#if i was a million times hotter and stronger

[ssaltlicker]

So normal about this

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Choke On The Sun

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

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

WORDCOUNT: 13.8k

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

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

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

It went something like this. 

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

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

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

The timing could have been more opportune.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown, glancing at the door. 

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

“I don’t know his name—!”

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

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

You blink. 

“Denmark?” You mutter, brows furrowing. 

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

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

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

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

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

It’s too late to gain a conscious now.

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

The radio on your chest sizzles to life.

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

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

“Coming to you.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was so quiet here. 

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

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

“No hello, then, Hart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only after the wind shifts again did you speak.

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

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

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

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

You are made of memories. 

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

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

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

Tall; formidable. 

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

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

“Join?”

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

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

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

“Oh?” Your brow raises. 

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

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

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

A hand is moved out to you, hovering. 

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

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

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

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

“Never,” he chuffs, squeezing your limb. 

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

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

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

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

“Hart? It’s Laswell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Surprised to see us?” The Scot calls. 

You scoff. “Laswell gave you up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get in your seat, Captain.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Location: London, England

Time: 1718

Operation: ‘Purple Cloth’

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

There can be no failure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emmett and the target are nearing an alley. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The line is silent. 

Silent before a loud gunshot rings.

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

“Hart!” 

“He’s in the alley!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would you do that, Emmett?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be seeing you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M’not doing anything, Love.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then so will I.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Heart.

But it’s never that simple. 

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

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

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

You loved each other. 

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

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

What should be. 

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

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

It’s a low mutter into your flesh.

“I know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be here.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wraith of lies and murder.

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

And now you have a positive ID.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Negative, I’ll get on it—”

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

“Rog. Will do.” 

You patch into John’s frequency.

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

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

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

It was so ironic it made alarm bells go off.

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

“Explain.”

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

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

“Ninety,” you breathe. 

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

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

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

Not you. 

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

You both knew you wouldn’t stand for it.

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

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

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

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

Emmett was a snake. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Right here, Ma’am.”

“Good. Don’t engage—I’m moving in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not particularly,” you stare at him.

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rage makes your eyes go to slits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare, face tight. 

Emmett hums and his eyes go to slits. 

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The entire building just went up in—”

“Fucking Christ—”

“Price, what is this?”

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

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

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

Where were you? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“...Don’t make me laugh.”

Emmett growls, eyes wide with hatred. 

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

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

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

It’s nothing. 

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

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

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

You’ve gone through worse.

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

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

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

“Everyone has a breaking point.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John was ready to rip people to pieces. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was love—that was duty.

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

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

Laswell frowns tightly at him. 

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

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

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

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

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

—

Day Three:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It sounded like a choking fish.

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

Day five:

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

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

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

But you admitted yours would only come after your death.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

But this might finally give him something to act on. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How,” Simon asks, moving closer. 

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

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

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

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

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

But this is something else. 

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

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

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

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

“Am I green, Laswell?”

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

“You’re green, Captain.”

—

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

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

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

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

Where was John?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crack.

…Crack.

….Crack.

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

Emmet Kinsman died as he lived. 

A fucking piece of shit.

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

But the brain is a funny thing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blue eyes on a grassy hill.

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

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

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

But the pain is lesser now. Easier to manage. 

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

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

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

Your chest is heavy. 

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

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

It’s a double-edged sword.

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

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

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

—

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

“She’s dropping!”

“Get me the defibrillator!”

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

“Again!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Forget something, John?”

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

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

“It’s fine; gets me moving, eh?”

“Just grab us if you need anything else!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like shit,” you utter, voice cracking.

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

“Easy, Love.” 

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

You stare at him, and he stares at you. 

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

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

Your eyes snap back.

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

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

“No,” you say, “no, it’s…I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

“When do I get to go back?”

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

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

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

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

You close your eyes and sigh, frowning. 

A low chuckle moves along the air a second later. 

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

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

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

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

“Scared me,” John admits under his breath. 

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

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

“Hart,” he grunts. “I…”

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

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

“I love you.” 

Your nose lets a chuff exit. Was that all?

“I love you, too, John—”

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

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

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

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

“I love you.” 

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

All that remained was the pesky words.

