to retiring from flying F-14s, she's happily able to go after him.

This...craggy old hunk of grouchy granite stone.

[celestiall0tus]

Tales of Bloody Bug and Chat Noir - Chapter 31 - Captain Hardrock

Beginning || Previous || Next

            Alix leaned back in her desk chair as she worked on her assignments. She glanced up at the time, mindful of it for when she needed to head to Jagged Stone’s concert tonight. She sighed and took deep breaths when her phone rang. She picked it up to a video call with Rose and Juleka. Both Rose and Juleka were decked out in Jagged Stone merch.

            “Well, this is a surprise. Heading to the concert tonight?” Alix asked.

            “Yup. We called to see if we all wanted to go together?” Rose asked.

            “We?” Alix echoed.

            “Yeah. Didn’t you get a ticket too?”

            “Uh, no.”

            “What? But you looked relieved when you and Adrien took your stockings. I thought for sure you got one.”

            “Yeah, sorry, but I didn’t.”

            “Oh! I’m so sorry. I should have asked instead of assuming. I-!” Rose started.

            “Rose, it’s all good. I don’t mind. Besides, it’s probably best that I don’t go. A Christmas party is one thing. A stadium full of smelly strangers is another.”

            “Hey, check out Luka,” Juleka interrupted.

            Alix tilted her head as Juleka turned the camera around to him. The tips of his hair were dyed a teal-ish blue and messed up akin to Jagged Stone’s hair. His usual black hoodie replaced with a blue zip-up with a jean jacket over it.

            Alix whistled. “Looking good, Luka.”

            Luka’s eyes widened as he blushed.

            “Make sure to get lots of pictures.”

            “Oh, you bet. There’s no way we aren’t. It’s a Jagged Stone concert after-,” Juleka started.

            Juleka and Luka’s mom, Anarka stormed into view. “What is this mutiny I hear? A Jagged Stone concert? None of my crew shall pay that wretch a visit. Do we have an accord, mates?”

            “Fuck! Run, Luka!” Juleka yelled.

            Alix raised a brow while Juleka’s screen blacked out and she heard muffled yells and breathing.

            “I hope they didn’t forget their tickets,” Alix remarked.

            “Oh, they’re good. Juleka knew something like this would happen, so they had me hold onto the tickets.”

            “So, what is the deal? Why does their mom not want them to see Jagged Stone’s concert? I thought she was the ‘do whatever you want’ type of mom.”

            “I’m not sure. As long as I’ve known, Anarka hates Jagged Stone with a fiery passion. I just don’t know why. You should have seen this one time when a Jagged Stone song came on the radio and Anarka threw the boombox into the Seine.”

            Alix grimaced. She pulled up her messages and warned Adrien of a potential Akuma that may come from Anarka if they see Juleka and Luka at the concert.

            “Well, I think you need to come to the rescue there, Rose, so I’ll let you go.”

            “Ok. I’ll be sure to get lots of pictures. Oh! And a souvenir. What size do you wear?”

            “You’re asking me that like we’re not the same size?”

            “Well, you are, uh, muscle-y? Uh, you know. You’re built, not like me.”

            “Right. See about an oversized shirt if you must. I’d rather have it to sleep in.”

            “You got it! Talk to after the concert.”

            Alix hung up and smiled. “Alright, Tikki, Ziggy, we have a concert to attend. Tikki, spots on.”

            Tikki disappeared into the earrings and transformed Alix into Bloody Bug. Bloody Bug headed out to the concert. She met up with Chat Noir, Gallic Chick, Porcelet, and Carapace atop the stadium.

            “What’s up, dudes? Who’s ready to rock n’ rule?” Carapace asked.

            “You three head down. We likely have an Akuma coming here shortly,” Bloody Bug instructed.

            “Then shouldn’t we all wait?” Porcelet asked.

            “Nah. I don’t expect this to take long. Besides, we don’t want to rise suspicion.”

            “How about this then. You go down and I’ll stay up here with Porcelet?” Chat Noir offered.

            “Are you sure?” Bloody Bug asked.

            “Yeah. I know the fans are just dying to see me, but they want to see their Bug more. Besides, I can handle this with Porcelet.”

            Porcelet gasped and beamed. “Really?”

            “Of course. We’re just as-.”

            Chat Noir was just off by cannon fire that hit the stadium. Screams erupted from the civilians in line. They looked out on the horizon as a flying ship approached with Anarka dressed up like a pirate captain. Bloody Bug snorted and took out her yo-yo.

            “Looks like she’s here sooner than expected. How about we start the pre-show here?”

            Bloody Bug and Chat Noir leapt from the stadium to the ship’s deck, followed by Carapace, Gallic Chick, and Porcelet.

            “Seize them!” Captain Hardrock commanded.

            Chains shot out to capture the heroes but were deflected as Carapace put a shield around them.

            Captain Hardrock laughed. “You aren’t going anywhere now, heroes. Trapped by your own doings.”

            “That’s where you’re utterly wrong. Allow me, Bloody Bug,” Gallic Chick said.

            Gallic Chick used Sublimation and used the power of chaos to create a field around herself. Captain Hardrock ordered the ship to seize them, but the chains that entered the field froze midair.

            “Woah! How did you think of this one?” Chat Noir asked.

            “Porcelet showed me some crazy villain that could use chaos to do things like this. Seemed useful enough,” Gallic Chick answered.

            “What are we waiting for? Take the ship! Throw the captain overboard!” Bloody Bug yelled.

            Carapace dismissed his shield as they followed Gallic Chick up to the helm. Bloody Bug used her Lucky Charm to create a pirate cutlass as she took on Captain Hardrock with Chat Noir. They dueled the captain while Porcelet, Gallic Chick, and Carapace destroyed parts of the ship in search of the Akuma. Gallic Chick destroyed the compass and released the Akuma. Bloody Bug glanced over, then kicked Captain Hardrock into the ship.

            “Cat, take the captain overboard! This ship’s about to go down.”

            Chat Noir grabbed Captain Hardrock and jumped off the ship. Gallic Chick, Porcelet, and Carapace followed suit. Bloody Bug caught the Akuma before she jumped. She purified and released the Akuma before she used her Miraculous power, relocating Liberty back to the Seine. They landed outside the main entrance of the stadium. Everyone cheered for them while Bloody Bug and Chat Noir spoke with Anarka.

            “What happened? How did I get here?” Anarka asked.

            “You were akumatized. Probably the most fun we’ve had with an Akuma yet,” Bloody Bug commented.

            “Why were you akumatized?” Chat Noir asked.

            “Because my sweet little scallywags ran off to see that horrible Jagged Stone’s concert. And they know we’re not to speak or think about him under my roof.”

            “But why? What do you have against Jagged Stone?” Bloody Bug asked.

            “It’s… it’s a long tale, lass. But I cannot let Jagged see them. I cannot let them near him. Please, you have to get them out.”

            “Tell ya what, captain. Give us the names and what they looked like, and we’ll keep them busy. After all, it’s not just Jagged Stone they’d be meeting tonight, but all their heroes,” Bloody Bug offered.

            Anarka grumbled, then sighed. “Alright, lass. Their names be Luka and Juleka Couffaine. Juleka will look like me with her sweet round face, raven black hair with dyed purple tips, and with her grandmother’s piercing amber eyes. Luka… Luka won’t look like Juleka or me. His face is more angular, serene blue eyes, and raven black hair with blue dyed tips.”

            “Got it. We’ll find them and keep them from Jagged. You have my word, captain.”

            “Thank you, lass.”

