#i remember watching it when it aired lmfao

[hkruu]

Can you write a cold and distant yandere CEO with everyone but a total puppy to the reader?

“NOTICE ME.” — hkr

\\ yan ceo , loser behavior behind doors lmfao , implied favoritism , stalking , mention of murder and violence , slightly sadistic (?) , not my usual style of writing but I tried !! //

Keith was loosing his mind, do these worms that work under him not understand English? He swears that anyone could drop dead and he wouldn't care except for that worker (you) that he always seemed to favor out of anyone.

Of course everyone that worked on the company was aware.

"Seriously, how do you even gain the favor of boss? I swear he's a tough ice." One of of your co-workers had asked, you could only shrug in response. You of all people didn't know why Keith favored you among the best, I mean just why? There was Kayla who was employe of the month, Seth who was his assistance so what could you offer?

Keith who somehow gets jealous of everything and anything, you try to interact with the newbies? Huh, when did they become so busy with a lot of paper works? It's only their first day . . . If you want answers you might wanna turn to Seth.

Keith who really likes seeing you working hard, it reminds him the times where he watched you study hard for your degree during September 3 at 3:17 am — you're asking why he knows that? Well he's Keith, a normal guy trying to make business.

When Keith is alone, you might mistake him from another guy. Behind the doors of his office room, you're greeted with the warmth of his affection and a soft tone going “Good day".

Keith acts like a total puppy around you and he doesn't care, if you want to change your schedule it's already done in a swift! Want to be an air-conditioned room? Already done and dusted. You murmur wanting to be employee of the month? Oh would you look at that, you're employee of the month!

Of course, he'd always find a way where it's always related to him. He did want his name engraved into your head. . . .

Keith's love language is definitely act of service and gift giving. It's one of his strong suits since it came so naturally over him, he'd always remind you that he only shows this side to you because you are special to his eyes. Of course, some employee who overhead it will be the one who's flustered instead.

You two don't have a label in your point of view, but in Keith's? He practically thinks it's your 4th anniversary! He just loves you so much, why can't you just accept his love and let him trap you in his safe space? You won't have to work, do chores and even lift a finger. Keith would happily do anything you wanted, your needs mattered more than his.

Keith is the type to let the situation defuse by itself but when dealing with someone getting in his way to finally make you his — he's not above to resorting to violence. Even if Keith soft to you, he will never hesitate to resort to bad behavior just to make you stay by his side, like an actual loyal partner.

Murder wasn't a second choice, it was always the first choice. It didn't matter if it was a simple misunderstanding or a little trouble, there was no harm in ending lives when it came to you. Keith doesn't find blood dirty, he finds it fascinating. Blood keeps your heart pumping, blood runs through your veins at this very moment, it's something he likes feeling, touching.

That CEO is no psychopath, he calls it affection. Can't you see all the efforts he did just so that you could be in a higher position? Did you not acknowledge everything he did to you during highschool? During middle school? College? Do you not remember Keith? It was a shame, but this time he would make sure that you'd remember him for the rest of your life.

Even if you run away, quit your job, live in another country. Keith will always follow in any shape or form, he'll engrave the memories you spent together in your stupid brain, he'll carve his name into your skin and watch it bleed with your blood.

Keith is a normal guy. He's distant and cold, he keeps everything to himself, and he certainly doesn't like sharing.

\\ sorry if it's short ><!! I thought I was free the whole day but uhhh my schedule said no and sent me to a writing frenzy irl again!!//

\\ grrr request now cus I AM SKIBIDI //

\\ tysm for requesting anon, I hope I didn't go ooc 😞 (I did) //

[tariah23]

um is it a bad idea to ask what’s happening?

anyway important question: have you watched one piece?

Not rly but it’s kind of over anyway ah. I wont go into it but I’m okay 😵‍💫.

BUT, I have not…. (Well, the last time that I’d even touched OP was decades ago (when I was in middle school, I remember watching it on 4kidz ahh.

I remember that old lady with the blue hair? She had the body of a young woman or something like that? I think she used to look after Chopper??? Idk… I remember getting emotional over some episode even though I didn’t know what was happening since I’d turn the channel most of the time whenever OP would come on. I just wasn’t really into it. I remember thinking that pirates were lame as hell back (probably because of the excessive advertisement of “Pirates of the Caribbean,”) when I was a kid so I just never cared about it and Naruto had already completely rewired my brain at that time 😬.

I also remember thinking that the anime I watched on toonami and adult swim was for “adults,” while 4kidz was for little ones so that way of thinking at the time probably heavily influenced my aversion from OP. As of right now? I don’t hate it anymore (I used to mainly because I’ve always found Oda’s art to be rather ugly (I still do……) to me even though his colorful spreads have always been pretty detailed and fun to look at in passing.

The way that he draws fingers and toes… imo, reminds me of booty fingers, sorry. If you don’t know what “booty fingers,” are, don’t even bother looking them up. And I HATE looking at fingers/toes like that so I can definitely recall thinking “I can’t read this shit, look at the booty fingers that every character has 🤢-“ I’m dramatic as hell, sorry, anon. All this over some ugly fingers… and ugly style (okay, it’s not that bad but man…. I used to have sm white-hot hatred for OP as a child.)

I’ve promised friends that I would give it an honest chance one of these days… I already know all of the main characters names and Zoro and Law have been favs of mine for a long time solely based off of aesthetic and design even tho I don’t know them ahh. Yamato 😭……. I want to draw him one of these days… so cool. My history with OP, despite not caring for it, has been extensive and just as long as Naruto if I’m being honest. Like 2005 (I probably watched OP before ever even learning what Naruto even was if I’m remembering correctly ☠️…)

They really bad Luffy and Usopp singing the national anthem on 4kidz ☠️.

[serdtse]

//

[theghostofashton]

.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

billions is really on one constantly like you gotta love how there's the wordless presentation of This Man & This Woman as like an image of epic power couple &/or pr for the Wholesomeness of this man to have the Family Values in having a wife & possibly even kids, and being fictional media, most of the time this comes up as Staged Material from actors for this Media, especially given that generally both parties will be preexisting Roles With Dialogue. and then when it comes to winston & their granting us their clearest most elevated least questioning/critical exercises in "this is Telling you that winston is inferior" in a) successful violation &/or b) successful-violation-born information that they recognize as Inferior & expect you will too....really a moment's pause sometimes remembering that since they couldn't be bothered to stage anything for winston & instead we got a) photos provided from will roland of himself from his real life or b) pics they didn't need to get rights to, in this case they show us selfies from a real-life-and-by-then-married-couple, and it's This that gets "well so of course this is another Recognition Of Inferiority presentation" and not "well isn't that nice, epic, &/or wholesome, or even just matter of fact" like. really unbelievable of them and steph wessels gets to cameo as someone who Of Course dumped this guy because [well just look at him we're right back to exactly 4 seasons prior in 3x03 where we're supposed to know winston isn't epic b/c if wags is there you're supposed to be projecting on him, thanks, & when the one thing you can take issue with being an apparently accidental misgendering, there's Nothing to take issue with in that in the face of this it's crickets from wags who's otherwise dying to kill winston already. awesome. but i mean. well just look at him. we Hate winston.] like and billions is off the rails like "b/c he's so bad at sex" like yeah i think nothing says Good At Sex like the nexus of "has never tried learning anything about sex" & "has never been told their sexual partners might benefit from their learning about sex" Hell yeah. but only those born with the good bodies (winston wasn't! btw! which we all Knew 500 thinking emojis) deserve to have sex and this is also an extremely epic thing to say in this zero critical lens Celebration of killing the autistic guy for not sufficiently staying an exploited object kept silently shut away in your possession but out of sight & mind.

literally unironically Extremely Normal of them where "normal" is expected to be synonymous with a [neutral to good] context, as it "normally" is lol, but we Do have a critical lens out here. just like amazing you brought his real life then even all the more recent marriage into things held up for us as more fodder for Why We All Hate Winston & Want To Kill Him which also always hinged on "well just look at him" which necessarily hinges on a real life person's form to be looked at (or heard, given that we know people don't always react to his speaking voice as "neutral" and this is just another aspect of people's bodies) while meanwhile it's like yeah delightful stuff actually. or who cares b/c the Context doesn't have to be "does this role seem personally appealing?" for the Question that doesn't need to be "do we want them dead or are they someone who can do whatever they want or someone who has to forever endure and support the previous and can do whatever they want that doesn't conflict with this" and then 500 zillion words to say about this actor who was only supposed to be Quant Kid 2 Who We All Hated & Killed for one scene in one ep getting a recurring role (to still only ever be hated & killed as far as the writing was concerned, for the overwhelming Mostly) b/c of this je ne sais quoi & of course still Acting as though this role is as much a person as any of the other roles, wow, can't believe this was found to be so Talented & Delightful & Essential despite still only seeing the role as [guy we hate & kill] & having no intention of like giving him an arc ever but we really want more of this. and then inevitably be really preoccupied about his dick like not in a "haha. pwned them in turn b/c that's gay" but like of course in being Superior it's like yep preoccupied with the inferior parties' sexuality & your own being superior too. his dick is bad and he's not tall enough and well just look at him, no wonder he was dumped [shows you an image from actually having good times with his eventual wife] like obviously. billions with their autistic character like how do we step it up from the episode where some guy yells the r word at him amidst like the threats and harassment and assault? well more of that plus surveillance and even more personal intrusion but also someone says he's effectively a child and then we enjoy validation of our eugenicist presumptions i guess about his sexuality and body and most like random details of personality (never stop pointing out that somehow that He Likes Puns is more evidence for how Objectively Hated he is) and this episode has no other point than revelling in all of this and considering this to also be like "yes this all makes wags look Epic, which is worth an episode ever, all the more so as 1/12th of a series finale season"

[happy74827]

Joyride

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Remember kids, always look at the road when driving. It can help you avoid certain blabber mouths 🫶

WC: 2556

Category: Fluff, Annoying!Deadpool, 4th Wall Breaks, Insane Amounts of Profanity {TW: Deadpool (for obvious reasons)}

In honor of watching Deadpool 3 (super good btw), enjoy this random chaotic fic I created with the help of @yoursacredqueenmother. This is super chaotic lmfao

『••✎••』

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

A millisecond ago, you were driving down a street. In the middle of traffic. At a red light. Now, you were panicking, looking over the front of your car for the flash of red you had just seen. It took a couple of seconds for you to realize that there was blood on your car and on the ground—a lot of blood.

"Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

You quickly hopped out of the car, rushing to the spot you thought the person… or thing would be, but… there was nobody. There was blood on the ground but nobody.

Did you hit a deer, and it just… ran off? No, that can't be right. You definitely saw something red, and it most certainly was not a deer.

You looked around, confused. How the hell does something bleed all over the ground and then disappear without a trace?!

You got back in your car, deciding to drive to the closest police station. Maybe they knew something about this.

So, you decided to abandon the shortcut home and drive to the nearest police station, which happened to be just down the road. But as you were minutes into the drive, you felt the sudden urge to look in your rearview mirror.

And there you found your mysterious red-suited victim in the backseat, holding the biggest knife you have ever seen as his white-covered eyes stared at you from behind the mask.

You never hit the brakes faster in your life. The car made an ugly screeching sound, and the sudden force slammed the red-clad man into the back of your seat, making him let out a surprised yelp.

The car finally came to a stop, and the masked man recovered quickly, pushing himself off of your seat and glaring at you.

"Well, aren’t you just a heart break—"

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

You grabbed your keys from the ignition and popped off the attached pepper spray, turning around and squirting him in the face. He let out a scream, and you quickly got out of the car, shutting the door and running as fast as you could.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get very far. Despite being hit by a car, and subsequently getting pepper sprayed, the man (or what you assume to be) caught up with you and blocked your path, his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side.