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

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

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

It’s there you had a revelation.

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

He’d always just been saying Heart.

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

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

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

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

“Seems I’d better get on that, then.”

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

Thank you all very much for your support.

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[elliesbff]

“i need you.” — abby anderson

summary: abby's working out at the gym with more than working on her body on her mind. when she realises you're staring at her, there was only one goal in sight notes: nsfw, oral sex (abby! receiving) fingering (abby! receiving) slight dacryphilia, slight voyeurism? softdom!reader, sub!abby. enjoy! wc: 3,284 | tags: @starrywilliams my realest oomf

read pt 2 of " i need you " here!

abby was pumping it at the gym as per usual, with less than pure thoughts racing through her mind. she’s been feeling… weird. something she knew was bound to come sooner or later, but it’s been pushed to the back of her mind so far that she’d been oblivious to it until now.

you.

her patrol partner, but by this point, you guys were more than just ‘friends.’ she’d had deep, obsessive thoughts about you. ones she’s too embarrassed to talk aloud — ones where she feels weak at the knees just by thinking about it.

abby’s hand flex open and closed from a fist, grabbing onto the weighted bar she was laying underneath. she had to let off some steam or else these thoughts would nevertheless, totally consume her.

she picks the bar up with ease, her blood already flowing in a coursing stream from the millions of dirty things she wanted you to do to her. it was filthy, and she couldn’t help but let out a little groan thinking about what power you’d have over her strong, muscular figure.

how your soft fingers would trail over her arms in wonder, unbeknownst to you, it would be the only thing she’s thinking off at night when fucking herself off to the thought of you.

you’re gleaming eyes, ones she’d fantasised would stare her down as you’d pound into her cunt with your tongue.

and not-suprsingly, your thighs. she has a thing for those, especially yours. it’s something she’d wish you’d rub all over her own as your moans and whines would meld together to form one sickening melody.

abby kept her eyes on the ball, squeezing the bar as tight as she could manage while lifting the bar up and down.

“4…. 5…. 6….”

she huffed out in even yet laboured breaths. it wasn’t the workout that forced her out of breath, it was you.

you were now standing outside the glass walls across the gym, giving abby a curious look as you analysed her workout routine. your eyes grazed across her arms, how they were already dripping with sweat, and her reddening face from what you presumed was her laboured session.

little to your knowledge, she felt heated from you and your eyes forcing daggers through her throat, making breathing like a normal human a challenge.

“13….14….15….”

abby puffs out, letting the bar rest on the bench press. she sits up, wiping a gleam of sweat from her forehead as she averts your piercing gaze. it suddenly felt hotter than usual, not just with you staring at her, but her core. it felt fluttery, and all the more warm.

she couldn’t help but rub her thighs together to try and fight off that feeling, but it’d only made it grow stronger with each swipe of friction from her work-out shorts.

maybe that’s why you were staring.

how her ass perfectly fit within the fabric, and every time she’d squat with weights above her shoulders, it grew more pronounced than ever. it was enough to make you melt right into the concrete floor.

abby hurriedly picked up her waterbottle, taking a large group of sips from it before pulling away with a couple heaved breaths. she stood up right upon you entering the gym, knowing she can’t avoid you entirely, she shyly walks up to you.

“hey.. you in for today?” she asks, a lump beginning to form in her throat as you look up at her with those adorable beady eyes.

“yeah, i missed out yesterday from our patrol.. you leaving already?” you ask, lips curling into an indiscreet grin.

“ah yeah.. i’ve done my fair share of work, but i’ll catch you soon, yeah?” she reaches her hand out, presumably to pull you into a hug like she does with the rest of her mates. but you were irrevocably different.

“mhm, let me know if you ever wanna have a session with me.” abby pulls you closer, her hand almost wrapping around your waist entirely. it amazed you how she could do that.

abby nods, her cheeks flaring up as you flashed a smile. god you were so sweet. too sweet for her but she craves it.

she picks up the pace and heads out of the gym to her room. turning around all twists and corners, nooks and crannies until she makes it to her door.

her legs are squeezed together, she can already feel what’s about to happen as soon as those doors fly open.