            Bloody Bug nodded and headed off. She, Gallic Chick, and Carapace disappeared to recharge their kwamis while Chat Noir and Porcelet headed inside. Bloody Bug, Gallic Chick, and Carapace regrouped and slipped in backstage, meeting up with Jagged Stone, Chat Noir, and Procelet.

            “There she is! Bloody Bug! Welcome to the concert of the century by yours truly. You ready to rock n’ roll?” Jagged Stone asked.

            “Ready as I can be. Let’s rock Paris to its core.”

            Jagged Stone whooped and hollered as everyone got into position. Bloody Bug looked out at the crowd from the rafters with the others. She looked down at the VIP section, recognizing Rose, Juleka, Luka, Alya, Lila, and Marinette. She tilted her head seeing Alya standing away from Marinette. She wondered if what happened at the Louvre had caused a rift between them.

            Bloody Bug was pulled from her thoughts as the concert began. She jumped down with her team as the first song started. The crowd roared with cheers and praises as their heroes took the stage. Chat Noir smiled and nudged her, motioning to the audience. She smiled as she threw her yo-yo onto the rafters and swung around the concert. She high fived the concert goers, did aerial tricks, and landed in the crowd randomly.

            Bloody Bug soaked in the praise and admiration from everyone. She enjoyed the rush and pure, unfiltered joy it filled her with. She took to the air again when a shadow backstage caught her eye. She pulled herself to the ceiling and stared at it. She struggled to focus on it when glowing, fuchsia dots lined the blue shadow. She tilted her head as a fan unfurled with the same fuchsia dots along it, staring back at her like a million eyes. She closed her eyes and shook her head, then opened them again, but the shadow and the fuchsia eyes were gone.

            “Bug. What’s wrong?” Chat Noir yelled.

            Bloody Bug glanced over to see Chat Noir beside her with his claws dug into the ceiling. She hummed as she glanced back at where the shadow once stood. She looked around to find an explanation, but nothing could explain away what she saw.

            “Bug?” Chat Noir asked.

            “I saw something. I don’t know what it was, but it felt… unsettling. Like it was watching me.”

            “What do I look out for?”

            “Look for shadows moving. If you see any hint of blue or fuchsia, get me immediately and we’ll pursue it together.”

            Chat Noir nodded and fell back to the crowd. Bloody Bug took a breath before she joined him. They continued the theatrics for the rest of the concert while they kept an eye out for the mysterious shadow. The shadow didn’t make a reappearance even as the concert came to a close. Bloody Bug furrowed her brows in though when Chat Noir nudged her.

            “You ok?”

            “No. I saw something, and that something never showed back up.”

            “What are you thinking?”

            “Step lightly moving forward. Who or whatever that was meant for that encounter. That, I’m sure.”

            “Will do. For now, we have a meet and greet to attend to.”

            Bloody Bug sighed and followed Chat Noir backstage where Jagged Stone, their team, and the VIP ticket winners waited for them. She took a deep breath and forced a smile as she was separated from her team. She was pushed onto a seat next to Jagged Stone as people swarmed them.

            “Bloody Bug! I’m Alya Cesaire. I was hoping now you would answer some questions for the Ladyblog.”

            “Uh, sure?”

            Alya beamed. “Tell me, had you and Chat Noir met prior to your first meeting with Stoneheart?”

            “Uh, no. Not at all.”

            “What about the others? Gallic Chick? Porcelet? Carapace?”

            “Sorta? I knew of them. I guess.”

            “And what made you put together a team?”

            “It was a decision made by Chat Noir and I. We were just two people, and we can’t be everywhere all at once. It made sense to put together a team of people we trust.”

            “Was this idea pushed further along with incidents like, I don’t know, when Volpina and Heart’s Design kidnapped Adrien Agreste?”

            Bloody Bug stiffened. She glanced around the room. First at Marinette, who flinched and retreated to the back. Second to Lila, who tensed up and stared at Bloody Bug with wide eyes. Lastly to Chat Noir, whose attention turned fully to her and Alya.

            “It was one of many instances.”

            “And, if I may be so bold, what happened exactly that day? Why did the villains steal Adrien Agreste? Did they do anything to him?”

            Bloody Bug narrowed her eyes. “Something happened, yes. However, I will not share private information like that if it is within my power. If you want information like that, you’ll need to convince the victim to share the accounts of what happened. And with that, this charade ends.”

            “No need for it to continue. I have everything I need,” Alya said as she shot a glare at Marinette.

            “Well, that’s weird. Anyway, who’s next?” Jagged Stone asked.

            A few concert goers approached Jagged Stone while Rose, Luka, and Juleka approached Bloody Bug. Rose squealed and tackled Bloody Bug.

            “It’s so good to see you again, Bloody Bug! And under better circumstances too!”

            Bloody Bug grimaced and patted Rose’s head. “Yes, very, but off. I’m not the hugging type. You want that, go tackle Porcelet or Cat. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can get the cat to purr.”

            Rose’s eyes widened. “Chat Noir can purr? Seriously?”

            “Go find out.”

            Rose gasped and tackled Chat Noir. Juleka flinched and rushed after Rose. Bloody Bug snickered as Luka stepped up.

            “Uh, Bloody Bug? Do you… do you remember me?”

            “Your face is familiar. Would you be that kid that was Silencer? Luka?”

            Luka ducked his head down, took a breath, then raised it high and nodded.

            “I thought that was you. You did something different with your hair since then, haven’t you?”

            “Oh, yeah. Just today, actually. It was Jules idea. I don’t know if I’ll keep it yet.”

            “I hope you do. It looks good on you. Suits you both.”

            Luka blushed as he ruffled his hair. “Oh! Uh, thanks. And, well, thank you for everything else.”

            “What everything else?”

            “It’s… a little embarrassing, but you’ve inspired me. After that whole incident and that talk, I’ve done my best to be more like you.”

            “Like me?”

            “Yeah! You’re so strong and fierce, but even you have your own demons to fight. Despite them, you still hold your head high and live to the fullest. At least, from what we’ve all seen. It’s very… inspiring. You’re inspiring.”

            Bloody Bug smiled and messed up Luka’s hair. “Just be the best you that you can be and don’t forget to live for the here and now. If we get stuck in the past, we can’t live for the here and we certainly can’t see our future.”

            “I’ll keep doing my best.”

            “Good. Now go sit with your sister and the cat.”

            “What? But I was hoping to speak with Jagged.”

            “Yeah, well, your mother was akumatized because you two came here. And I made a promise that you two wouldn’t meet with Jagged to keep the peace.”

            “But-!” Luka started.

            “Ah, let them have this. I can handle any woman,” Jagged Stone boasted.

            Bloody Bug rolled her eyes. “Sure, you can, but I’m not about to have Anarka-.”

            Jagged Stone squeaked, jumped out of his seat, and cowered. “Anarka? She’s here? In Paris?”

            “Uh, yeah? She’s our mom,” Juleka commented.

            “Hold up. You and the boy here, your mother is Anarka? Anarka Couffaine?”

            Juleka nodded.

            Jagged Stone pursed his lips. He looked up as he counted on his fingers and went over different thoughts in his head.

            “You ok, Jagged?” Porcelet asked.

            “Huh? Oh, yeah. Uh, girl, I have one last question for you.”

            “I’m waiting.”

            “Would you and that boy’s birthday be roughly, what was it now, early March? Where you’ll be fifteen, yeah?”

            “Uh, yeah. How’d you-?”

            “Marvelous. Alright, back to the groupies!”