"Alright, lady, what the fuck?" He asked, his voice sounding nasally, most likely because of the spray.

You stared at him, confused. He looked like he was waiting for an explanation.

"W-What the fuck?! What the fuck me? What the fuck you!" You exclaimed, your voice cracking a little. "What the fuck are you doing in my car?!"

"Well, I was trying to hitch a ride! But clearly, that didn't work out. Thanks a lot, by the way, for the pain and suffering. You’ve really opened up my horizons here."

It almost sounded like he was pouting.

"What the—! A ride?! Why in the hell would you just hop into someone's car?!"

"Uhh, because you ran me over, genius! I mean, come on, the least you could do is offer a guy a ride home after that. And then, the cherry on top of the fucking sundae: pepper spray!"

The masked man, so to speak, threw his arms up in the air, and you could almost see him rolling his eyes underneath the mask. Of course, that’s when you noticed the obvious broken bones in his hands. And the blood. There was a lot of blood.

"Look," the guy started, walking closer to you. "I know, I'm a big scary guy with a big scary knife and a bad temper and all, and you’re just… well, I’m sure you have an amazing personality, but how about we put all that aside, and you give me a ride, alright? Just drop me off at the corner of 10th and 55th, and you can forget this ever happened."

"You’re arm… your wrist. It's broken," you told him.

"Yeah, no shit," the man scoffed. "Got any Taylor Swift CDs in that car?"

"Uh… no, not really. Why?"

"Cause, baby, I’m Shaking It Off!"

There was a pregnant pause, and you weren't quite sure if he was being serious or not. I mean, surely he wasn’t about to just ignore the fact that his arm was the complete opposite of norm—

But when he shook his arm in a violent manner, and a loud crack followed suit, you realized, with a heavy heart, that yes, this guy was serious.

What you didn’t know until a few seconds later, however, was that he snapped his bones back into place like it was nothing. It took the flexing in his fingers to realize it, too.

"Holy shit." You truly were in awe.

He seemed to find amusement in your expression, tilting his head slightly and giving you a once-over. And, yes, you could feel his eyes on you, and for some reason, it sent a shiver down your spine.

"So… Wendy Torrance, about that ride? Can you give me a lift, or are we gonna start that chick flick moment where your mental breakdown leads to slow-motion running to a Sia song?"

You could only stare.

"Alright, well, if you're going through with the latter, then at least play something that doesn’t involve that little dancing girl who likes to wear potato sacks as clothes."

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

"You are literally insane." You breathed out, shaking your head.

Even if you couldn’t see it, something told you that he made the biggest grin underneath his mask.

"Why, thank you, darling."

Fast forward a couple of minutes, and you found yourself driving towards the address the red-suited stranger had given you. You couldn’t really make conversation. He had his hands in his lap, playing with a knife, and was staring at you, his head tilted.

"You can blink, you know. I'm not a zombie," he informed you, making a gesture to his mask and eyes, which you assumed he was blinking underneath.

"Right," you nodded.

“Well, mostly, at least. I mean, I still have a pulse, but it's kind of irregular, and I think it's because I keep getting shot and stabbed in the heart. Oh, and I guess I'm also pretty much immortal, so that's probably the reason. But I think the whole not-dying thing cancels out the heartbeat thing, right? Like, the more times you get impaled or decapitated or set on fire, the more it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t affect you anymore, am I right?"

You glanced at him. He was staring at you, his hands still and his knife resting on his leg.

"…Do you ever shut up?"

"Woah-hoho, feisty. And here I thought I was going to break the ice with a good ol' fashioned knock knock joke."

"I don’t think that would've been funny."

"That's what the last girl said."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. Except she wasn’t talking about the joke. I made her laugh in a different way."

You glanced at him again, and he was giving you a knowing look.

"I can't decide if you're disgusting or not."

He hummed, shrugging his shoulders. That made him shut his mouth just long enough for you to turn on the radio but not long enough to avoid the inevitable.

"Hey, hey, I got a good one: Knock knock."

You let out a long sigh, closing your eyes. "Who's there?"

"Orange."

"Orange, who?"

"Orange you glad I'm not a serial killer?"

"That wasn’t even good."

"I know. It would've been better if I could've pulled the knife out of my belt. You know, just for show." He twiddled his fingers at you.

"That wouldn’t have helped," you said.

"Nope," he agreed. "But it would've made a great story."

"I suppose."

"Yeah. Hey, hey, I got another one: Knock knock."

"You just—"

"Knock knock."

You let out a huff. This man was the most childish, annoying, idiotic, strange, weird—

"Knock knock."

"Oh, just fucking tell me the joke!"

"No! It doesn't work that way!"

You rolled your eyes, but before you could answer, he beat you to it.

"Okay, okay, how about this: Knock knock."

You didn't say anything.

"Knock knock."

Your eyes flickered over to him for a second.

"Knock knock."

"For fucks sake!" You exclaimed. "Who's there?"

He leaned forward, closer to you, and you could see his mouth moving.

"Deadpool."

You were confused.

"D-Deadpool? Is this a reference to that shitty horror movie? If so, that wasn't even good, and I'm not laughing, and I don't get the joke."

He just gave you a blank look, or at least you thought he did.

"No. My name's Deadpool."

"That’s…" you trailed off. "A pretty dumb name. Like that outfit you're wearing."

"Hey! Diss the name all you want, but don’t you dare diss the suit. It's my trademark. Not everyone can pull off this type of look; it’s a very rare art."

"Whatever. You still haven't told me the punch line to your dumb joke."

"Punch line? I never said there was a punch line. It was a knock knock joke."

"So then… What was the point? To annoy the driver into wanting to run you over again?"

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that vibrated in his throat. That… That was… oh.

He was still close, and now, with the new angle, you could see the small, yet very visible, curve of his lips, and that made you wonder who was actually hiding behind the mask.

"You are seriously the strangest person I've ever met."

"Oh, babe, you don't even know the half of it."

"Please, enlighten me," you replied sarcastically, glancing over at him.

His masked eyes looked into yours, and you knew he was grinning; you could practically feel it.

"What do you wanna know?" He asked.

"Uh, I don't know. Something other than the fact that you're a nutcase. How about your real name? It's obviously not 'Deadpool,' and I doubt anyone actually calls you that. So, what's your actual name?"

"Oh, wow. Right off the bat, huh? You know, the last girl I was with wasn’t nearly as direct. Then again, she never sprayed me like I was a roach in her kitchen."

You didn’t respond. You kept your eyes on the road.

"Fine," he relented. "But don’t expect a happy ending. This isn’t Kanas anymore, Toto."

He leaned back in his seat, his arm hanging off the open window, the wind blowing through his red suit.

"Names Wade, like the boxers, but without the fancy pants."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Wade Winston Wilson, I love long walks on the beach, and a good movie, and tacos, and chimichangas, and guns. Especially guns. Kinky, but not too kinky… and did I mention the tacos? Cause I love fucking love tacos."

Maybe you should start carrying tape around.

"What about you, sugar lips?" He asked, gesturing to you with the hand he wasn’t leaning against. "Got a name, or can I call you mine? Ooh, I should’ve used that before the pepper spray. 'What's your name, or can I call you mine?' Classic, Wade. Well, except for the fact that I forgot the 'I'd like to hit it from the back' part. Damn, should have used that, too. It's a good thing they gave you the lead. Otherwise, the audience would've been confused. They would've been wondering, 'Why did the writer suddenly change the dialogue to be about sex? Wasn’t this supposed to be that pure Notebook love story we all wanted?'"

He paused for a moment.

"Wait a minute. Are we still doing the monologue thing, or is the writer done? Cause, no offense, but that was a shitty transition. And, come on, no one wants a Notebook love story anymore. Who writes those? What we need is a little romance and a whole lotta smut."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Me? Nothing, just giving some feedback. I've always had an open relationship with writers. Some might even call me the next J.K Rowling. Except, instead of a lighting scar and magic, I have an ass load of weapons with an insatiable lust for violence and blood. And tacos."

You decided to ignore him.

"Anyway, back to you. You never answered my question. Do you have a name or not?"

"I can’t believe I actually agreed to give you a ride home."

"Yeah," he said, sounding bored. "Why did you do that?"

"I don’t know. Because I hit you with my car and felt bad? You had a broken arm and were bleeding out all over the ground."

"First sign of insanity."

"What?"

"Nothing," his mask wiggled around the area of his eyebrows. "So, your name? Don’t tell me you’re gonna pull out the classic yes and no abbreviations. You know what? I’m just gonna call you Spidey. It's easier, and it’ll sound sexier when you're screaming it later."

You rolled your eyes, deciding just to ignore his comments for the rest of the drive. You were wishing that you didn't live in a city full of traffic cause, damn, this was taking a while.

"Alright, turn here."

You followed the directions and pulled up in front of an abandoned-looking building. You didn't say anything, but you did raise an eyebrow in question.

"What? A guy like me has to keep his place secret, especially when the fangirls are after him."

"I didn’t ask."

"Yeah, but I saw you wondering."

"Right."

"Hey, Spidey," he said, unbuckling his seat belt. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem. Just make sure to keep your ass away from car bumpers. And out of my car."

"Awe, come on, baby cakes, don't be like that. You're really missing out. My ass is the finest in the business. Not to mention my package. You should see the reviews I get online."

You snorted. "I'll take your word for it."

"Yeah, you will," he said, leaning over and patting your cheek. "Hey, if you ever get lonely, or bored, or horny, or whatever, just give me a call. Here," he handed you a crumpled piece of paper. "Don't lose it, that's my number. We should totally bang, like, tomorrow, or tonight, or right now."

"Goodbye, Wade," you said, and he took it as his cue to leave. He gave a silly salute and exited the car, but not without giving you a wink first.

"See you soon, Spidey!"

With that, he walked up to the building and disappeared inside. With a sigh, you collapsed into the seat, not even bothering to watch him. You were exhausted, and all you wanted was to go home and sleep.

After a couple of minutes of relishing the nice breeze that came through the open windows, you sat up and un-crinkled the paper.

The only thing written on it was a phone number, with a small, messy, red heart and a few words that honestly had you questioning the sanity of the world:

'If you're lucky, maybe I'll even let you top. ;)'

——

Spoiler alert: it took about a month for the two of you to hook up.

And no, you did not have Domino’s luck.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Cheating Heart

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 20.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew it! You’re cheating on me–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“--soon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes harden as reality sets in. 

John. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did you care?

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

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

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

The hallway lights were doing wonders for his complexion. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shut the fuck up!

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

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

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

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

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

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

John’s hands clench, jaw following suit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It b-burns, John. I…I can’t–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was your Captain. You were working under him. 

You had a boyfriend. John had a valuable asset. 

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

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

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

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

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

You still felt disgusting. 

—

Nothing you did made sense to him. 

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

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

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

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

But he knew that would only make it worse.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wished playing therapist with yourself was easier.

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

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

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

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

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

– John”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When had this place stopped being home for you?

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

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

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

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

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

What’s that noise?

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

But you weren’t stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John looked so sad. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both spend a long time on that bathroom floor.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Copy, Sir…Apologies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bell at the front door jingles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Two.”

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

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

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

Why were you not saying anything?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had…broken up with Leon. Your boyfriend.

John’s eyes slowly widen. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It couldn’t be helped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I might have sucker-punched him.”

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

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

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

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

“Twirled like a dancer on a string.”

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

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

…Why was his hand still on your back? 

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

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

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

Leon was gone.

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

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

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

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

Stop it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Little Lady. You need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A quiet grunt carries over the space.

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

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

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

“You bet.”

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

“Yes, Sir.”

“Hey–!” 

“What in the–!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Anytime, Dear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute when he’s flustered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“John,” You breathe, “I shouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hope he leaves some beard burn behind.