—

abby, all heated and breathless, is laying on her bed. the sheets are all sprawled out in whichever direction, which she could care less about. her fingers are madly thrusting in and out of her seeping, needy hole, the only thing on her mind is the thought of you spreading her thighs and licking all around her cunt, lips and all.

her whines are muffled with her hand plastered over her lips, so desperately wanting to shout out to you, to call your name and have you tell her she’s taking you so well.

“mmfh.. c’mon..”

her eyes rolled to the back of her head, to the sides and closed shut as the friction caused by her fingers slamming into her was making her legs spasm. it was hard to keep going knowing you weren’t really there between her thighs and drinking up all her delicious juices, but it felt so real.

her whines grew needier, with strands of her dirty blonde locks sticking to her forehead with sweat. she took her calloused hand away from her mouth for a moment to palm her tits, letting her fingers twist and massage her nipples. she audibly whined, shutting her eyes tightly as to imagine you were the one touching her, making her feel so good.

her eyes began to well up with tears, drops of her pleasure trickling down her rosy cheeks as she moaned out your name. over, and over, and over,

“abby?”

her eyes fly open to see you standing beside her bed, with your arms crossed and an almost stunned expression on your face?

abby grabs at a pillow that was next to her head, pulling it close to her flushed body with the most mortified look painting her face.

“oh- oh my god-” she sheepishly mutters. her voice grows an inch of an octave as she nervously stutters to grab the scrunched up blanket instead to cover her large figure.

“i’m- oh my god, i’m so sorry-”

if she felt embarrassed before, she’d now experienced her life literally flashing before her eyes as you towered over her.

“abby.. were you..?” you trail off, trying to hide that smug look on your face with a hand.

“no, i.. no i wasn’t..”

she searches for an excuse, one that would be believable enough for you to entertain. but she knew you were smarter than that. you could see right through her, now more than ever.

“abby...” you almost coo at her, sitting beside her and placing a hand on her thigh. just because she was embarrassed and still trapped in a state of shock didn’t mean that she wasn’t actively feeling her liquids pool out of her at your touch.

“i’m so sorry, i don’t know what i was thinking-”

you cut her off.

“ ‘s nothing to be ashamed of.” you pronounce. your eyes are locked onto hers, although she’s desperately attempting to avoid you entirely. she wanted to skip to maybe 5 minutes ago when this whole thing started so she wouldn’t have gotten carried away and basically fucked herself to the thought of you.

abby remained silent.

“..what were you saying? ‘i need you?’ ” you directly quote, making abby’s lips quiver in shame. it felt so good in the moment but she hadn’t ever expected you to walk in on her.

abby doesn’t respond, the reality of her actions slowly washing over her, each wave bringing her a sense of shame. shame she wished she could undo at the snap of her slick-covered fingers.

the atmosphere grew tense with each beat of silence that passed them by, but you were less than disgusted.

“..y’know, i can maybe help you out, if you’d like?”

your needy hand lightly trailed up and down her thigh, making abby shiver with want. your face inches closer to her, but only proceeding if she agreed.

she keeps her head down, but you can feel she wants it, she’s just too embarrassed to say anything. abby’s thighs begin to discreetly rub against each other, her liquids generously covering her inner thighs. that was enough of a sign for you.

“just sit there and relax, don’t do anything except look pretty, m’kay?” you whisper, words laced with sincerity as you pulled her closer with your index finger and thumb.

"this okay?" you ask in a soft tone one final time, but abby can't contain herself anymore, her needy lips meeting yours with nothing short of a moan. your lips are immediately locked, lapping over each other like you hadn't been touched in years. you could both just feel the desperation from each other as abby cubed your cheek with her hand, the one she was just using to pleasure herself a moment ago.

abby moans once more whilst you deepen the kiss, swapping saliva and messily letting your tongues meld together. now you could only hope no one would walk in on you both this time.

you pull away for a breather as you placed her hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her to lay on the small bed.