            Bloody Bug raised a brow as Jagged Stone returned to the other fans. She looked away as she remembered Anarka’s hatred for Jagged Stone, Jagged Stone knowing Luka and Juleka birthdays and age, and, looking at the two of them and from what Anarka said, seeing an eerie resemblance between Luka and Jagged. Her eyes widened as everything clicked.

            “Oh. That makes so much sense,” Bloody Bug muttered.

            “Bloody Bug?” Lila said.

            Bloody Bug broke from her thoughts and looked at Lila. “Yes?”

            “You wouldn’t mind if I get some pictures with my best friend, would you?”

            Bloody Bug rolled her eyes. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

            Lila beamed as she pulled Bloody Bug close for pictures. Bloody Bug moved through the motions until Lila kissed her cheek. Bloody Bug’s eyes widened as Lila stepped away.

            “Thank you, Bugaboo.”

            Bloody Bug furrowed her brow as unease brewed in her. Something would come of this.

            “Uh, Bloody Bug? I have a question for you,” Marinette said.

            “Alright. Out with it.”

            Marinette pulled out a folded note and handed it to Bloody Bug. Bloody Bug took and read the contents. She raised a brow as she read that Marinette wanted to talk with her, alone, in a few nights time. She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose.

            “Fine.”

            Marinette gasped and hugged Bloody Bug. “Thank you.”

            Bloody Bug grimaced as she patted Marinette’s head. “Now, go.”

            Marinette nodded and moved to speak with Jagged Stone.

            Bloody Bug sighed and looked at the time. She whined seeing she had another hour of the meet and greet. She shut off her brain and moved on autopilot through the rest of the night. She said her good-byes once they were finished and headed home. She de-transformed and collapsed onto her bed.

            “I don’t ever want to do something like that again,” Alix groaned.

            “Well, hopefully you won’t have to,” Tikki reassured.

            “Fingers crossed, but I have to ask. Did you see what I did? That shadow?”

            Tikki nodded.

            “What was that?”

            “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling it might have been the peacock.”

            Alix gasped. “The peacock? What was it doing there? What did it want? Who has it?”

            Tikki shrugged. “It went missing with the butterfly brooch, so we don’t know. I know Master has been looking for it. And apparently Adrien’s cousin.”

            “Well, someone has it, and they can’t be up to anything good to be lurking in shadows.”

            “I agree. You both should be careful,” Ziggy butted in.

            Alix nodded. “We will, but we’ll have to also see what their true intentions are.”

            “Oh, what do you think they are?” Ziggy asked.

            “I’m not sure, but only time will tell now.”

Patreon || Discord || Ko-Fi

[tortoisesshells]

Fair Winds and Following Seas

I think this has to be a fic about Our Heroes (1899 edition) leaving the simulation and the Kerberos behind after the end of - well, of the plot. It wasn't a pleasant experience for any of them, but it's hard to say goodbye to any kind of home, because the line between who you are and what's your home can be terribly thin, can't it? even if who you are (in the context of 1899 as a simulation) was some kind of an external imposition? The Kerberos was real to them, for a time & for good and ill, but it's finally gone, and that's not a painless realization.

[bi-writes]

ghost is off limits. not just emotionally or romantically, but physically. you have seen the aftermath of when someone so much as bumps into him or brushes past his arm in a tight hallway. they learn very quickly that lieutenant riley isn't to be touched, not even a little, not at all. (18+)

ohhhh but not for the medic. your touch is clinical. necessary. ordered. ghost glares, but he does not tell you to go away when you make your way into captain price's office. it's late; they just touched down not even ten minutes ago, exhausted and burdened by an op that took a few weeks of their absence.

he smells like sweat, like grime, and you can taste the sand in the air when you take a seat next to him. even seated, he is taller than you. he takes up a ridiculous amount of space, dwarfing the office chair he sits in. you set your kit down on your captain's desk, turning to face your lieutenant.

"uhm...could you show it to me?"

he huffs in annoyance before he pulls his tactical vest over his head, tossing it onto the floor. you swallow, blinking, focusing, as he unzips the jacket he wears and lets it fall at his feet. your lips part a little as he reveals the strength of his arms, tight muscles straining against the shirt he wears and showing off the sleeve of ugly military tattoos that are sunburnt along one arm.

gorgeous, giant man, but then your eyes take interest on the nasty gash along one arm, a jagged wound that stretches nearly from shoulder to elbow. it looks angry and irritated, much like the look in his eyes.

when you put your hands on him for the first time, he flinches. not because he is in pain, but the feeling of skin against skin is so foreign, like a wound of its own. you blink up at him, soft and sweet, and you show him your hands, what you're doing with them.

"just going to clean it out and stitch you up, lieutenant. promise i won't take too long."

but he likes it. the way your soft palm cups his scarred forearm, running a cloth over the lines of blood that trace along the length to his wrist and drip onto the floor. the warm drag of your fingers pushing his skin together so you can hook the needle through and stitch him up solid and effectively. those easy, gentle strokes, threading through skin as you would hem a skirt, a pattern that you have not forgotten that is now being weaved onto his very body.

he'll wear your stitch pattern like a patch he has so dutifully earned. and you will wear his marks just the same, yes she will, the good girl that she is.

when you finish, he grunts, flexing his fist to gauge the tautness of his skin and the way the wound burns as he stretches his arm. he tilts his head to the side, glaring. your hands rest easy there, still pressed up against him, and he nods at you expectantly.

"open y'r mouth, sergeant."

and you do. because he's your lieutenant, and he has given you an order. he hikes his mask up, revealing a disgusting grin and the sharp edge of a torn lip, a face mangled beyond recognition. when he spits in your mouth, he tastes just as you expected--like sand and smoke.

"now swallow."

and you do, but not because he's your lieutenant, it's something else, something more. not afraid, but intrigued, somehow not put off, but needing sustenance.

when he crowds you in the infirmary later that night, you don't understand. you don't understand the sudden need to touch, the way he grips your ass, the nasty way he bites at your jaw and pushes your pants down your thighs and puts his cock between your thighs.

he promises he won't fuck you, promises he'll be nice this time, but it's hard to discern between reality and heaven when he lets the tip catch on your clit with every frantic stroke. you squeak with every rough thrust, pressing your ass against his pelvis as you arch your back, wanting to see his face, wanting to kiss him, wanting to make this tender and soft and a little romantic, but that isn't ghost.

ghost is mean. ghost isn't a giver, he's a taker. ghost is made of sharp edges only, broken glass on all sides, it's such a shame his cock is so nice and so big and so good, lieutenant, please, i need it--

"need more," is what you beg, even though you know he can't give it to you. you know, but he does it anyway, he slips a big hand between your thighs and opens you up, and you cry when he finally sinks deep, hoisting you up, your back tight against his chest as he learns how quiet the voices in his head are when he's so deep in your pretty, pretty pussy.

he slips another hand around your throat, baring it, giving himself room so he can bite at your neck and lick over the salt and brand you with the evidence of the reprieve he refuses to give, but you don't care, all you can do is smile.

you know his secrets now, the things he would never tell, the things he can't say out loud.

it's almost frightening that you don't really care if he has to kill you to keep you quiet.

[totallycorrectjediorderquotes]

Warthog: What’s a metaphor?

Jag, not looking up from his work: My life is a train wreck.

Warthog: I know, but what’s a metaphor?

[yeyinde]

The 141 finding out you've never had sex.

Just casually drinking, playing cards. A joke causes it to slip out.

body electric: the virgin edition

Gaz, the instigator, mutters something about not having been fucked in ages. this springs up a sudden surge of comradery, because, yeah. neither have they.