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

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

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

God, he felt huge, thick, and firm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annoyance swirls.

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

A moment of shocked silence at your vulgar language.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want him naked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck you were on fire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Y-yes, Captain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He trails.

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

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

“Easier.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“That’s it, I'm coming in!” 

“Wait!” 

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

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

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

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

“Out!” 

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

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

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

“Wait till the boys hear about this!”

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

Well, secret’s out. 

[simpjaes]

clit destroyer Heeseung😎😎😎

warning: heeseung does what he wants, idk maybe dubcon?? it's for u tho so probs not LMFAO

It's the way you see the light leave his eyes when he's like this. Rough fingers dragging against the most sensitive area you have to offer him. Swelling up, pulsing, stinging with heat.

You watch him lose it, after having removed his mouth from slicking you up and replacing all pleasure with what his fingers have to offer for now. He's not thinking of you when he does this, he never does. He's thinking of how pretty and raw your clit will be when he inevitably fucks your thoughts right out of you.

He likes bruising it, scraping it with his nails and even his teeth from time to time, making you squirm before offering relief with his mouth again, and tonight is no different likely because you made the mistake of knocking his drink over on his keyboard.

Back and forth with the harsh drags, you whine for him to stop. Mouth, fingers, mouth, fingernails, teeth, nothing.

The air that hits you somehow feels more painful than what he was forcing you to withstand, yet, he smirks at you. Always aware of how much you hate it in the moment, but more aware of how hard you cum for him later.

"I know better than you-" Heeseung mutters against your thigh after noting the way you were about to whine again. "Don't I?"

You nod on instinct, your hips chasing up in the same mindless way. You're chasing the pain, wanting to feel the throb hit you harder, wanting more with each word he says to you despite your brain begging you to have a little self-respect. He hums at that, almost a little coo as he skews his head to blow against the sensitive bud now. One blow, two blows, and then another nibble that causes your toes and fingers to go numb in the jolt of shock you feel. The goosebumps hit, your ears ring, already with another bite you could probably cum. And when you stare down at him with a furrowed, bratty little expression, he's well aware of how easy your body is to navigate.

"Mhm?" He asks in a low hum, his teeth dragging down the expanse of your dripping folds before he sucks them into his mouth with his own silent hum of delight. "Go on then." No clit stimulation at all needed, just the feeling of his tongue flicking and barely touching where you want it. You're shaking as he watches you drip out the orgasm for him, not quite pleased at the way it doesn't spurt out with stuttered clenches like usual. He starts to count down. A few seconds is all it takes for your body to relax, but he doesn't let you catch your breath even for a single second longer, No no. Of course he wouldnt. The air is forced from your lungs with a shocked moan, coming out rapsy and almost fearful when you feel him shift entirely. His face against you, his teeth attached to your nipple, and his cock prying your walls apart with little to no warning. That's not what's hurting though. It's the way he keeps his fingers rubbing, pressing hard, quite literally abusing your nearly spent clit as he decides to take what's his. As if he's reminding you that you're meant to cum hard for him or not at all. And god, does he love it when you lose your mind to the sensitivity, when the pain is blatantly seen on your face. Nothing better than his girl crying over an orgasm she already got being prolonged to the point of seeing spots in her version. So obnoxiously whiny, you are. He remembers thinking you were just playing the part when this happened the first time, before realizing that it actually is painful for you. Each time you cum harder though, so should he really take that grabbing hand of yours to heart? You know, the one trying to pry his fingers away? The other one trying to push his cock out of you because you can barely breathe as is? Of course not. You love when he bruises you up, and he knows you love when the most bruised area just so happens to be that needy pussy of yours.

[sixosix]

ARE YOU READY FOR IT? | LYNEY

warnings 1.8k words, implied child neglect, the dark themes of the house of the hearth, once again i will say that this is not canon compliant

notes thank u naosaki (art) for proofreading the first ever chapter of the series!!! and being my hypeman overall LMFAO, see the end of the work for more notes + FANART

masterlist | next chapter

A deep breath. In, out. Once more. Rehearsed lines, practiced smiles, and a heart as steady as a frightened squirrel.

“Good?”

You meet his eyes. “Good.”

The corset isn’t as suffocating as you expected it would be. Aether ensures that you’re as comfortable as possible dressed in this snug bodice with a puffed-up, full skirt that drapes gracefully down your legs in a deep shade that blends in seamlessly with those of those who walk past the busy streets of Fontaine—because you’d eventually have to fight with this thing on.

The polearm feels heavy nestled in your palms. Strange, as you had never gone through a night without spinning it around your body and thrusting it into the air in the solitude of the night where no one would suspect a thing. You flick your wrist, not bothered to watch it disperse into the air. You’ve come to a point where green stems are more at home in your hands than weapons. You’re not sure why you don’t feel content with that revelation.

“Are you ready?”

Your gaze snaps to Aether, who’s looking at you warily as if standing across a ticking bomb. “Yes.” You offer a smile, hoping it comes across as comforting.

Aether tries for a smile back, though it looks more like a grimace. You can see it in his eyes: he doesn’t trust you. But his desire to learn more overpowers his wariness, and now, you’ve struck a deal. So long as you’re wearing this disguise, you are allies.

“Paimon is starting to miss your muddy apron,” Paimon says, wilting as you twirl around. “You look a lot less like Y/N.”

“This is who I really am, Paimon.” You glance to the ruffles and the thick coat, engulfing you in everything Fontaine. 

Paimon tilts her head. “Who?”

You cast her a dry smile. “Runaway coward, fraud, and Fatuu.”

YEARS BEFORE.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been an orphan under the care of ‘Father’.

If you were to shut your eyes and reminisce about life before the orphanage, you’d catch a fleeting glimpse of your mother’s face as you were surrendered over to grand doors, ones that felt like they were fifteen feet tall and thick enough to keep you from your family. You don’t know if your mother was kind or if she intended to leave you here long enough for everyone to call you an orphan. You eventually stopped dreaming about her.

You find that it doesn’t matter because you’re already here. You wouldn’t know where she would be. Waking up spelled out another day of pushing through.

“Hush, child,” a voice whispered as you hiccuped, overwhelmed with unfamiliar faces and tall, tall walls. Your chin was gripped by hands with sharp nails, but they didn’t hurt you. “Save your tears. You are safer here.”

You blinked rapidly, tremors jostling your shoulders with each ugly sob, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your breathing slowed as the shed tears cleared your vision, finally seeing the woman in front of you. She looked as if she had just done something horrible; she looked as if she wouldn’t hesitate to slit your throat if you screamed and thrashed around her hold.

You looked at her and saw someone you knew would protect you.

It became a little less dull when ‘Father’ let you borrow one of the weapons from the stash. The one you chose reeked of dried blood and looked dangerously unused, its surface marred by rust. It was long, and you concluded from the tip that it was no sword; it was all too different from the weapons you’ve seen around. On your first swing, you stumbled and nearly let it slip through your fingers.

“A polearm,” ‘Father’ noted, staring down at you in a way that felt as if she was scrutinizing every action and every thought running through your head. “Would you like to try it out?”

It was difficult. Each swing felt as if you were inches away from hitting your own head—or, even worse, felt as if you would make the wrong move and hit ‘Father’, who’s watching you in silence. She doesn’t stand from where she’s seated, though she does speak here and there. Stand straighter; don’t hold it too tightly; watch your balance.

You loved it. You held onto the rusty polearm more than you breathe. You train, and train, and train until it twirls around your fingers seamlessly, like water rushing through smooth rocks, until it’s as easy as a second limb.

That is how you made a name for yourself in the House of the Hearth.

During the times ‘Father’ returned briefly from business trips, you’d make her watch you train. You made her see how far you’d come, and she knew it, too. She’d even invite the other orphans to spar with you, but you were never defeated.

The orphans would hear your name, and they’d either scrunch their noses in distaste or brighten up in awe—it’s all the same, in your opinion. They hear your name and think of how fondly Arlecchino favors you.

The next one, they whisper. The next king.

The House of the Hearth became something greater than a home. It became a training ground for future soldiers, disguised as an orphanage, yet it treated you far better than your own household. Here, you've matured in wisdom with each thrust of your weapon and with every hidden truth that Teyvat conceals; it's where you learned to sharpen and embrace them all. Here, no one can hurt you. No one tries to break down your walls or question why you have them up in the first place. 

‘Father’ took you in and gave you another chance. ‘Father’ saw your battered arms and torn faith and introduced you to a house where you wouldn’t ever have to feel this broken again. And you, too young and too aware of the creeping loneliness clawing at you, took her hand and never looked back.

The House of the Hearth is where you learned what it was like to feel respect. Fear goes hand-in-hand with it, but you can’t help it if it can’t bring you down because you’ve climbed far too out of reach.

“That was a really good match,” Freminet mumbles as you walk over, sweaty all over and panting from exhaustion—but there’s a wide smile on your face, only ever appearing after battling someone.

You beam at his praise. “Yeah? I was testing a new move last night. It didn’t work, though.”

“I didn’t even notice you slipping,” Freminet says, puzzled, prompting a burst of laughter from you.

This side of you is only reserved for Freminet. To everyone else—and especially ‘Father’—you’re cold and cruel, and you don’t like wasting time with other people. But you’ve grown fond of Freminet, just as his quiet murmurs and hours-long of whispers are meant just for you. It’s a strange friendship. Everyone else thinks you could never get along.

What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters, not when you’re something here.

“‘Father’ is calling for you,” Freminet says, gesturing vaguely to the side.

You pat Freminet’s head and flick the polearm back to life, materializing in your hands. “I’ll see you at dinner, ‘kay? Don’t sneak off this time.” Freminet pretends to think about it, humming thoughtfully, then smiles when you nudge his shoulder before darting off.

“Every kingdom would have the next king,” is what ‘Father’ says when you’re a few steps across her. There’s a ghost of a smile on her face—or at least is what you like to think. Your heart races. “I see it in you, child.”

Warmth fills your chest. You bow your head to hide the unprofessional and childish smile.

“Ah,” she continues, looking off to the side. “Before I forget…fetch your siblings. I have news to share.”

You frown, failing to hide your disappointment. You were hoping for a bit more. “Of course, ‘Father’.”

The House of the Hearth was perfect. This was where you thrived—where no one else could take this victorious feeling away.

But then Lynette became a part of the ‘family’, and with it, she dragged along Lyney.

Lyney, with his slicked back, matted hair, violet eyes wide yet somehow dim, and figure thinner than a stick—the picture of every orphan stumbling into their new home for the very first time. Lyney, who stands beside ‘Father’ as they’re introduced, his gaze wandering the room, the unfamiliar faces, then your unimpressed eyes. Lynette is behind him, peeking out from his shoulder.

‘Father’ gives them the usual: a promise of no betrayal, a promise of a bond as strong as the blood shared between the twins. They listen. You scowl.

It is also here, in the House of the Hearth, where your world is flipped upside down, all because of violet eyes that seem to have never left yours.

There’s something about Lyney that unnerves you.

You assure Freminet that it’s not just because you’re miffed that The Knave is paying too close attention to the twins. You would get over the jealousy—you knew it was for the twins to feel at ease as they settled in; she’d done the same to you (the only difference is she never stopped). But Freminet has also taken a deep liking to them, saying you’re wary for no reason.

He isn’t wrong. You’re wary for a reason you’re not sure why just yet.

It was just that Lyney’s face pissed you off.

He keeps staring from over ‘Father’’s legs, sharp eyes following your movements. His face is blank, keeping you from reading his thoughts, yet his eyes are wide. You can’t tell if it’s akin to a trembling puppy or a cat prepared to pounce. You hate the feeling of his eyes boring into your skin.