"shh, let me do the work" you coo, placing a wet kiss to her throat, your mouth sparing no break at sucking on her sweet spot, earning a soft whine from abby. oh how pretty her moans were. they drifted so effortlessly through the air like the wind on a fresh summer morning. you could feel just how needy she was for you by the way her hand aimlessly massaged your back. your back shivered, her touch making you tingle in all the right spots.

you begin to make your way down to her chest, pulling the blanket away from her breathtaking figure. her tits were perked up, just for you. she turned her head away from you as you gawked at them. although you'd just caught a glimpse of them as you walked in, they looked more savoury up close. you immediately jump to kiss her sweet nipples that just begged for you to touch them. you lapped your tongue around them a couple times before sucking them, saliva perfectly coating her pretty buds. she dubiously let out a whimper, her cheeks growing rosier each second you spent eyeing her.

"please.." she muttered in a dragged whine, which caught your attention.

"please what? use your words baby," you pulled away for a second, your tongue slightly perking out from between your lips. teasing her, you flicked her tit erupting a whimper from abby.

"just.. please, fuck me." she whispered. you didn't feel the need to make her spend aloud as that was all you needed. you knew no bounds as you lowered yourself, passing her stomach, her waist and abdomen. thanks to abby, she was already undressed from the moment you walked in, so there was no need to undress her and waste time.

your eye were met with a pretty, lightly trimmed bush above the most irresistible pussy you've ver laid your eyes on. you swab a finger across her clit, passing by her lips and her hole that desperately clenched around nothing. how adorable.

"mmm, so wet.." you hummed at the sight. you breathed onto her skin, the warm air sending rounds of shivers up and down her spine that slightly arched off the bed. she let her hand gently grip onto your hair, although you haven't even worked your magic yet.

you run another finger across her pussy, picking up her liquids and playing with it, circling her needy hole wit her own juices. she squirmed, making you have to hold her down with your less than buff arms. this was going to be a journey.

"hold still baby, i haven't even started." you chuckled, to which she ran her fingers through your messed up locks. you let your tongue fall flat, swiping it along her folds. a quiet moan elicits from her parted lips, trying to contain herself and not let herself go instantly.

you begin to slowly lick at her bud, seeing just how sensitive she was as she squirmed at there touch. you held her in place, slithering your arms around her thighs and over your head. you pick up the pace suddenly, flicking your tongue at an even and steady pace. not too fast and not too slow, just enough for abby to grip a chunk of your hair into a fist and bucking her hips into your face.

abby was melting under your touch, almost every couple seconds she'd whimper quietly, and if you worked hard enough she'd even call your name in that pretty, sultry voice of hers. you wished you'd experienced this sooner.

your nose pokes at her bud while you let your tongue roam around her hole, licking at all her tasty juices like it was fresh, icy water. she whines,

"oh.. ohh..."

abby's eyes gradually develop a rim of tears below her lash line, a tear or two trickling down her freckled cheeks while you relentlessly lapped around her cunt. she bucked into you, giving you a full taste of her as you dove deeper into her trench. your grip on her thighs tightened each time sheared to squirm out of your touch.

"i'm- mfhm.." she kept her eyes on you the entire time, watching as you paid close attention to the area that needed you most. your eyes pull away from her cunt for a second, looking up at those equally as gorgeous eyes that fluttered open and tightly shut when you began to suckle at her clit. she began to shiver, her legs almost squeezing your head to pulp.

"im close.." she managed to say without letting a moan slip, her free hand slapping over her mouth as you continuously lap over her pretty pussy, her hips actively squirming away and bucking into you at the same time. it wasn't like you cared, since all that mattered was how abby was reacting to the way you constantly abused her engorged clit.

you pull away for a second, your head lifting from in between her soaked thighs as you leaned closer to her face.

"suck." you gently demanded before sticking two fingers out for her to have her fun with. you gave her a soft smile, admiring just how irresistible and perfect she looked in this moment, along with her messy braid which concocted of loose strands and hair sticking to her flushed face from sweat. her eyes remained half lidded as she grabbed your wrist with her hand, feeling her trembling when she takes you into her mouth. the warmth of her tongue makes you shiver with delight. she circles her tongue around you, in between your digits and your fingers as a whole. you don't push her in taking in the whole thing, letting her enjoy the feeling of you.

you pull out your fingers from her mouth, your thumb gently caressing her bottom lip in adoration. "good girl," you whisper voice soft as velvet as you lean in to give her a kiss on the lips. all she can do is smile back as you waste no time in diving back between her thighs, prodding at her hole whilst it clenched around nothing yet again.

she's filling up in a matter of seconds. you gently push a finger through, feeling her walls gently tighten around you. another moan escapes from her puffy lips as you circle around her clit that twitched just for you.