Soap's devote Catholicism (i like to imagine) leaves little room for flippant intimacy. he tries to be a good boy. key word, of course, being: tries. but the last serious relationship was years ago. back when he was grunt. he's pent up. abstinence, yeah? he holds it tight in his hand. but the thing about fists is that they're often mistaken for anger. Soap's a realist masquerading as an optimist. he knows whoever falls into his jowls next will be a MacTavish by the time he's through with them. and commitment. well. his comes at a price. a hefty one.

Ghost prefers casual flings where he doesn't have to take any clothes off. unzips his trousers, frees his cock, and then tries to pretend he's a real, flesh and blood, human. to feel something, anything, except a vacuum between hollow bones. but his tastes are peculiar. on the side of unhinged. he hasn't found the perfect body yet satiate himself with.

Price. well. with his bloody hands, he thinks he'd rather not dirty the same people he swears to protect. and divorcing at the age of 30 does that to a man, maybe. his role as a captain (an excuse in retrospect) also keeps him from unleashing his wants. the very same ones that are probably best under lock and key, anyway. it's just for the best, really. something he ought to do because the moment he has another chance to sink his teeth into someone's neck, he'll tear them apart. break them into pieces.

despite bringing it up, Gaz knows the real reason he's single is because he's pushy. he wants. so he takes. and then takes some more. more. more. until his gullet is full of the person he's obsessed with. carrying them around in his breast pocket everywhere he goes. the perfect mate. the one he can shower with unfettered affection. a deluge, in all honesty. one with the ideation to drown. biblical floods. trapped beneath him. he likes it more than he should, but. singedom, then, he supposes.

and then you roll the dice. admit, sheepishly, that, technically, you have them all beat. zero is always lesser than five, ten, twenty. but it's this misstep—zero, never—that catches their attention.

suddenly, you're not surrounded by kin but a pack of wolves. all hungry in their own ways, all starving. it just makes sense to quench their hunger with you, doesn't it? friend, ally. pretty little thing. so sweet for them. and perfectly mouldable. putty they shape to their hearts desire. the perfect mate.

Soap grips his rosary. the sign of the cross, heavenly Father and Holy Spirit, digging into his palm like the burn of a baptism. what's devotion if not pain? he cuts himself on the gold. offers blood of the sacrament to whoever might be listening, and leans in, sniffing.

Price's knuckles are white. he leans back, hidden in shadows. all you can see is spark of burning orange from his cigar as he takes mouthful after mouthful of smoke, contemplating. assessing.

"that so?" he doesn't even need to look at his Lieutenant to know that the man has gone still. too bad for you, it's not from shock.

Ghost barely holds himself back. keeps tight in his seat. fists clenching. unclenching. he has a good enough read on the people around him to see the unfiltered desire ripping across their face. scorching. but to bite, with his mouthful of jagged, seraded teeth; ones meant to rip, break, tear, would ruin you. permanently. unequivocally. and—

"wanna give it a go?" all eyes turn to Gaz, electric in his seat. eyes smouldering umbre. "i mean, you trust us the most, don't you?" us. it's stunning, he thinks, the way Gaz can weave tapestry in the air like this with just his words. one tangled like shibari binds. "and we care for you a lot. we'll be gentle. it's up to you, of course, but—"

Soap's bloody hand disappears under the table. you gasp. "yer askin' fer it, ain't ye? beggin' so pretty fer it."

"n-no, i—"

"mind your manners." Price. his voice is chiselled into char, authoritative; low. a lulling command spoken in a breath of smoke. "and don't lie, love. or i'll have to take you over my knee."

the tension is thick. Soap's arm moves, slow. deliberate. Ghost has clench his jaw to avoid bearing his teeth. snarling.

Gaz cuts it with a knife. hews compliance into your skin with a fine needle point. "it's okay. we'll take such good care'a you. make you feel so good."

your submission is a heavy thing. oppressive. the shallow dip of your chin, the blistering heat simmering under your flesh, burning right, is the prettiest fuckin' thing he's ever seen. he does clench his jaw this time. tight, tight. tight

until something pops.

"okay." you yield. head bowed. beautifully submissive.

when he looks around, catches the predatory crackle in the air. his hackles raise. immediate. instinctual. and ah, right.

it's easy to forget he's surrounded by a wild pack of stray dogs. starving ones, too.

[raurquiz]

#otd #startrek    #thenextgeneration #themeasureofaman #picard #riker #troi #data #laforge #worf #drpulaski #wesleycrusher #obrian #guinan #jag #captain #phillipaduvois #admiralnakamura #commander #brucemaddox #startrek56 @startrekonpplus https://www.instagram.com/p/Com5KMuu8Sy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ilovemitsuya]

sylus x reader (fluffy,angsty?)

summary: “During a mission, I sustained serious injuries and was hospitalized. Though Sylus couldn’t visit me, he sent Mephisto in his place. When I was discharged, I wasn’t expecting him to be outside.”

“I’m not going to lie to you two.” Jenna said, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against her desk. “This mission isn’t like the others we’ve done. That facility is more unstable than we initially thought. The few teams we’ve sent to investigate before found nothing at all.”

Crossing my arms as I studied Captain Jenna’s face.

“So why send just the two of us, then?” I asked.

“Why not a full squad if it’s that dangerous?”

“Because we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. A bigger team could draw too much attention.“

“And if we find something… unexpected?” Tara asked.

“You report back immediately.” Jenna said, her tone firm. “Don’t try to take on anything alone if it’s beyond your capabilities. This isn’t about being heroes.”

There was a beat of silence before Jenna pushed off her desk and took a step closer to me and Tara. “But you’re not going in blind. We’ll have a team on standby if things get too hot. You need to trust your instincts and watch each other’s backs.”

Glancing at Tara, she gave me a reassuring nod.

Tara and I turned to leave, but Jenna’s voice stopped us just before we reached the door. “And remember.” she called out, “If things start to go sideways, you get out. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at her.

With that, Tara and I exited the office, both of us knowing that we were walking into something dangerous. But we had our orders.

———————————————————————

The facility loomed over us, the metal creaking with the weight of its own decay. Tara and I moved cautiously through the halls, weapons at the ready, our footsteps echoing against the cracked concrete.

Dust hung in the air like a fog, making each breath feel heavy. We’d been searching for signs of Wanderers for hours, but aside from a few ominous claw marks on the walls, there was nothing.

Tara walked a few paces ahead, her sharp eyes sweeping the darkened corners as she scanned for any signs of movement.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“The readings are coming from this sector.” I confirmed. “It’s like there’s a cluster of energy sources in the storage area up ahead. Something’s definitely drawing them here.”

Tara nodded and pushed forward, keeping a steady pace as we approached the large metal door that led to the storage room. She placed a hand on the door’s surface, glancing back at me. “On three?” she whispered.

I tightened my grip on my gun and gave her a quick nod. “On three.”

“One… two… three!”

Tara shoved the door open, and we moved inside in a swift, coordinated motion. The room was just as the rest of the facility, old crates and equipment lay scattered across the floor, and the walls were covered in peeling paint.

I took a step forward, my eyes sweeping the room for any signs of movement. But then, there was a flicker of motion in the shadows, too quick to pinpoint at first.

I turned to Tara, but she had already seen it. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her weapon in the direction of the disturbance.

“Stay sharp.” she said, voice tense. “I think we’ve got company.”

I reacted on instinct, surging forward to intercept it with a gunshot.

It swiped at me with one of its jagged claws, forcing me to block the strike with my forearm. Pain shot through my body as its claws tore through my sleeve and left deep gashes across my skin.