You tell ‘Father’ all of this as the other orphans scurry off to bed, and you’re in charge of cleaning the dining table. With each plate stacked, venom spits from your mouth, brows knitted, and teeth bared in a snarl. You haven’t questioned any of ‘Father’’s decisions—you’re wary of this particular one, though.

‘Father’ has that quirk on her lips, amusement evident on her suspiciously bright expression. “You haven’t met Lyney yet, have you? What’s brought this reaction out of you?”

You nearly fumble with the glasses, avoiding her eyes. “I-It’s not as if I hate him. I just—I don’t know. There’s something strange about him.”

And speaking of strange, ‘Father’ has that look in her eye that you’re starting to feel agitated by. You think that the knowing smile is a nice look on her, however, you’re not sure if what’s running through her head at the moment can be considered nice.

“I see,” she says, a lilt in her tone.

“See what, ‘Father’?” You bristle when she smiles wider. “See what?”

references: kingdom and the next king — lyney voiceline: about “father”: king

BEFORE U STOP READING, Pls check out this AWESOME FANART (FANART!!!) of the first scene by akagi0021

taglist @thenyxsky

[theodorenmyth]

Moderen au where the riddle brothers had shirts that say “if found idiot, return to us” and reader just having the “I’m the idiot” because they always get distracted in big crowds so mattheo thought him, reader and his brother could wear it going to a fair. Because y’know, fairs being a lot of people.

Fair Troubles

Pairings : Riddle Brothers x GN! Reader

Summary : Navigating the bustling chaos of a fair, you, Mattheo, and Tom Riddle wear shirts humorously indicating your tendency to get distracted. When you inevitably become separated in the crowd, panic sets in as you search for each other. Amidst the vibrant lights and lively sounds, you find solace in your friendship, as Mattheo and Tom tirelessly search and eventually reunite with you. Together, you create unforgettable memories, reminding you that no matter how lost you feel, you'll always find your way back with their support.

A/n : LMFAO I love this request so much!! Enjoy! (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

Warnings) : nothing

Word count : 1.3k+

The anticipation of the fair buzzed in the air as you, Mattheo, and Tom Riddle walked through the crowded streets. The vibrant lights, the mouth-watering smell of fair food, and the joyful shouts of children created a lively atmosphere that you couldn't help but get lost in.

Mattheo and Tom both wore shirts with bold text that read, "If found idiot, return to us," while you sported one that said, "I'm the idiot." It was Mattheo's idea, given your tendency to get distracted easily in big crowds.

"Alright, let's stick together, yeah?" Mattheo said, his hand gently resting on your shoulder.

"Yeah, I don't want to have to chase you down again," Tom added with a smirk, adjusting his shirt.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I'm not that bad."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Remember the time at the mall? Or at the zoo?"

"Okay, okay," you laughed, holding up your hands in surrender. "Point taken."

The three of you entered the fair, immediately enveloped by the cacophony of sounds and sights. Booths lined the walkways, offering games, food, and trinkets. A Ferris wheel loomed in the distance, its lights twinkling against the darkening sky.

"Let's start with some games," Mattheo suggested, leading the way to a ring toss booth.

You watched as he expertly aimed and tossed the rings, winning a small stuffed bear. "Here," he said, handing it to you with a smile. "For the idiot."

You grinned, hugging the bear. "Thanks, Matty."

Tom glanced around, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Let's try the dart booth next."

As you made your way over, you couldn't help but be distracted by a stand selling colorful cotton candy. "Ooh, look at that," you said, your eyes wide with excitement.

Mattheo chuckled. "You and your sweet tooth."

"Go ahead, we'll meet you at the dart booth," Tom said, giving you a gentle push in the direction of the cotton candy stand.

You nodded and made your way over, quickly buying a stick of the fluffy treat. As you turned to rejoin Mattheo and Tom, you were momentarily caught in the flow of the crowd, and when you looked up, they were nowhere to be seen.

Panic started to bubble up in your chest as you scanned the sea of faces. You knew this could happen, and yet, here you were, lost in the crowd.

"Okay, don't panic," you muttered to yourself, clutching the stuffed bear and cotton candy. "They'll find me. They always do."

You tried to retrace your steps, but the fair seemed to have grown more crowded, making it difficult to navigate. You spotted a bench near the Ferris wheel and decided to wait there, hoping Mattheo and Tom would spot you.

Minutes felt like hours as you sat there, your anxiety growing. You looked down at your shirt, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement. "I'm the idiot," you sighed. "Literally."

Meanwhile, Mattheo and Tom were frantically searching the fairgrounds. "Where could they have gone?" Tom asked, worry evident in his voice.

"Probably got distracted by something shiny," Mattheo replied, though his tone was laced with concern. "Let's check by the food stands again."

They retraced their steps, stopping by the cotton candy stand where you had last been seen. The vendor remembered you and pointed them in the direction you had gone. As they made their way through the crowd, they kept a sharp lookout, hoping to spot you amidst the throngs of people.

As they searched, you found yourself watching a group of kids playing a game, their laughter infectious. You couldn't help but smile, momentarily distracted from your anxiety. The sight reminded you of the times you, Mattheo, and Tom would hang out, the easy camaraderie and joy you shared.

Just as you were starting to worry again, you finally saw Mattheo and Tom making their way towards you. Relief washed over you, and you waved frantically to get their attention.

"There you are!" Mattheo exclaimed, rushing over to you. "We were worried sick!"

"Sorry," you mumbled, feeling a bit sheepish. "I got distracted by the cotton candy."

Tom sighed, though he couldn't help but smile. "Of course you did."

"Well, at least we found our idiot," Mattheo said, pulling you into a tight hug. "Let's stick together this time, okay?"

You nodded, feeling grateful to have them by your side. "Yeah, sticking together sounds like a good plan."

As you walked through the fair, hand in hand with Mattheo and Tom, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and belonging. No matter how many times you got lost, you knew they'd always find you. And that was a comforting thought.

"Hey, look," Mattheo said, pointing to a booth with a giant stuffed dragon as the prize. "Think you can win that for us, Tom?"

Tom smirked, stepping up to the challenge. "Watch and learn."

You watched as Tom expertly aimed and threw the darts, hitting the targets with precision. The booth attendant handed him the giant stuffed dragon, which he promptly gave to you.

"Thanks, Tommy!" you said, hugging the dragon tightly.

"Anything for our favorite idiot," Tom replied with a wink.

"What's next?" Mattheo asked, scanning the fairgrounds.

"How about the Ferris wheel?" you suggested, looking up at the towering ride.

"Sounds good," Tom agreed. "Let's go."

As you made your way to the Ferris wheel, you marveled at the lights and sounds around you. The fair was a sensory overload, but you felt safe and secure with Mattheo and Tom by your side.

You all climbed into a Ferris wheel carriage, and as it began to rise, you gazed out at the fair below. The view was breathtaking, the sea of lights stretching out in all directions.

"This is amazing," you said, leaning against Mattheo.

"Yeah, it is," Mattheo replied, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Tom sat across from you, a small smile on his face. "It's nice to take a moment and just enjoy the view."

As the Ferris wheel continued its slow rotation, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. The chaotic energy of the fair seemed distant, replaced by the quiet intimacy of the moment.

"Thanks for finding me," you said softly, looking at Mattheo and Tom.

"Always," Mattheo replied, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

"You're stuck with us," Tom added, his smile widening.

As the Ferris wheel reached its peak, you took a deep breath, feeling grateful for the two people who meant the world to you. No matter how lost you felt, you knew Mattheo and Tom would always be there to guide you back.

As the ride descended, you felt a renewed sense of excitement for the rest of the evening. The fair was far from over, and you were determined to make the most of it.

"Let's get some more food," you suggested as you exited the Ferris wheel.

"Good idea," Mattheo agreed. "I'm starving."

You wandered through the fair, sampling various treats and laughing at the antics of the carnival performers. The night was filled with joy and laughter, each moment more memorable than the last.

By the time you left the fair, your arms were filled with stuffed animals and other prizes, and your heart was full of happiness. You might get distracted easily, but with Mattheo and Tom by your side, you knew you'd always find your way back.

"Let's do this again sometime," you said as you walked back to the car.

"Definitely," Mattheo agreed, giving your hand a squeeze.

"And next time, we'll make sure you don't get lost," Tom added with a chuckle.

You smiled, feeling content and loved. "Sounds like a plan."

As you drove home, you couldn't help but reflect on the night's events. The fair had been a whirlwind of excitement and fun, but the best part was knowing you had two amazing people who cared about you deeply. No matter how many times you got lost, you knew Mattheo and Tom would always find you and bring you back to where you belonged.

[darylsdelts]

Hi😊 I was wondering if you could write the A - Z NSFW head canons for Daryl when you feel like it? I really love how you write him!

Tysm for this anon! This is fun!

Please keep in mind that sometimes I’m in the mood for subby Daryl and sometimes the opposite so my own opinions constantly change so, aside from this… yes Daryl is also daddy.

Aftercare - in the beginning, Daryl definitely doesn’t know what to do with himself after being intimate with you. The first few times, he pulls away after without saying anything and would either head out or just make some space between you. After he realises you actually want him there and understands what he should do then he definitely holds you close to his chest, a kiss on the top of your head, tells you he enjoyed it and he loves you.

Body - favourite body part… Daryl’s a boob man. He don’t give a shit, big or small but he loves em. (Norman is the biggest fucking boob man so so is Daryl, ok?) he also loves your eyes because he finds comfort in them, being able to hold eye contact is a big thing for Daryl. That being said, he basically get separation anxiety if he hasn’t been able to play with your pussy for a while😭 (not really but you’re his first time for everything so he just can’t get enough)

Cum - hear me out, Daryl used to get scared to cum. Like it took a while for him to get used to it. He’d enjoy show good it all felt but as soon as he would get too close he’d ask you to stop, he didn’t know why but he’d get all panicky. Until one day you very gently told him you were gonna make him cum and you guided him through it. It’s not like he hadn’t jerked off before, he didn’t even understand the anxiety himself. But the first time you did make him cum, there was quite a lot and he got real shy but he enjoyed it and since then he’s a fiend for when you just use your hand. He’s not really into cumming on your face but he likes the tummy. Even though he knows he can’t, sometimes he’ll still beg to cum inside you.

Dirty secret - he secretly likes the thought of you forcing him to watch yourself get off on your own fingers, tormenting him and not letting him touch you or himself. You’d have him practically rutting into thin air as he watched your fingers work hard, wishing it was his cock.

Experience - Daryl had no experience before you, he was a virgin. He didn’t outright say that but you caught on and you eventually asked him about it, which to your surprise he didn’t get defensive about, he was more ashamed than anything. But good Lord, he used his fingers liked he’d been in training his whole life, sure he was inexperienced but it didn’t show. The only telltale sign was his premature ejaculation the first time you two messed about and also how he humps his hips against the mattress when he eats you out.

Freaky - He’s not freaky lmfao. He’s pretty vanilla, with a submissive streak. The most dominant he gets is calling you a good girl and making you suck his fingers. Other than that he’s gentle and tends to slip into a sort of submissive role.

Goofy - Daryl’s too focused to be goofy. Nothing to laugh about if his girl ain’t cumming yet. But he’s not boring, obviously, just usually too caught up in pleasure. Unlessssss… you’re overstimulating him, something he loves, then he might get a little giggly accidentally but only because he doesn’t know what to do with himself when you’re attacking his sensitive head.

Hair - Daryl’s hair is sparse on his chest and torso but his happy trail gets a little darker, not black though, I would say probably a medium brown colour, let’s remember he’s a blonde baby at heart. He’s got a little bit of bush going on but he trims it now and then. As for you, he couldn’t care less, he’s still gonna eat his meal 😋! If you do get the chance to shave, he’d most likely be surprised. “What’s this? Ya been shavin’? Hope ya ain’t done it fer me”. He wouldn’t want you to think you have to shave for him to find you attractive, to be honest it kinda throws him off when you’re hairless.