"just relax, abby. i know you can take it." you tell her, your words muffled by her hips bucking into you time and time again. your fingers seep deeper into her hole, already beginning to pull in and out at a steady pace. the combination of your swift tongue and your leisurely fingers was enough to make her sob with arousal. you worked her body so well.

abby mumbled curses under her breath as you incessantly began to suck on her clit. she squirms and grinds on your tongue to feel your tastebuds drag on her swollen bud. her moans grew louder with each passing moment, shivering like a helpless wet puppy.

you’re fingers picked up the pace, curling in spots she’d never experimented with before. she arches her back well off the mattress and whines, her gorgeous groans echoing through the spacious room.

“fuck- please, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

she’s close. you can tell from the way abby’s fingers interlock with your locks again, she pulls on it like the reigns of a horse, guiding you where she wants you. licking and sucking and rubbing along all the right places gets her thighs quivering besides your head.

you keep the same pace with your fingers, now evenly pushing them in and out. each thrust covers you fingers with more and more slick as abby moans one final time, her grip on your hair tightening. she pulls on it for you to halt, but you don’t stop.

“please- i can’t take more..”

“yes you can baby, you got one more in you. you got it.”

you whisper, still attacking her clit with your ravishing tongue that kept the same movements. you pushed in and out with your soaked fingers, making it easier to curl upwards and feel the insides of her intensely clenched walls.

she screams in a whine, her eyes welled with tears as she prepares for her second climax. it felt so good, so much better than her just fucking herself. and she knew if she ever got the chance with you, you’d take care of her so well

in a matter of moments, she cums again, back falling flat on the bed. her juices elegantly flow in waves out of her pussy when you slowly pull your fingers out. you’re never seen such a delicious sight. licking one final swab of her cunt, her cum laid generously on the tip of your tongue.

abby was such a mess. her hair sticking to her face and neck, eyes pink from crying, lips puffy from kissing. she’d never looked so beautiful.

“you did so well abby, took me so well.”

you plant a kiss on her forehead, too dazed for her to reciprocate.

all she does is moan in response, earning a chuckle out of you.

she mumbles felt so good under her breath as you pull away to get her cleaned up. wiping at her liquids that generously coated her thighs and her cunt.

“hmm, was that good?”

you asked, looking up at her chasmic blue eyes. she seemed deep in thought.

“better than i imagined.” she poked at their previous embarrassing encounter with each other.

“how long have you been… getting off to me?” you ask out of the blue, only realising how strange the question really was when abby gave you a surprised look.

“uh.. well, quite a while actually.” she responds after some time. it’s not a question people get asked often, so she didn’t really know what to say.

“mmhm..” you hum, letting your fingers roam around her chest. the blanket used to cover abby previously was now laid over you both as you rest from the heat of the moment.

“..can i have a turn?”

HELLO!!! this is the first thing i’ve properly written since like.. 2 yrs ago or smth LMAO. pls be nice cos i've never written for tlou before and wanted to captivate abby’s personality perfectly!! i hope you enjoyed!! and feedback is appreciated thank u ♡

[sam-loves-seb]

look. I know there are probably a million and a half takes on this, but I had this thought, and it wouldn’t leave my brain, so now you have to deal with it too.

ian is not the sun.

ian is the moon, and mickey is the sun.