Before we could even do anything, the wanderer let out a loud roar and smashed its claws against the support beams around us. A low rumble vibrated through the building, and the ground beneath us trembled. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and a series of cracks split the concrete walls, spreading out in every direction.

“Get out of here, now!” Tara shouted, sprinting for the exit.

I turned to follow her, but the ground heaved under my feet, and a section of the ceiling gave way with a deafening crash. I stumbled and fell, barely managing to roll out of the way as a massive metal beam slammed down where I’d been standing. The room shuddered violently, and the walls seemed to cave inward.

“Tara!” I called out, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of collapsing debris. I saw her struggling to keep her footing near the exit, but then another tremor hit, and a cascade of rubble came crashing down, forcing us apart.

I fought to keep moving, dodging falling beams and lunging over shifting pieces of debris. But it was no use. The floor buckled beneath me, and I felt myself falling through the collapsing structure.

The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, and pain exploded through my side as I hit the ground hard. I tried to move, but my legs were pinned beneath a heavy chunk of concrete, and the darkness quickly closed in around me.

The last thing I saw before everything faded was the shattered remnants of the facility above, crumbling like a house of cards. Then, there was nothing.

———————————————————————

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing I became aware of as I drifted back to consciousness.

The world came back in hazy fragments, a faint antiseptic smell, the dull ache radiating through my entire body, the blinding white light overhead. I blinked slowly, the ceiling tiles came into focus. I was in a hospital room, covered in bandages, and every muscle felt like it had been dragged through hell.

A groan escaped my lips as I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The movement must have caught someone’s attention because I heard a chair scrape back and then footsteps rushing closer.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” It was Tara’s voice, low and familiar, filled with a relief I hadn’t heard from her often. She came into view, her face creased with worry. Her eyes softened when she saw I was awake, and she let out a breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for a long time. “You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

I managed to lift my head just enough to give her a weary look. “Like I got hit by a train.” I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. “What happened to me?”

“You were inside when the building collapsed.” she explained, pulling a chair closer and sitting down beside me. “By the time we got a rescue team in there, you were unconscious and pinned under the debris.” Tara’s voice wavered slightly, and she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to show how much the whole thing had shaken her.

“You’ve been out for a while.” Her tone was a little lighter now, a hint of humor breaking through. “Can’t believe you’d scare me like that. Do you know how annoying it was waiting around here?”

A faint chuckle escaped me, though it quickly turned into a wince.

“I should let the doctors know you’re awake. They’ll want to check you over.”

I gave a slow nod, already feeling exhaustion pulling at me again, but I didn’t want her to worry. “Go ahead.” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell silent again, and I found myself staring at the ceiling, fighting the familiar feeling of emptiness that came whenever I was alone. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.

I wished Sylus were here. There was no way he could just walk into a hospital like any normal person.

I was about to close my eyes again when I heard a soft tapping on the window. My eyes snapped open, and my heart skipped a beat as I turned toward the sound. There, perched on the narrow ledge just outside the window, was a black crow. Mephisto.

I struggled to sit up, limping a little as I reached out to unlock the window. It slid open with a creak, and Mephisto hopped inside, a small bundle of wildflowers clutched in his beak. They were ragged and windblown, a little wilted from the journey, but I could tell they’d been picked carefully.

I took the flowers gently from Mephisto’s beak, my hands trembling slightly. There was a small note tied around the stems with a piece of dark string. I untied it and read the familiar handwriting: “Since I can’t be there. Take care of yourself. – S.”

Sylus couldn’t come to see me himself, but he’d sent Mephisto instead. His way of saying he was there, still watching over me.

“Thank you.” I whispered

Mephisto tilted its head and gave a soft caw, as if acknowledging my words. Then, it took off out the window again.

I sank back against the pillows, holding the flowers close. It wasn’t the same as having Sylus here in person, but it was enough to know he was thinking of me.

———————————————————————

As I lay in the hospital bed, I reached for my phone on the side table and unlocked the screen. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed out a message to Sylus.

I hit send and waited, my heart beating a little faster than it should. The minutes dragged on, and I started to wonder if he'd even seen my message. But then, my device buzzed with his reply.

Typical Sylus.

The response came almost instantly, as though he'd been expecting my question.

I glanced back at the window, half expecting to see the crow still there. It made sense. Mephisto had always kept an eye on me, by Sylus’s command.

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as I read his words.

There was a long pause before his next message arrived.

It was the closest thing to comfort I would get from him, even if he couldn't be here with me.

———————————————————————

The final paperwork was a blur, the nurse’s instructions fading in and out as I focused on keeping steady. I was bandaged up and aching from head to toe, but at least I was getting out of the hospital. They’d wanted to keep me a few days longer, but I’d insisted on leaving.

As soon as they handed me my things, I slipped into my jacket and headed outside.

When I pushed through the front doors, a figure was leaning casually against the side of the building, half hidden in the shadow cast by the streetlamp. Sylus. He looked up when he saw me.

“Sylus…” I said, managing a small smile as I walked over, but his expression was tense as he straightened up, his eyes quickly scanning over my injuries.

“You’re stubborn for a hunter.” he muttered, his tone flat, though I could tell by the way his eyes lingered on my face and my bandaged arm that he was probably worried.

“The hell are you doing out here so soon? You could barely stand a few hours ago.”

“They were going to keep me trapped in there another week,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. “I couldn’t just stay there doing nothing.”

He gave me a sharp look, he slipped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me firmly to his car parked a few feet away.

“You’re barely out, and here you are, thinking you’re ready to run around already.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Since when do you drive anything other than that death trap of yours?"

"Since I figured you might not be up for riding around on a motorcycle after getting half crushed under a building."

He helped me into the passenger seat, taking extra care to ensure I was settled in before closing the door. He didn’t say anything as he walked around and got in himself, but the silence felt heavy, like he was holding back from saying a thousand things.

We drove through the streets in silence until we reached the edge of the city. I realized where we were going the moment we turned onto a narrow road.

“Your place?” I asked, glancing over at him.

He kept his gaze on the road. “You’re not going home alone in that condition. Not happening.”

I knew better than to argue, so I just nodded.

When we finally arrived, he was already at my side, opening the car door before I could even move. I tried to slide out on my own, but he offered his hand, steady and warm, and before I could argue, he was lifting me out of the seat.

I groaned, shaking my head. “Sylus, I can walk. You don’t need to—”

“Too late, sweetie.” he smirked, his arms sliding under my legs as he pulled me up, holding me effortlessly in a bridal carry. “Just sit back and let me do this.”

I sighed, trying to hide the warmth creeping up my face. “I’m tough, you know.”

“I know you are.” He glanced down, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he carried me toward the door. “But you’re hurt, and besides,” he added, leaning closer, his voice softening, “sometimes, you need someone to take care of you.”

Inside, he led me to his room and gestured for me to sit on the bed. “Wait here. And don’t try moving around.”

I managed a small, sarcastic smile. “What, you think I’m going to run off?”

His gaze darkened. “You have a habit of being reckless.”

Before I could respond, he was already disappearing into the other room, returning moments later with a small first aid kit and a glass of water. He knelt beside me, unwrapping some of the bandages on my arm with practiced precision.

“I already saw the doctors for this.” I said, watching him closely. He ignored me, dabbing disinfectant on a fresh cut and glancing up with a glint of warning in his eyes.

“Clearly, they didn’t do a good enough job if you’re in this condition.” he replied, his tone clipped.