Intimacy - he’s a needy fucker for a cuddle. He don’t look like it but he might as well be the damn cuddle monster when it comes to you. In private of course. In public he’d just squeeze your hand and maybe kiss your forehead if no one’s looking but PDA makes him uncomfortable. That’s why he’s so touchy and clingy at home.

Jerking off - not much time for Daryl to touch himself, also, he’s with you so he might aswell just ask you to do it. However, if for any reason you’re apart, he might get a little pent up, start daydreaming about things you say to him and how you say it “such a good boy, Daryl” he’d practically fuck his hand, being so desperate for release that he’d cum way too fast. He also likes to cup his balls when he cums.

kinks - secret mommy kink secret mommy kink secret mommy kink. He didn’t know he had one but he did know that he tends to gravitate to nurturing women who make him feel comforted but he’s never found any sexual desire there until he met you. So attentive and so nurturing, you always knew what he needed… it just slipped out one time, you were straddling him whilst he was still clothed. You’d teased him all day and he was a mess, rutting against your core through his jeans, begging to be touched. He couldn’t help it when he had an accidental orgasm in his pants and moaned out “m-mommyyyy”. And boy did you hold him to that.

Location - Home. Daryl don’t take no risks! Except for when he lets you tease him under the table at meetings.

Motivation (turn ons) - you, especially if you’ve been fighting, he loves watching his girl fight. Your kindness turns him on as-well, unless someone takes advantage of it, then he’s out to kill.

No (turn offs) - roughness, he’s not into being rough with you or you being tough with him. His life’s been rough enough.

Oral - he gets whimpery when you suck his dick, he bucks his hips and whines and he fucking loves it. Almost as much as he loves to eat you out. He’d lay on his stomach, eating you out whilst simultaneously rubbing his cock against the mattress, leaving a puddle of precum.

Pace - usually a slow to medium pace, he likes making love to you but if he’s stressed or had a rough day, he’s gonna go fast. That’s the only time he’ll be overly dominant. Basically just using your body.

Quickie - as much as he thinks about it, Daryl’s not pushing you up against a tree mid-hunt. It’s dangerous and not exactly comfortable for you. The closest thing he’s gotten to a quickie is one time you teased his cock through his jeans during a group dinner and he was so close to cumming he basically dragged you to the bathroom and had you suck him off.

Stamina - less than he had in the beginning 😭 he’s 55 now, he’s still got impeccable stamina and could go for round two but not as quickly as he could at 40.

Toys - one day, you came home from a scavenge with a vibe, he was a little annoyed, saying you could’ve got more important things but you assured him that this was all you found. He assumed it was for your use only but… you held it to his frenulum and suddenly he was glad it was all you could find. You told him that if you found a dildo you could use that on him too but he couldn’t tell if you were joking or not, maybe he’d let you use your fingers before any of that… maybe.

Unfair - after all of this submissive Daryl talk, he does like seeing you flustered, he likes to tease just as much as you do, he makes it like a little competition.

Volume - he’s quiet, small grunts and whimpers unless the vibe is involved then you gotta stuff your panties in his mouth.

Wild card (random hc) - likes when you worship his body, makes him less insecure (which he very much is but shouldn’t be)

X-ray - 7 inches and thick! Tip is a pinky red and he’s uncut. His balls are heavy asf but pretty tight. 4 inches when soft and when he’s hard it stands to attention with no curve.

Yearning - tried to play it cool… still tries to play it cool but is obsessed with you.

Zzz - as soon as you’re snuggled up, he’s gone. Fucking finally, he never slept well before you.

God this took fucking ages.

[luffysinterlude]

REMEMBER WHEN. . .

★ summary: the straw hat pirates reminisce on some fun memories while voyaging through the Grand Line.

★ warnings: chatroom au/comedic relief, mentions of pregnancy, cursing, takes place after water seven/pre thriller bark, ooc characters, use of yn + female reader in mind, flirty!yn + the crew teases yn a bit ><, zoro x reader…kinda..im biased im sorry 😞 + some things are NOT canon and i just made it up :p

★ an: hiii!! there is not enough one piece fanfic content on this app in my opinion (i feel like i’ve read almost every piece, all have been amazing), so here’s my attempt at making more!! also, i’m still pretty new to the op fandom, so some characters may be a little ooc. i’m still reading/watching thriller bark so pls bare with me! also this is a chatroom au because i don’t have access to social app anymore *cry*. anyway, please enjoy!

NOW ONLINE [9]. . .

yn: SIGHHHHHHHHHH

robin: is everything okay, yn?

chopper: yeah yn, is everything okay?

zoro: probably not

yn: just thinking

usopp: thinking about where we’ll be next? praying manifesting it isnt anywhere scary

chopper: everywhere we’ve been has been terrifying

nami: yeah usopp

nami: its like we goto hell, leave it, and then enter another part of it

nami: i think we should just start expecting the worst

zoro: maybe we should all just get a lil more stronger. starting with the blonde pervert we have as our cook

sanji: I DIDNT EVEN SAY ANYTHING YET

sanji: AND YOURE THE ONE TO TALK!

sanji: MUST I REMIND YOU THAT I LITERALLLLY JUST SAVED YOU AND USOPP AT THAT TOWER

luffy: oooooo thinking about what? tell me tell me tell me!

sanji: now, my dearest yn, please let me know if theres anyway i can assist you

zoro: she probably doesn’t want your help lmfao no offense

sanji: WHOOOO was even talking to you? I SAID YN’S NAME IN THE TEXT DAMMIT

nami: can you two idiots cut it out already? its like, i can hear your voices through my screen and i don’t like that

franky: yeah it’s actually kinda crazy i can hear you all…without actually being in your presence

chopper: soooo yn?

luffy: yeah yn what’s going on?

yn: just sitting here thinking about all of our fun adventures. like wow we actually did all of that and it was like…real life

yn: i feel like if i didnt know you guys and didn’t experience it then it wouldn’t sound real

yn: but like wow it was all real

robin: we’ve had some wild times, haven’t we?

luffy: LOL yeah that might’ve been on me

luffy: but we’ve survived this long

luffy: we’ll continue to survive because fate loves us!

nami: -.-

sanji: luffy’s right, surprisingly

sanji: sometimes i think about how fate brought us together…or atleast i think about how fate brought me nami yn and robin together

yn: watch it pretty boy

sanji: YES MA’AM

sanji: screenshotting

zoro: ignoring that dude. i think it’s amazing how we prevail every time. we get stronger without realizing

yn: i mean we did fly into the sky

yn: thats so crazy we actually like. flew. in the air. on a ship.

nami: yeah all thanks to me ;*

yn: thank u pretty i remember falling in love with you then and there

franky: WHAT THE HELL

franky: YOU GUYS FLEW IN THE AIR WITH MERRY?!

usopp: HELL YEAH MERRY FLEWWW

usopp: FRANKY YOU SHOULDVE SEEN IT

usopp: there was this gigantic whirlpool below us and everything

chopper: haha yeah that was crazy! and those giant monkeys

robin: oh! yes, the saruyama alliance. i could never forget the amount of fun i had during our time on Jaya Island

yn: robin i love u but FUNNNNNN???-?-?-!-? DID WE FORGET ABOUT THAT STUPID FOREST CRICKET HAD US GO INTO?!1? i still have nightmares of that stupid south bird and its stupid face and the way it made all those stupid bugs chase me

luffy: haha those south birds were really something else

nami: it’s funny because we had no idea what was coming next

zoro: that stupid “God” was next. what was his name again? emily? enemy….?

zoro: well shit i’ve forgot. it was somethin else though. his stupid lightning

franky: BROTHER WHAT

franky: YOU GUYS FOUGHT….A GOD?!?!1???!!!?

franky: was it like….you know…..THE GOD

chopper: not really sure what you mean but that guy enel really had some sort of crazy insane powers

chopper: him and his crazy insane priests were able to predict our moves!

robin: oh yeah. he electrocuted zoro, yn, and i.

yn: pls dont remind me TT

yn: he scares me because i feel like he somehow is still alive

yn: like what if hes reading our messages

nami: i never thought of it like that…

nami: enel if ur reading this please drop 1,000,000,000 berries down from the sky

luffy: i wish the skypeians and shandians rang the bell more often.

luffy: haha oh well! i know they’re doing just fine! :D

usopp: well thanks to yn now i’m reminscing TT

usopp: it feels like alabasta JUST happened

robin: well, we did just face the world government

robin: technically crocodile was apart of it

usopp: YEAH AND YOU WERE HIS ASSISTANT OR WHATEVER

robin: that’s the past. i had to do what i needed to do to survive. and i’m glad i was, considering i was able to find you all <3

yn: ROBINNNNNNN TT

nami: ROBINNNNN

sanji: robin i wouldve followed you to hades’ kingdom if i had to. i will always protect you (and nami and yn. the others can fend for themselves).

luffy: hahahaha i agree!! see, fate loves us

chopper: WE LOVE U ROBIN

franky: YEAH! WE LOVE SISTER ROBIN!

zoro: appreciate ya.

usopp: YEAAAA WE LOVE ROBIN!

yn: shoutout to us

yn: i love us

yn: i love being a strawhat

chopper: same!!! forever and always gonna be a strawhat!!

luffy: i love our little family!

luffy: without you all, i wouldn’t be as close as i am to reaching my dream! so thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

luffy: also sanji when is dinner gonna be ready so i know when to head back to the sunny

nami: same

nami: now i’m really reminiscing. do you guys remember when yn thought she was pregnant

usopp: i-

usopp: …

yn: NAMI

yn: alright well.

sanji: WHATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT TT

sanji: also luffy dinner will be ready when its dinner time. its mid day. if you’re hungry i have snacks in the fridge or since you’re running around this island, find a food stand

sanji: BUT WHATTTTTT DID NAMI JUST SAY

chopper: HUUUUUUUUUUUUH

robin: what a naughty girl you are, nami. teasing yn about her “almost” pregnancy

nami: yk me! but i remember being soooooo worried only for the pregnancy test to come back negative

zoro: yn?

franky: LITTLE SIS YN…DOES THE DEED….BUT SHE LOOKS SO INNOCENT

luffy: oh wow cool sanji thanks!

luffy: also congrats yn? but where will the baby stay?

usopp: did you even read nami’s text

luffy: oh..right LOL that’s good! i can’t imagine yn having a baby. plus how are babies even made

chopper: :o

nami: …

robin: your innocence is apart of my will to live

yn: luffy TT

sanji: THROUGH LOVE! BABIES ARE MADE THROUGH LOVE!!!

luffy: oh sickkkkkk do you guys think we can make one?

yn: oh luffy TT

nami: well!

sanji: he’ll come around

luffy: LOL BRB

LUFFY has gone offline.

chopper: wonder what he’s up to

yn: probably found food like sanji told him to

zoro: yeah he kind of left the store we’re at and i have no desire to look for him right now

zoro: oh nevermind. he just went outside to buy meat from a vendor. he’s good, still in my eyesight

chopper: also

chopper: YN WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME

yn: chopper >< you were still fairly new to the crew then

yn: but this happened after we left chopper’s hometown

yn: i think i was just sick because of the crazy weather changes, plus nami has just recovered and didn’t want anyone to be worried sick :p

zoro: why didnt you tell me?

zoro: you’re apart of the crew too, ya know.

usopp: interesting

sanji: you stupid ass MOSSHEAD WHY WOULD SHE TELL YOU HER BUSINESS

nami: sigh

nami: its like the most obvious thing ever

robin: i’m afraid it just isn’t clicking for him.

yn: it’s not like i didn’t wanna tell you

zoro: okay so why didn’t you

sanji: WATCH HOW YOU SPEAK TO HER DUMBASS!

yn: LMFAOOO I REMEMBER WHY I DIDNT TELL YOU

yn: YOU GOT LOST AS SOON AS WE GOT TO ALABASTA

yn: and by time i found you, i had already forgotten that i thought i was pregnant because there was a whole warlord wanting us dead so

zoro: hmm. okay. well next time..

sanji: YOU DIDNT HAVE TO EXPLAIN TO HIM YN YOURE BETTER THAN HIM IN EVERY WAY

zoro: if you ever need a safe space. you know.

yn: hehe yes i do. but i apologize for not telling you as soon as i felt…different. it’s just that we’ll always have bigger issues to worry about

franky: ummmm are we interrupting something

zoro: hm

zoro: nah. yn and i will talk later when we see each other.

zoro: for now i’m thinkin about that time luffy and i got beat up on jaya island. now i’m annoyed.

zoro: the principle of the matter was good but i really just had to sit there and take an ass beating when i could’ve handled the entire bar

zoro: ehhhh now i’m gonna go workout. if anyone needs me you know where to find me.

ZORO has gone offline.

yn: he left saying “you know where to find me” as if we’ll actually know

robin: i really hope he finds his way back to the sunny.

sanji: he can get lost for all i care

yn: it’s crazy that i really thought i was pregnant that one time

yn: even vivi thought so

nami: i was super worried

nami: so worried i was reading every book we had to find anything i could help you with

usopp: well i’m offended cause why didn’t you tell me i thought we were besties

yn: wellllllllll no offense but full offense, you have “i-can’t-seem-to-keep-my-mouth-shut” disease

yn: just yappin all day everyday

franky: so, sister yn, zoro huh?

sanji: DONT OFFEND HER LIKE THAT YOU IDIOT!

usopp: HEYYYYY!!!!! I WOULDVE KEPT A SECRET

sanji: yn my loveeeeee you know you could always tell me your secrets

yn: i cant lie i almost let it slip when i helped you with dinner that night

yn: but again, bigger fish to fry

sanji: screenshotted again

sanji: did you guys see that? shes flirting with me. might die

robin: hm not sure what part of that was flirting but whatever makes you happy.

nami: oooo franky’s quick

franky: it isn’t hard to tell

chopper: what’re you all talking about!!?

yn: nothing important you little cute doctor

chopper: >~< SHUT UP! >~< THAT DOESNT WORK ON ME!!

sanji: robin! nami! yn!!!! i will be going offline to go back to the sunny to make some snacks. would you ladies do me the pleasure of enjoying them? should they be ready before you all arrive?

robin: please do! surprise us this time :)

yn: hell yea sanji you know i’d never say no to you

nami: lol yes please! i’m kind of craving something sweet

sanji: OFF TO THE KITCHEN I GO!! GIVE ME AN HOUR!!

SANJI has gone offline.

yn: well now that those three are gone

yn: i worry about them a lot

yn: i feel like those three find trouble every where we go

chopper: same but we’re all like, insanely strong now!

chopper: and it’s not like we’re actively looking for trouble, sometimes we just want to chill

nami: yeah. but now, more than ever, i feel more secure

nami: like wow he’s really gonna be king of the pirates

yn: most definitely. we only ever get stronger

usopp: yeaaaaaaaaaaaaa obviously i’ve had my doubts but…

usopp: it’s never been because of luffy

robin: ever since i met you guys again on alabasta…

robin: i knew you all would give me a life worth living

yn: robin’s so sweet online it makes me want to cry

yn: well shes always sweet

franky: SISTER ROBIN TT

nami: robin, i’m curious. how did you find our ship?

robin: well it was just docked and i figured i’d finally take a rest somewhere. if you all hadn’t left alabasta by time i had woken up, then i wouldn’t have stayed. like luffy says, fate loves us.

franky: WHAAAAAT you just…..snuck on? O.O

chopper: oh yeah i remember!

chopper: i’m not gonna lie, i was a little intimidated by you at first

yn: OH HOW COULD I FORGETTTTTTTTT

yn: chopper wasn’t there when we first met robin!

nami: oh yeah!

yn: franky chopper omg like have i ever told the story of how i first fell in love with robin

usopp: OH YEAH she blew that guy’s ship up

usopp: i wonder how vivi’s doing

nami: VIVI TT i hope she’s okay

nami: but yeah i agree. i was scared shitless of robin but then she told me she got me treasure

franky: WOAH ROBIN BLEW SOMEONES SHIP UP?

robin: not entirely. he survived and thats what matters

franky: i mean i guess

franky: i was definitely intimidated by luffy when we first met. even though that was like three weeks ago

franky: i can’t lie he still sometimes intimidates me

yn: brother ur half machine

franky: YEAH BUT MOSTLY HUMAN!!!

franky: anyway sisters. you guys have to tell me more stories at dinner later i have to go refill the coke tanks, see ya!

FRANKY has gone offline.

usopp: well chat

usopp: i usually help him so i’ll be going back too

usopp: yn i’m expecting way more details later after dinner

usopp: or zoro. but preferably before you see zoro

chopper: i’ll help! girls if you need me for anything i’ll be with those two!!

yn: um…okay…? we’ll see u all later!!!

USOPP has gone offline.

CHOPPER has gone offline.

nami: and now it’s just us three

nami: sorry for bringing your pregnancy scare up

nami: i’m getting my nails done right now and i can’t really seem to remember our journeys

yn: its all good

yn: i kinda forgot about it

robin: we’ve been through so much our brains probably started to black out any unwanted memories. i’ve read that it happens

robin: and yn, i don’t blame you. i would’ve been worried sick if i was apart of the crew then. but since it’s just us…

yn: omg let us catch you up

yn: so basically..i had…with…and then…

nami: —.—

nami: she had sex with someone *cough* zoro *cough* and started puking the next morning

yn: NAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

yn: TT

nami: i definitely thought it was pregnancy

robin: silly girls. you do realize pregnancy symptoms don’t happen overnight, right?

robin: also, yn. it’s obvious. i’ve seen the way you two are always the first ones missing during our celebrations

nami: well……..yeah but

nami: we can never be TOO safe

yn: mmm if you hadn’t caught on by now then i’d be surprised

yn: i was still scared

yn: i think it was more of a “wow me and zoro actually did that and it was real”

nami: it’s just….in a forest?!-?

nami: with…HIM!!!-?-?-?-??

nami: you can have any man or woman or creature you want and you stillllllllll………….

yn: i was running on adrenaline. that dude and his stupid ass candle wax drove me insane

yn: plus you both know i kinda have a little crush on the guy

yn: i can fix him

nami: okayyyyyy whatever you say.

nami: pfttt “little” and you guys are basically dating in my head

robin: i forgot his actual name but i’m assuming you guys are talking about mr. 3

robin: ah yes his wax is quite the problem. i wonder if hes alive still

nami: i was seriously stressed out

nami: but honestly, since we’re on the topic, i’m glad i joined luffy

nami: there was this one time, yn i’m sure you remember

nami: right before going to the baratie

yn: the day we went to the baratie TT

yn: but what happened before i kinda forgot

nami: WHY’RE YOU ALWAYS FORGETTING THINGS

nami: anyway when we ran into your crazy psycho ex

yn: OMG

yn: AND HE THREATENED LUFFY

yn: AND THEN LUFFY THREW HIM INTO THE OCEAN TT

robin: oh? tell me more about this ex of yours. i’m interested

yn: he kinda followed us after luffy saved me from HIM

yn: um so basically..you know my devil fruit powers…yeah he held them over my head and threatened to tell the marines about me and

nami: it was chaos. but it was the first time i’ve seen yn in combat and it was mind blowing

robin: luffy being our life saver and our little brother

robin: what would we do without him

yn: you’re right

yn: but i think at this point, we’re all strong enough to handle our own. if i ever see my ex again i’ll beat him so bad

nami: yeah me too! cause he had the crazy audacity to ask me out after i found out what he did to you!

nami: either way, i’m just happy we’re still all together. you know since we’ve been throwing the word fate around, i’m really starting to believe it. luffy has a really good sense of knowing who should join our crew

yn: he does :’)

yn: he gave me a family

robin: well we should probably go check on the boys now. i’ll meet you all at the sunny <3

robin: come back safely.

nami: yeah!! you too robin! yn, bring us some goodies! i’ll see you both later!!

yn: I LOVE YOU GUYS BE SAFE ILL SEE YOU SOON

yn: can’t wait to see u guys again

nami: ….you saw us this morning.

ROBIN has gone offline.

NAMI has gone offline.

YN has gone offline.

CHATROOM IS NOW CLOSED [0].

NOW ONLINE [1]. . .

LUFFY is now online.

luffy: HEY GUYSSSSSSS

luffy: IM BACK

luffy: i ate some meat and came back to the shop we were at but zoro isnt here anymore so i’m wondering if you guys happen to know where he is!

luffy: ….

luffy: oh the chatroom closed

luffy: well i guess i better get back to the sunny!

luffy: hopefully my friends make it back safely! we still have more adventures to take care of

luffy: wow these things are so cool i’m just talking to myself

luffy: i wonder if i can get one on the sunny…

luffy: OH WELL

LUFFY has gone offline.

CHATROOM IS NOW CLOSED [0].

★ an [2]: ahhh!! my first work is now done ☺️ honestly this was all self indulgent because i’ve been going through some personal things and right now the strawhats are my comfort zone. i decided to make it like a big groupchat because i don’t really have any friends irl or online so this makes me feel a lil better ☺️! i hope you all enjoyed.

its a lil messy because when i first started this i was about to began Thriller Bark but as I’m typing this I’m currently on the Sabaody Archipelago arc and things are getting more exciting like omg hello mr. Trafalgar Law I’ve been waiting for your debut….

if you enjoyed this please like and reblog! maybe i’ll start writing more drabbles idk. it used to be my thing when i was still using @/krazykento and jjk used to be my comfort zone. also, if you want to be friends please don’t be shy to say anything! i’d love to make new friends!!

[augustinescruelsummer]

MEMORIES | CP10

IN which you and Christian exchange heartfelt memories from your relationship while watching the stars, surrounded by a warm night fire.

fem!reader x cp10

content: fluff. teeth rotting fluff. reminiscing. she cleans a wound of his. the World Cup injury. christian’s a lovesick softie !!!

AN: this is so sweet like my teeth are rotting after writing this wtf. I actually have no idea where this came from it feels like the deep hell pits of my brain but I lowkey really like it LMFAO. Also this GIF? MY GOD. LORD. I am FINE.

WC: 2.7k

"REMEMBER that time you went flying into the goalkeeper at the World Cup?" You ask Christian while he nurses a beer, the fire pit providing a warm haze to the domestic night. The sky was crystal clear, minus the smoke your fire provided the air, and it was a perfect night to gaze at the stars. He chuckles softly at the random comment while running a finger down your hair, "How could I forget?"

You didn't know why you made the comment, suddenly overwhelmed with a collection of nostalgic memories while gazing into the fire between you two. Maybe it was the domesticity of the scene, the sun just setting over the horizon on a cold night, the two of them cuddled under her favorite blanket pointing out stars.

"What made y'think about that?" He prompts further, readjusting his arm to allow her more space to come closer. A soft smile falls over her lips as she fully recalls the memory.

--

THE MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

A sound of horror falls from your lips as Christian goes to kick the crucial goal, flying into the goalkeeper. You watch intently as a blur of trainers come sprinting over to him as he holds his groin in pain, people repping the American flag around you craning for a look at the scene. He had been down for a couple of minutes, partly in pain and appreciating the goal he had just scored. You had felt nauseous, partly due to the fact you'd never seen Christian be intensely injured on the field. He attempts to stand on his own and walk towards the medical facility, but his face contorts with pain as his weight collapses almost instantly on a nearby trainer. His teammates look on despondently at the American boy and his abrupt exit, congratulating him on the phenomenal goal.