I sighed, not bothering to respond. Instead, I watched his hands move, careful but efficient, his expression focused as he replaced the bandages. He was so quiet, so steady, so… unlike his usual self. His eyes kept flicking up to meet mine, only for a second, before going back to my injuries.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I murmured, not sure if I was talking to him or to myself.

He paused, his hands stilling for a moment, before he looked up, his expression unreadable. “And if I don’t, who will?”

I watched him as he worked, watching how he gently wrapped fresh gauze around my arm, tightening it carefully.

His fingers lingered over the bandage, as if making sure it wasn't too tight.

"Is this too tight?" he murmured, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

"No... it's fine." I whispered, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. My words were barely a breath, and I wasn't sure if he heard me, but he continued anyway, his focus unbreakable.

"You can tell me if it hurts." he said softly, his gaze locking onto mine.

"It doesn't hurt." I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. But the truth was, all I can think about is how his fingers felt against my skin.

“You could have been killed.” he suddenly said, the faintest tremor in his voice. “And you didn’t think to tell me, or anyone, what you were dealing with out there?”

I looked down, feeling that familiar pang of guilt again.

“Tell me next time before you go off on one of these suicide missions.” he snapped, his jaw tight. “Or better yet, stay out of places where buildings collapse on you.”

“I don’t get to pick and choose which missions are dangerous.” I replied.

“And I’m supposed to sit back and just watch you throw yourself into the line of fire?” His voice was low, but I could hear the worry simmering beneath it.

He was silent for a moment, his expression hardening as he reached over to brush a strand of hair from my face.

“And next time, you’re telling me about this kind of mission. I don’t care if you think it’s nothing.”

My expression softened as I looked up at him

“I’m okay now.” I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod.

“Try to rest here. I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” he said, guiding her down gently. “I’m guessing you don’t want to stay in those all night.”

I took the bundle of soft, comfortable clothes he offered.

“Thank you, Sylus.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, running his fingers lightly through my hair, guiding me to lie back against the bed.

“Enough fighting it, sweetie.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You need to rest.”

I started to protest, but he pressed a finger gently to my lips, shaking his head. “No arguments,” he said softly. “Just close your eyes.”

He pulled a blanket over me, his hands lingering as he tucked it around my shoulders, and as my breathing slowed, I felt his fingers brush my cheek, tracing gentle patterns along my skin. The last thing I saw was him watching me, his expression filled with something I couldn’t quite place, a mix of worry, relief, and maybe… something else, something deeper.

“Sleep.” he whispered, his voice a barely audible murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

———————————————————————

The soft rise and fall of her breathing filled the room. Sylus sat beside her, one leg folded over the other, his arms crossed as he watched her sleep. In the dim light, she looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the worry that had been etched into her face earlier. He’d seen her like this before years ago.

He could still remember that night, when she’d slipped through his fingers.

He reached out almost instinctively, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She didn’t stir, but his touch softened, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against his fingertips.

Unable to bear it, he slipped his arms around her, drawing her close, careful not to wake her. She was warm, her head resting against his chest, her body relaxed in his embrace. He pressed his cheek against her hair, letting himself take in her scent, the steady beat of her heart.

“You don’t get to do this to me again.” he whispered, his voice rough, barely audible even to himself. “Not this time. I won’t lose you. Not again.”

if you made it this far thank you sm for reading! I appreciate you feel free to request ♡

[dvchvnde]

EXCERPT: JOHN PRICE, WINTER SOLDIER AU.

You're still getting used to the sight of him—bare faced in patches: the beard shorn off into a mere shadow of what it was before; a choice he'd made for himself after scrubbing down in a long shower, refusing any help or medical aid—and he doesn't make it any easier for you in these brief, uncomfortable stages of acclimation you suffer through.

Hands lashing out into dead air. Fingers catching, unyielding and firm, on your skin. Nails—split and jagged; regrown in patches after being ripped off over and over again (for hree years, is the mocking whisper snaking along the nausea when you look at the pinked-tinged beds)—burrowing into your flesh. Anchoring you in place as he bends down, moulds his frame around you. Malleable shadow eating you whole.

Indomitable.

John Price was always an intimidating man.

Towering. Broad. Gruff. Surly. Mean old man was often thrown around amongst the new recruits, ones too scared to voice what they really thought:

Miserable fucking bastard.

His weight thrown around like an extension of himself—all raw, barely contained anger trembling out through the cracks. Lashing thick, brutal lines across his forehead. In the sharp, downward tug of his mouth tucked behind a bed of brunt umbre hair.

He was difficult to deal with on a good day, even when he'd offer that mocking smile of his. A parody of geniality—lips split upwards like a crocodiles maw.

(come, come, put your hand inside this beasts jaws; he won't bite—)

As fucking if.

You've only known him in pieces. Patches. Barely enough to make a whole picture, but you could still fill in the empty spaces with that grizzled anger of his that seemed to roll off of him in waves.

(no wonder he burns so hot—it's all that fury.)

Mostly, he'd come to dress you down in front of everyone watching. Snapping at the sight of your desk—organised chaos a true oxymoron (and for the most part, that seemed to be what he thought of you: a moron)—and how you handled files, and how you waltzed around like you owned the place—

and do you, sweetheart? do you own this place, mm? is that why you never listen to a goddamn thing i tell you?

All-in-all: a miserable fucking man.

And one made of sharp, brutal contradictions. Paradoxes layered over each other. Sealed with fury—of the righteous, pragmatic kind—and reinforced with an utilitarian core. Forlorn hope in the distinct shape of a man, one always readying himself for a pyrrhic victory (but a victory, nevertheless).

Easy, in hindsight, to deal with when you knew how to navigate the frothing gyre of anger and juxtapositions that made up the man who brute force, physicality, to get what he wanted.

By sharp contrast, the version of him who stands before is more enigmatic than the mangled mess of savagery and labyrinthine defenses. Almost unknowable. Unfathomable.

Even more so when he lifts his hand—scarred up, still blistered and bruised from fighting his way through fire and kin to get to you—and presses those mangled knuckles to the swell of your cheek, as tender as a man like him could ever allow himself to be, and runs a soft, shallow line down the side of your face. Eyes—still that same, dizzying blue—darken into liquid sapphire as he stares at you. Inexplicably soft. Lids crested. Half-mast in pleasure as if staring at your face was relaxing. Comforting.

Something swirls in those deep, endless lagoons. Some implacable emotion—all at once too much; too heavy—frissoning over his feature. A paroxysm. You can't catch it. Can't define it.

It's unquantifiable. Unknowable. And yet—

You know, instantly, that John Price would never look at you with something this archaic, this intense, brimming up like geysers in the endless spill of blue that can't seem to look away from you.

This man is not John Price.

But when he pulls you into a kiss—one softer and sweeter than you'd ever imagined the infamous captain could ever be capable of—you let him.

In fact, you kiss back.

And you'd really rather not think about what that says about you.

[tojisun]

participating on WIP Wednesday because this fic has been sitting in my drafts for months now

!! poly!141 x reader; established john price x reader; f!reader

Their Captain introduces you to them, cinnamon in his eyes and his words honeyed. Your name settles on the tip of their tongues, waiting to be digested. To be sounded out by their own voices.

Simon murmurs it to himself, feels the word sliding between the cracks of his teeth like milk, and gulps it down, starving. It fuels him, this little piece he now has of you, and sets him ablaze as you flutter between them with gentle questions and quiet giggles.

You are soft—too soft for any of them, in fact—but they can see why their Captain is enamoured, his own desire greater than their own. It is intense as it scalds down their spines and jagged because their Captain isn’t a good man, they all aren’t, but there is something disconcerting in the way their Captain had claimed you. 