-

"I was so embarrassed," he recalls looking down at you, pulling you out of the trip down memory lane. Your eyebrows furrow at the comment, never knowing he felt like that.

"Why in God's name would you be embarrassed about an injury, Chris?"

He shrugs in an attempt to dodge the question, leaning forward with a long stick to probe the firewood around.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question," you push as he spends longer than necessary on a piece of wood that didn't need adjustment.

"I honestly don't know. The whole time I was in my own head thinking about how not-badass the debacle was, and at the end of the day I knew I was never going to live it down. Interviewers asking me if we could still have children because of it and the picture from my story getting leaked. I was playing for the damn United States and was going to have an early exit because of a groin injury. It brought the team publicity at the end of the day, but I was still mortified."

You lean back to look at his expression while he reveals his thoughts, comfortable in confiding. "It felt like I was 14 years old getting punched in the balls at recess," he adds with a soft chuckle, turning the neck of the bottle around nervously.

"I thought it was quite the badass exit," you told him confidently, "You went viral on social media for being attractive and diving into a goalkeeper for your country. You were labelled Captain America. That is nothing to be embarrassed about."

A grin creeps over his bashful expression and your heart warms at the sight of it.

"I was worried about you in the moment," you told him earnestly as more of the memory unfolded in your mind.

-

MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

Qatar. A country you knew next to nothing about when it came to locations of hospitals. Your hands were shaking at the whispers Christian was being sent to the hospital. There was no crash course on what to do when your husband gets injured in the World Cup. You flip your phone over in your hands, making the decision to exit your place in the stands. The match had continued and you considered staying, knowing Christian wouldn't want you to worry, but that was inevitable.

-

"I was researching hospitals left and right, wondering where they would take you," You recalled, not missing the feeling of dread that overcame over not knowing where Christian was being sent.

"Still can't believe you took a fucking Uber in a foreign country to come and find me," he said with a snort. Christian's heart heated at the thought of it, his wife doing anything she could to come and find him. Even though he was delirious due to the pain meds, Christian had still found time to text you where they were taking him. You were in the next Uber to him the second the text hit your inbox.

-

MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

You gazed into his room, a nurse patiently attempting to take his vitals as he held a thumbs up and snapped a picture of him laying on the bed. The match was on the TV still, Americans rallying to celebrate the valiant efforts of the team. A grin was plastered on his face watching his friends embrace each other. "It's called soccer!" Musah screams at the camera lingering by him, the saying a play at Christian's viral photoshopped meme. You revel in Christian's laugh before bursting through the door, the nurse just finishing his vitals.

"Hi baby!" He greets when you appear in front of him, the excitement of seeing you after a major win outweighing any logic as to how you got here. Sickeningly, he would do the whole thing a million times over just to be babied by you.

-

The memory is snapped when Christian once again returns you to the present moment.

"God, I don't think I've ever seen someone so proud of me," he said while laying a chaste kiss on your cheek. "I thought you might be upset or embarrassed about the whole situation, but I was incredibly wrong. My girl took pride in the fact her husband put their kids on the line for America."

"Hell yeah!" You chanted, pumping your first in the air. You laughed at the recollection of social media going wild after the event was over, fans wondering if their favorite football couple would still be able to have children. Talk about patriotic.

The fire crackled as a comfortable silence enveloped the couple once again, both of them in their own world thinking about heartfelt memories.

Christian, thinking about when he tied for the 17th International Goal Record in qualifying against Mexico, pulling up his jersey to display his celebration. "MAN IN THE MIRROR," his undershirt read in haphazardly written Sharpie, a true display of his poor penmanship. The moment froze in time, though, when he looked up from his shirt into the boxes and made eye contact with you in the crowd. He swore his heart stalled.

Along with the rest of the American crowd, you were screaming his name out for all the field to hear. His name, an action that had him transfixed watching the stands. You stared at him, shouting the three syllables of his surname, which were heavily enunciated so he knew what was being chanted.

He rose his pointer finger up at you, a sly wink in your direction catching the eye of the camera man. He followed the receiving end of the wink, and there, on the jumbo tron, was you turned around pointing at the proud PULISIC plastered on your back while he motioned towards you.

He took a swig from the bottle beside him to distract his mind from going down every single memory his heart held with you. It was a tempting offer. Christian watched you adjust so your head was in his lap, folding the blanket over both your bodies to fit. You scrolled through the Barnes and Noble app searching for a new book to read as Christian watched the stars twinkle in the night sky.

"Whatcha thinking about, Chris?" You pat his knee a couple moments later to catch his attention, noticing the dazed look in his eyes.

"You."

Your heart sped up at the word, confident it was now a puddle on the lawn. He continued his thought without being prompted,

"Thinkin' about that time when I scored my first ever goal in the pros and you blew me a kiss, and I knew right then that I was gonna marry you." He grinned wickedly down at you, "Thinkin' about that time I scored and the screens caught you with audio screaming I was your 'Captain America'. Hearing my own wife use the nickname was the only thing left needed to die peacefully." He gazes down at you lovingly, capturing your lips to secure the sentiment and sweetness of the moment shared.

"Those two moments you just described," you told him suddenly flipping to where you lie on your back, gazing up at his face. "Are some of my favorite moments too. I was so proud of you I thought my heart would burst, and I was wondering how much jail time I would serve for jumping the fence."

"Jail time?" He asked inquisitively with a laugh, "I don't know what'd I would do if security tried to manhandle you off the pitch for jumping. I wouldn't have enough time to stop laughing to help."

You both giggled at the thought of it. "Y'know after I called you Captain America on the 'tron, I sat back down and went on Amazon to get you a lego set of his shield. It didn't come in the mail until three weeks later because it had to be custom made."

He splits into a smile thinking about the gift, it sitting on the trophy case in the bedroom. It hadn't been moved since he placed it, being featured in personal interviews in zoom calls during lockdown. He took anytime to talk about it when given the opportunity, being his favorite gift ever. It was a fairly large shield, custom made and built with a "Pulisic" engraved in an arch into the middle.

He remembered when he unwrapped and squealed like a little girl, holding it in his hands like a newborn. "Baby, this is the best gift I've ever gotten! It's not even near my birthday!" You had come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist fondly.

"I got it 'cause I love you and I'm proud of you," you told him, leaving a sweet kiss in between his shoulder blades. He blushed under the praise. "Can I frame it?" He asks, gently setting it down on the kitchen counter. "Do whatever your heart desires, baby," you told him with a joyous expression.

"Y'wanna hear my memory, Chris?" You ask him while staring at the stubble beginning to grown in on his face. You take notice of an ingrown hair that needs to be removed before he starts itching and complains at the burn. He hums an affirmation, finishing off his beer.

"My memory is when you got that nasty turf burn after a Chelsea match, and instead of going to have the trainer clean it, you brought it home for me to deal with."

He laughs wholeheartedly, "What can I say? There's nothing better than being babied by your wife." You roll your eyes at him, appreciating his full honesty. Christian has no shame in his love for his wife.

You had freaked out when he walked through the threshold of your old shared apartment, his shoes squeaking on the freshly cleaned carpet.

"Christian!" You had chastised from the couch without looking up, "Take your dirty shoes off, were you raised in a barn!?" He doesn't respond, causing you to look up with a frustrated demeanor, before taking notice of his bloody knee.

"Christ, baby, I thought you would've gotten that looked at before you left the field," you said, beckoning him closer. Christian tries to not let the joy he's feeling show at the thought of you having to take care of him, knowing it's about to occur. He's a softie, what can he say?

"I needed my favorite doctor to look at it?" He tells you with a charming grin, phrasing it like a question in an effort to avoid a lecture.

You don't put up a fight, guiding him to sit in one of the dining chairs while you disappeared into the bathroom to get antiseptic and Advil. You pour him a cup of water, double checking to make sure you were giving him the right amount Advil. You always had an irrational fear of your star boyfriend overdose on it because of a misread by you. Satisfied with the information the bottle had given you the previous ten times you had read it, you reentered the battlefield, aka Christian's knee.

Meanwhile, Christian had been smiling like a fool at the TV running post-match highlights of his game. It was such a small thing for you to turn the matches on while working from home, but it meant the world to him. He knew you had probably sat on the couch with your feet tucked under you, the work iPad you lugged around resting in your lap as you worked. The TV was probably set to a low volume, not loud enough to distract you, but quiet enough so you could still listen for your husband's name. You wore an oversized Chelsea T-Shirt, his name adorning the back per usual.

"This is gonna sting," you told him drily, holding no sympathy for your husband at the moment. He had to know you were not qualified in any sort to be cleaning up a pro soccer player's wounds, but yet here you were at 11:30 on a Monday night.

"I have work tomorrow," you stated as you stared at the alarmingly late numbers on the oven clock, which motivated you to harshly rub the antiseptic onto the burn.

"Jesus, baby! Is it really necessary to do it this rough?" He asked you, biting his lip. You didn't respond, outstretching your free hand for him to squeeze which he took gratefully.

"You know, if the team trainer had done this it probably would've hurt less," you said through gritted teeth, taking one last swipe down the wound.

"Ok, ow! Fuck!" He whined at the contact and you rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to call him a big baby. You were not particularly inclined to be dealing with his antics this late, even though you loved Christian more than anything. You slapped a bandage onto the burn, placing a kiss to it, making the classic smile return to his face at the tradition.

"I'll make you breakfast tomorrow morning to make up for the fact I kept you up," he told you while sliding off the chair. You smiled at his words, always a giver.

"Baby, it's fine. You can if you want to, but I tend to your wounds and shit because I love you and want to take care of you." You gave him a kiss on the lips before handing him his water and Advil. "I put you out some sleep clothes after the game ended, I figured you'd be tired," you said while filling up your own water bottle at the fridge. Christian smiled like a fool, wrapping you into his arms for a proper hug once you were done at the fridge.

"God, I love you. Thank you," he said, placing a kiss on the top of your head before making his way to the shower.

One of your favorite things was reminiscing on moments like these with Christian, moments where the health of your relationship shown through. There were so many you could laugh about with him. Christian stood up after another stretch of comfortable silence, attempting to put the fire out to the best of his abilities. You folded the blanket up and placed his bottle in the trash facing away from him. You heard the whoosh of the flames going out, and then felt a tattooed arm wrap around you, scooping you up. He carried you into your house bridal style, a delirious grin on his face the whole way up the stairs, drunk on the joyous memories.

[fallenalienz]

lmfao remember when everyone was convinced that HOTD was going to be a faithful adaptation because that was literally how they chose to promote it? at least D&D waited a few years before they started weaving their fanfiction (season 4 finale was when it all started going wrong imo), these people it seems couldn't wait to do it from the beginning.

and just because it goes off the book doesn't mean it has to be bad either, let alone that bad. their alicent is probably the most contrived and nonsensically written character i've personally ever seen (and pretty much irredeemable at this point too), her storyline feels like it was brainstormed by simpletons with dany or barbie pfps and pop/kpop stans from twitter, that's the level we're operating on here. there's no emotional realism there at all. her existence boils down to serving their girlboss kween self-insert rhaenyra and literally nothing else.

it's really funny that they're trying to frame rhaenyra (who fed a bunch of smallfolk to a dragon just an episode prior) and daemon as fighting for some greater good (and literally invoking 'the divine right of kings' as an argument for her being the rightful ruler ijbol) and daenerys as some messianic figure when we all know how it ends in GOT. in a strange way though, they actually are fixing that ending for me, just not in the way they think, because for how much i hated it when it aired (not dany being a tyrant in and of itself, just how it happened, the heel turn, the gaslighting), after watching this it actually feels satisfying knowing she does what she does and becomes what she becomes and they can't do anything to change that. thank you D&D.

[3terna15unshin3]

I NEED MATTY PROPOSING TO ESTE AND/OR THEIR WEDDING I BEG 🙏🙏

Dedication

The proposal

1420 words

—

a/n: thank u sm for this request bc i loved dreaming this up !!! also slightly inspired by charli and george’s little tea tray bc that broke my heart. wedding blurb may come in the future but for now here's the proposal :))) anyway sorry if this is bad i haven’t written in like over a month😭😭 but i kind of love it so enjoy lmfao love u

Read the main fic here!

—

It’s late in the evening, the summer sun is dim and almost hidden by the horizon. An orange and pink and lilac sky surrounds the mosquitoes that buzz about. Este sits at the small table in their backyard and lights a citronella candle to stop them from nipping at her. It makes the air smell like fond August memories.

She can hear Matty shuffling around the kitchen as he makes the two of them cups of tea. He’s been out at the studio most of the evening, so they ate dinner separately. On nights like these, they almost always share sweet and lazy conversations over a brew afterwards, to make up for that missed time. Their sometimes foggy minds or tense muscles need a way to find solace before resting each night—and Matty and Este find that in each other.

The glass doors reopen to reveal Matty and the two mugs. He had a book tucked under his arm, too.

“Thank you, love,” Este says after he sets hers down. The table is small and round and flush against the concrete wall, so he sits on the left and her on the right. They lean against the house with their teas between them and peer at the sunset, taking leisurely sips.

He hums in response to say ‘you’re welcome’ wordlessly. Then, he hands the book over to Este. “Got you something while I was out.”

Once it’s in her hands, she recognises it to be a copy of And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos by John Berger. It makes her smile since it’s a favourite of hers. Este had never seen the cover design before.

“Is this a new edition?” She asks, admiring its colours and typography and the way they perfectly align with her taste. 

Her eyes break contact with the book to look up at Matty, who gives a nonchalant shrug.

“Not sure,” He says, “Maybe the inside cover will say.”

Matty’s right; the publication information is typically listed within the first few pages. She has to flip and find it quite often for work. Este likes his suggestion, a smile still pinned on her face from the nice surprise as she opens it up to feel its pages. They feel thick and durable and have rough, haphazard edges.

She drags her fingers over them to appreciate their character, then flips past the first page that reads its title, and sets her eyes onto the small text on the opposite side. Before they find any answers Este is looking for, they settle on another—much more important—spectacle. It makes her heart stop. The dedication. She stares at it in shock.

The book is one she’s reread plenty of times, so she remembers John Berger’s small blurb that formally thanks some institutions and few people who helped him put together the prose to follow. But it doesn’t say that. Instead, it reads,

For my Este. I’d like to make you my wife if you’ll let me.

Matty’s knee shakes from the other side of the table. He watches her mouth fall agape and smiles nervously. He isn’t sure why the nerves are there, since he’s never been so sure of anything in his life. But they race through Matty’s body as he waits for her to say something.

He slides the ring in an open velvet box across the table to her when she finally looks up. 

“Are you fucking joking?” Este’s voice quivers. 

She can tell there are words threatening to spill from his tongue and every emotion possible washes over her when she imagines how beautiful the words will be. She has to stop herself from jumping out of her seat and tackling him in excitement and pure adoration.

Tears well up in the corner of her eyes at the expense of those thoughts swirling in her mind and Matty reaches over to wipe one away when it escapes. He does the same to his own when they eventually fall. More rush down her cheek when Este realises that he’s crying too, but of course he is.

“Course I’m not joking,” he starts, voice equally as weak. “There are a million ways I could explain how much I love you and why I am so desperate to marry you, but one that feels so authentic to us is with this. This book is so special. Not only because I know how much you love it—that’s the reason I read it in the first place—but also because it sort of changed me,”

Este reaches across the table to set her hand over his and rub her thumb back and forth against his skin. 

“When I was falling in love with you, so much of that time was spent away from you. It was the busiest year of my life. And in moments—not in doubt, but just in fear of tainting how significant your love was to me—I considered that to be an opportunity for weakness to grow. That maybe one day, that distance could wedge between us. But when I read this, it showed me just how important every aspect of those times are. The far and close. It says,”

‘When you are away, you are nevertheless present for me. This presence is multiform: it consists of countless images, passages, meanings, things known, landmarks, yet the whole remains marked by your absence, in that it is diffuse. It is as if your person becomes a place, your contoured horizons. I live in you then like living in a country. You are everywhere.

In the country which is you I know your gestures, the intonations of your voice, the shape of every part of your body. What changes when you are there before my eyes is that you become unpredictable. What you are about to do is unbeknown to me. I follow you. You act. And with what you do, I fall in love again.’

“And yes, I did memorise that for the purpose of reciting it back to you,” They both laugh. “But it wasn’t hard, because it felt so true. You are everywhere, Este. Even when we aren’t face-to-face, everything I know of this world is through what it means to love you. And all I want for the rest of my life is for you to keep doing and for me to keep falling in love with it.”

By now, the neckline of his t-shirt is dampened with the tears. Matty gets up from his chair to kneel between her legs and hold Este’s waist. The rise and fall of her breathing is unsteady from all the crying but it still calms him. She cups his face like it’s the last time she’ll ever have the chance to.

“Marry me, please,” She utters desperately and brings his face up to kiss him. Matty’s lips taste of salt and English Breakfast tea. They can feel each other’s grins.

“I think I'm supposed to say that,” he argues, leaning his forehead against Este’s.

“Took too long.” She jokes. Matty stands and lifts her into an embrace. Her legs wrap around him and he spins with joy, then sets her down. 

“Was the speech too cheesy?” asks Matty, half-serious.

Este shakes her head. “You are everywhere, Matty.”

They stand and stare, wiping the last of the tears off of each other’s faces. He turns to reach for the ring and she lets him slip it onto her finger. She admires its chunky bezel and the way she hadn't seen an engagement ring quite like it before. Este kisses him once more, and studies his hysteric smile. His eyes are squinty.

And then, they go about their evening. They sit back down, each in their usual chair; and though their teas are a bit cold now, it doesn’t bother them. 

Matty explains that he found a local Manchester book binder to design a cover for And Our Faces specifically for her, and to bind the proposal into its dedication. He even chose the font, paper, and roughed edges that he thought she'd like the best. Este expresses how perfectly loving the gesture is and grips the book—now the most prized in her collection—with passion.

Excited discussions of a ceremony (its venue and her dress and his suit and how soon they can do it) are exchanged over their now empty mugs as what's left of the orange summer sun washes over them with charisma.

Somehow it can’t make the moment any more beautiful than it already is.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

i know you said request are closed but when they are open again (if they are again) could you possibly do alex keller just coming home from deployment with smut? your price writing are so amazing btw i’ve been reading them for 2 days now

Again, this is a super old ask, lmfao, sorry about that. I offer you pure filth for forgiveness.

Warnings: smut, NSFW, F!Reader, etc. (18+)

Wet slapping echoed off the walls, held back whines trapped in your throat as your thighs burn with exertion. Alex lays under you, head tilted back and neck bared; his fingers bruise your hips as he groans and gasps through gritted teeth.

When he came home from his assignment overseas, he'd known he'd been gone longer than anticipated, but if he'd known you'd been this desperate for him he would have gotten on the first plane home.

"Fuck," your boyfriend whimpers, rapid, messy, slurping in his ears as you jump up and down on his cock, back arched and tits bouncing as your cunt swallows him. Dripping sweat slides off your bodies, a testament to the feral way you'd been riding him for what seems like hours.

Alex can't even remember the number of times he'd felt his stomach bunch; eyes clamping shut as his throat groaned deeply. Multiple releases bleed over his thighs and pelvis, sloppy fluids connecting flesh in strings of slick cum.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, b-been needin' this since I got off that damn p-," his voice cuts out as you clamp around him, his sensitive dick twitching as you grind with a mewl playing on your lips. The man's hips jump as his back arches harshly, forcing out," P...plane! Ah!"

Your mouth is open with ecstasy, and above him, you're quite the vulgar picture of instinctual desperation. He can't help the way he watches you with hickeys down his neck and chest; pulsing purple bruises adding to the tightening of his thighs. Alex's fingers kneed your flesh in desperation, pleasure so sharp it borders on pain stuck in the lines on his forehead.

"P-please," he whimpers, and you drag your nails down his pecs in long lines of red. "God."

Alex gets more shaky and desperate, hands moving up to grip your hips despite the loose and lax hold in his weak rapture. At the incoming clench of his balls and the panicked widening of his eyes, his hips start to cant into yours in broken thrusts. Whined moans and dog tags stuck around his neck like a collar.

You grab at them as he thrusts up into you, gasping and faltering for a moment at the dig. Shared eyes, blown with lust and orgasmic torment. Alex feels your pussy tighten and watches your lashes flutter when your clit bumps into his lower abdomen, stimulating you perfectly on his happy trail.

"A-Alex, missed you s'much, Baby," you slur out with heaving lungs. The man's cock jumps harder, pace somehow increasing as you both roll your thighs. "Feel so full with you inside me. S-so good."

Neither of you would be getting out of this bed tomorrow.

Alex starts to breathe heavily again, his body trembling. He grits his teeth and starts to match your movements, groaning loudly into the air with broken need. He almost seems to be growling as he presses himself into you, his wound coil growing second by second. By the look on your face and the way your expression breaks with breathy moans, you're not far behind him in this senseless fucking session.

The man's surprised the both of you can even still speak over the sensation of his grating cock entering and exiting your tight hole. Echoing off the walls, cut-off cries grow in volume and breathiness, each accented by a violent thrust consisting of oxycontin and bare impulse. The bed frame has put a dent in the wall with its repetitive knocking, a telltale slam-slam-slam that makes the both of you thankful you don't have neighbors.

Fuck, you were acting like horny teenagers; drunk off each other's scent and the sheen of bliss—there just wasn't any stopping.

With the coil growing and growing, abs clenching and dog tags in your grip, Alex lets you manhandle his chin so you can shove your tongue down his throat; hands grasping around your waist to thrust up into you at a better angle.

Your eyes roll back, saliva dripping from your chins to splatter Alex's chest. His mustache burns over your lower face, but it doesn't stop you from bringing him back in, sucking and biting on his lips.

"I—" Alex shakes, groaning in between passes of your mouth and the heat on his cheeks. "Christ, S...Sweetheart, I'm gonna," his entire body is tight, dick moving even more wildly with its prodding tip grazing your cervix. Your body spasms and you cry out, cunt hugging him like it doesn't want him to leave. Slick and the score of previous rounds slap wetly as skin connects over and over, making flesh shine. A tipping point is reached with high voices and rapid lungs. "I-I'm gonna—!"

You both snap at the same time.

Alex's head goes back into the pillow, back completely leaving the bed in an arch and cock throbbing as he spills his load inside of your wet heat with broken ruts that make him whimper. On top of his form, your entire form goes limp, legs shaking as you collapse onto your boyfriend's gasping chest with ragged breaths and feel the flood of his orgasm spreading inside of your womb.

The spend seeps out like the others, pussy completely full and pulsing; raw with the feeling of cum bubbling through the plug of Alex's cock.

Both of you try not to move, catching your respective breaths with legs spread wide and vibrating. After a long, long while where you nearly pass out from pure exhaustion, you feel Alex's chest rise fast for a moment. You peek a slow eye and groan as your boyfriend starts laughing.

Your mouth releases a low whine as his dick jumps inside of your clutch and Alex also winces moments later.

"...Fuck, Doll." Lips quirking, a sweaty hand finds your spine, and fingers tap against the vertebrae in broken intervals of shakes. You practically purr like a cat as the hoarse voice rasps out, "You, uh, you sure know how to welcome a guy home, huh?"