It was rushed, sweet to a fault, but done so rapidly it felt like a beast pouncing on its prey. Like their Captain had seen the beauty of your soul and decided, then, that you’re all his.

Simon washes down the taste of defeat in his mouth with his shot of whiskey, mentally dedicating this drink to his Captain because he knows he would’ve done the same.

He would’ve kept you in a house just as cozy; would've played house with you to distract you from the foulness of his virtues because kindness, civilian to that extent, is so foreign to them now. He would keep you full of him, satiated with his presence and dripping with his cum—

“Sweetheart, c'mere.” Their Captain’s voice pierces the staccato of his thoughts. Simon twitches, suppressing the full-body jolt because there’s something measured in the way their Captain called you. 

They watch as you pad towards him with a hum, a bounce in your steps, before reaching to cup his cheek the moment you get close. 

“Hi,” you murmur, a breath too quiet.

Their Captain chuckles, basking in your warmth, before curling an arm around your waist and tugging you to his lap. You fall with a little gasp, your hand tight on Price’s shirt as your eyes swing to them in surprise.

“John, they–” 

Price kisses the back of your shoulder, fixing his arm over your stomach. “They won’t mind.” Dark eyes turn to them too. “Would you, boys?”

They feel parched. Thirst palpable in the way they have their jaws clenched, their tongues heavy inside their mouths. They devour the pretty sight you make—all bashful looks and hunched shoulders, looking so utterly soft, so charmingly fragile, atop their Captain’s lap.

It sets off their primal instincts, their desires ravaging their sanities.

“No,” Gaz is surprisingly the one to reply. His voice was smooth and clear, bouncing against the walls with surety. “Don’t mind at all.”

There must be something in the way Gaz was looking at you or perhaps you were also able to hear the unabashed want coating his words, but whatever it was, it made you sit up straighter, head tilted to the side, thinking. 

Considering.

It makes all of them jolt, even Price feels a stirring inside his jeans at the sudden shift in your posture, because this changes everything.

It was not that they would be satisfied with only having a look, with only seeing what they want and pretending that their thoughts—dirty and ragged and full of filth—are enough to satiate the fire stoking deep inside, but they didn’t want to set off their Captain. They didn’t want to meet the beast inside the man’s eyes, and be further punished by having you be taken from their reach.

Because the moment they crossed that little door, the moment you smiled up at them and told them that they’re welcome in your quaint little home, in your space, you were theirs.

And their Captain would just have to deal with that.

But Price is already looking at them with crinkled eyes, his lips busy as it drags all over the expanse of your shoulder, his palm gentle as it rubs over your stomach. 

Kyle takes it for what it is—a permission.

[the-californicationist]

The Window (Ch. 03)

Ch. 01 // Ch. 02 // Ch. 03 --- AO3

TW: breeding kink, reverse harem

You were sweating buckets in this brush cover, waiting for the enemy to pop their head over the fence. Beads of salty perspiration ran down your face in thin rivulets, threatening your eyes and soaking into your keffiyeh. 

“You alright, little bird?” Price whispered down to you breathlessly, passing you his canteen. 

You nodded, drinking from the plastic container, slaking your thirst. You shouldn’t have been having such a hard time with the Urzikstani heat, but you were. It didn’t help that you’d gotten sick yesterday off of a bad MRE. You were just ready for this mission to be over with. 

“I didn’t hurt you last night, did I, Spar?” Ghost asked, checking his sights again, not taking his eyes off of the target. 

“No,” you shook your head, “I’m alright.”

Ghost’s comment made your memory of your night together rush back, bombarding you with ghosts of your mens’ tantric sensations all over again. 

Price had read another book about fertility, some ancient text from a few centuries ago, translated into English. And he’d been convinced that tantra was the way to go. 

“Slow down, Simon. Keep your breathing up, yeah just like that. From your belly. Tha’s a good lad,” the captain coached. 

John’s setup was very specific. All of their bodies were sandwiched around you as you lay with your back on Price’s chest, propped up into a lounging position, and Soap and Gaz were glued to your sides, each worshiping a breast at their commander’s instruction. 

Soap’s hand was glued to your belly, just above your mons, pressing down gently, squeezing you. Gaz’s hand was on your midsection, hopefully covering the right chakra, and Price’s hands were on your chest and forehead, holding your eyes up, staring into Simon’s struggling face. Meanwhile, Ghost was sheathed deep inside of you, rotating his hips without fully removing his cock, churning himself inside of you like a big, burly engine, breathing like he was running a marathon. 

You, too, were breathing. In when he breathed in, out when he breathed out. All of you were rubbing and massaging and inhaling and exhaling. It was overwhelming. You’d never been so wet in your life. You were so soft and pliant inside of your core that you could feel every micro movement that Simon performed. If he had actually been pounding into you like he normally did, you would have been a screaming, crying mess. 

“Alright, little bird. Don’t forget your exercises,” Price reminded you, kissing your neck. You could feel John’s drooling cock as it lolled against your lower back, twitching as he watched his lieutenant work you into a froth. 

You did as you were told, completing the ritual by squeezing your smooth, internal muscles around Ghost’s impossibly fat dick on every down breath. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Ghost grunted through his teeth, baring them like a wounded wolf, “I can’t…”

You raised your hands to cup his cheeks, feeling the jagged scar that cut across his mouth, and you guided his lips to yours, kissing him as gently as you could, barely letting your tongue dart out to taste him. 

Between your throbbing pussy and his soft kisses, that was all it took to push you both over the edge. He came in hot, thick bursts, more than you’d ever felt from him, and he ground his hips into yours almost menacingly. 

“Alright,” Price kissed your cheek, his face so close to Simon’s it made your head spin, “You ready?”

You didn’t respond. You just felt your legs being spread apart by six strong hands. Then, each of Price’s men began to finger you, slowly pressing their longest digits into your come-filled hole. They began to gently — ever so gently — rub Ghost’s thick cream into you, as deep as it would go, stretching you and playing in you in a life-altering way, bringing you beyond the point of orgasm and into some sort of other-worldly bliss. 

For the cherry on top, your captain began to swipe long, wet circles over your clit. You were screaming so loudly that he had to use his other hand to cover your mouth, shushing you but not stopping his ministrations.  

“Tha’s a good girl. Let it out, little bird.”

You passed out from the overstimulation before you could witness Price’s orchestrated tantra come to a close, and you wondered if you would survive round two. 

Now, as you crouched behind these scratchy bushes, you weren’t sure how much more effective tantric sex would be at getting you pregnant, but it didn’t matter. 

You already were. 

You hadn’t told them yet. From everything you’d read, these first few weeks were a toss-up. Anything could happen, and the last thing you needed was to get everyone’s hopes up. You were also being deeply selfish. What would your relationship be like when you finally found out who the father was? You didn’t want to lose out on the incredible bond you’d built with them over these last three months. 

Your eyes saw movement. Then, you heard the cracking and popping sound of bullets striking the side of the building you were huddled against. Suddenly, a loud bang rang out overhead and all was silent once more. Soap came on the radio and said, 

“Target down.” 

“I’m hit,” you whispered, staring down at your leg with disbelief. A bullet must have ricocheted and struck you in the calf. In and out. A clean wound. 

“What?” Price said breathlessly, staring down at you as the blood began to stain your pants. 

“Oh, fuck!” Gaz scrambled over to you and scooped you up, rushing you back inside. He put pressure on the wound and wrapped it up tight, opening up his comms, “Hey! We need med-evac right fucking now!”

Johnny came down from his crow’s nest and knelt in front of you, holding your hand, 

“Those fuckin’ bastards,” he looked furious, “I wasnae fast enough.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shook your head, feeling your blood pressure rise, “I think it was a stray shot.”

You heard Price’s low growl as he came over the radio, screaming at Laswell’s extraction team, 

“Where’s my fuckin’ helo?”

You watched as Price and Ghost stripped the makeshift base back to its bones, stuffing all of your gear into the bags. Gaz and Soap were on you like glue, forcing you to elevate your leg and to drink water. Rubbing your forehead, trying to relieve the pain. 

It was a long thirty minutes back to the base. Price held you in his arms all the way through the building, pushing everyone out of the way. You were flanked by the others, like one big, sweaty bodyguard squad, just for you. 

The medics took you from Price, ushering your team out of the infirmary, fighting their protests to stay with you.

“It’s a GSW to the leg, captain. I think she’ll live,” the doctor rolled his eyes and shut the door. 

After that, the only thing you could remember was coming around, still groggy from the anesthetic, listening to the doctor’s voice just outside the room, muffled and murky,

“...no complications. Should heal up in a few weeks. The baby’s lifesigns are all norm—”

“Baby?!” 

The door to the infirmary shuddered like a bomb went off, and all four men poured into the room, still dressed in their gear from your mission. They hadn’t even gone back to their quarters, worried sick, pacing the hallway. Now, here they were, wide-eyed and staring at you for some explanation. 

There was a long pause as you tried to figure out what to say. But then, Soap said it for you, a hint of hurt in his voice,

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer him. You simply put your hands over your belly, protectively, stammering an excuse,

“I didn’t — You shouldn’t get your hopes up. It’s too soon.”

They all spoke at once, an eruption of emotion in the tiny room, 

“...should’ve told us at once! We…”

“...you felt you had to hide it…”

“...could’ve been killed on this mission! How could…”

The doctor came back inside, huffing at the scene,

“What the fuck is this? Mamma Mia? Get the hell out! She needs rest. Get! That’s an order, Captain.”

Price and his men were silent, sorely cowed by the doctor’s orders. Soap came to your side, kissing your forehead,

“See you soon, bonnie.”

Ghost gave you a soft smile and followed him out. Gaz brushed the hair out of your face and put his hand over yours as they lay across your belly, waiting for flutters and kicks that weren’t there. His full lips found yours and he left you wordlessly.

John was the last to leave. He looked like he was at war with himself, fighting over what to say and how to say it. His boonie hat was twisted in his hands, rolled in his palms, crushed by his immense strength. He didn’t kiss you. He didn’t even say goodbye. But, those bright blue eyes bored into yours, telling you everything you needed to know. 

You were released with a pair of crutches the following morning, and while you didn’t need them there, none of the boys showed up to help you like you thought they would. You made it all the way back to your quarters before you ran into Laswell. 

“Hey, Sparrow. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live. Where is the 141? Is there a training or something?”

“No,” Laswell knitted her brow, not wanting to share her news, “You’ve been… temporarily reassigned. They have redeployed on another mission. Three days in Aqtabi. I’m sure they’ll touch base when they get back.”

“Reassigned?” You couldn’t believe it. You knew Price was protective, but this was going too far, “I’m… He took me off the team?”

“It’s temporary. Just until…” You watched in disbelief as her eyes trailed down not to your wound but to your belly, “Well, anyway, congratulations, soldier.”

She gave you a soft smile and left you standing in the hallway, experiencing every emotion at once, and landing on anger. No, not anger. White-hot rage.

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Random Captain John Price headcanons

sfw and nsfw

pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: domestic stuff, afab!reader, masturbation, spanking, hickeys, Price is an ass-man

a/n: inspired by a conversation I had with @melancholyy-hill and just some random thoughts, might do a second part to this, tell me if you want any other characters

John Price MASTERLIST

sfw

-Price has two phones, one for work and a private one, he doesn't like using the same one when he's deployed in countries where there's definitely a chance of it getting hijacked

-he's so tidy, like having a surroundings to calm his mind, make it easier to concentrate for him

-he's also pretty strict with his own cleanliness

-don't get me wrong, Price doesn't mind getting dirty on the field and in bed, would be weird if he did lol, but once at home or base, he takes care of himself

-we talking beard oil, grooming, trimming his nails if they got jagged during deployment and picking out the dirt from beneath them

-not that he dislikes showing you off in public, on the opposite he loves having you by his side, showing others you're his, but he gets uneasy with PDA

-that's why he's such an old-fashioned gentleman with showing you affection around people, those small gestures that make women swoon and telling you that you're found 'a good one, god you're so lucky'

-hand on the small of your back in a crowd is a must, palm resting on your knee when sitting down, you walk on the side furthest from the road, standing/walking behind you on the escalator or stars if you're wearing a skirt, kisses to your hand, temple, forehead or crown

-he always does the bed in the mornings despite you being the one who wakes up last

nsfw below the cut

-he's such a fucking ass man, like he appreciates boobs, thinks your nipples look good poking through a shirt or deliciously teasing in lingerie, but he prefers your ass

-like this man's hand is drawn to the plush flesh of your rear like magnets, just like his eyes

-back turned? eyes down, staring at ass.

-don't get him started at how he folds when watching it jiggle in doggy style or reversed cowgirl

-lowkey struggles not to blatantly stare or grab at you when you're in public and the pants/leggings you're trying on make it look too fucking good for his health

-sometimes you can just be relaxing, laying on your stomach and he comes up from behind, kneading your ass, swatting it to watch it jiggle

-other times, he pulls you on top of him, resting a book against your ass as he reads, one of his hands always groping you, you simply prop a pillow on his legs to get comfortable as you'd gotten used to this request of his

- you've stopped counting the times he'd put down his book and started parting your asscheeks as he massages your rear, in the end Price can't help how his thumb rubs the folds of your covered pussy

-if he gets to know you don't mind spanking, it's over, the man swats your ass constantly around the house,

-he thinks your gasps are adorable as you shoot him a look he ignores bc he knows you like it

-does not whine, not a particularly big moaner either, but the grunts and groans is enough to make up for it

-high-sex drive when he's around you, but during deployment he keeps it under wraps, which leads me to...

-not that big of a masturabator, but once in a while he needs to rid himself of the crawling desire in his spine, simply having to jerk one out to be able to concentrate, probs because he thought about you for too long

-BUT he actually really loves mutual masturbation, started when he walked in on you once when returning unexpectedly early from a mission

-'don't mind me, love, continue' he would husk at your wide eyes following him as walked from the bedroom doorframe to the little seating area you had in front of the bed, sometimes used when you did your makeup or Price would read, sitting down and to your surprise pulling down his pant, jerking his already half-hard cock to full length, waiting expectantly

-he puts on a show as well, using two hands, one to stroke himself in matching speed to how you finger yourself, the other cupping and fondling his balls

-would definitely not shy from throwing his head backwards when reaching his sensitive cocked with palms too rough in comparison to your soft ones

- Price is so fucking sly about where he leaves hickeys

-as previously mentioned, he doesn't really like the public attention it pulls, but a primal part of him swells when seeing the marks he's left during your intimate moments, so he definitely likes to give you little lovebites

-so you can bet your ass you could leave the house in a crop-top and they wouldn't be visible, strategically placed where no one but him and you could see them, meaning the line of your panties, on or around your breast, inner thighs, etc

-the beach might be a problem however, you would never forget the time Soap had cackled like a fucking madman when he'd spotted the marks' inconspicuous placement, leaving absolutely no room to guess what Price had done between your legs