mickey is the sun, at least in ian’s eyes he is, because ian’s whole world starts ends and revolves around his husband. the pull mickey has on him feels like a gravitational orbit, stronger than any crush or infatuation ever has been, and no matter how much distance (physical and metaphorical) ian puts between them, he always—always—comes back to mickey. and mickey, well he burns hotter and brighter than just about anyone else they know, all barely checked temper and hot seething rage, and hell hath no fury like a mickey scorned because he will burn you faster than any fire ever could. and god, his eyes—do not get ian started on mickey’s eyes—they’re as blue as a cloudless sky on a summer’s day, all warm and wide and vast as the horizon, and ian could stare at them for hours the way he’d stare up at the sky in the backyard as a kid. and yeah, maybe sometimes you can’t look directly at mickey, like maybe you’ll get hurt if you stare for too long, but ian’s best friends are a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of spf, so he’s not exactly new to the sun game, and if he’s the only one who knows how to handle it—that’s more than fine with the both of them

and ian—ian is the moon the way mickey needs air to breathe, because yeah, maybe he’s all smiley and lukewarm to everyone he fucking meets, but that’s not ian, not the real ian, that’s just good fucking manners or whatever shit ian says, but mickey doesn’t care about that. mickey cares about the ian that’s only for him, the one that is there for him through everything, even the bad shit, like the little sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains on a really dark night, the little bit of comfort that’s enough to get him through the dark times and keep going until morning, like the guiding light on the sidewalks when he wanders home from work or the alibi or whatever late at night when the streets are empty and he’s alone. because mickey’s never really alone, not now that’s for sure, but not even then, when there were miles (metaphorical and literal) between them, because mickey would look up at the moon through the bars on the rec room window or the patio from his apartment in mexico and he’d think of ian, and his stupid fucking lopsided curved grin creeping up on his face like a crescent moon in its own right, and it’d be enough to get him til morning. even now, when he can’t sleep and he’s restless, he still looks for the moon, only now he doesn’t look out the window—why would he when he has the real thing on the other side of his mattress—he throws an arm and a leg over his husband like he’d lasso the moon if he could, and he pulls ian closer.

ian goes through phases, up down then up again, and they’re manageable, almost predictable if you study it close enough, like the phases of the moon or the flow of the tide, in and out, waxing and waning, and mickey loves all versions of ian, the full bright smiles and the dark barely there days, and every variation in between. because ian is still ian, no matter what stage he’s currently in, the same way the moon is still that bright glowing rock in the sky night after night, and mickey is happy to get pushed and pulled like waves on the shore under ian’s influence.

mickey studies the galaxies printed on ian’s body, across his chest and stomach, his shoulders and his arms, even the little ones dotting the backs of ian’s hands, and mickey finds peace in the stardust that paints ian’s skin, in the constellations he maps out on ian’s face with his lips, and even tho the freckles there are more faded then when they were kids, mickey still knows where every single one of them is. he brushes his fingers over the new one above his eyebrow, the one ian got after spending a little too much time with his tomato plant the other day, and mickey feels like an astronomer discovering a new star that he just never would’ve been able to see five, ten years ago on his own personal night sky, but he’s here to see it now so he kisses his latest discovery and falls asleep dreaming of a name for his newest constellation

[chastitycuck801]

NOTE TO MYSELF (and possibly others like me): Just in case you were wondering (or got the stupid idea that you may one day get to enjoy pussy or any sex with a girl whatsoever), here is a good sample set of ALL the beautiful ASS and PUSSY and TITTIES that you are now, and always will be, missing out on. You're in chastity. You've lost the 'sexual battle' for attention from women to other, stronger, hotter, and better MEN; all of whom get to freely enjoy the bodies of these women while you can't even play with your own dick. Women in general have collectively forbidden you from even the pleasure of masturbation and much prefer you to always be locked in chastity. You don't deserve to cum - so don't. Unless you are given explicit permission FROM A FEMALE to indulge in sexual pleasure and experience the enjoyment of having an orgasm - DON'T!

You should be using your mouth to make other guys cum, so that's exactly what you should do. Let the chastity sexualize your inadequacy and start offering blowjobs to guys. Always swallow every drop of cum they shoot into your mouth and don't you dare spit anything out. You are to fully swallow every single load that you're given. Just think, if you give just 3 or 4 blowjobs per week, you'll be a professional cock sucker in no time! Remember to use LOTS and LOTS of spit and don't drag your teeth! Trust in the advice that millions of women have offered on giving head - they know what they're talking about. And if you do what they say, you'll do a wonderful job making other men cum harder than ever with that mouth and tongue of your's.

Always remember - you're much better off locked in chastity - not only for women, but also for yourself. Rid yourself of the ludicrous concept that you 'deserve' an orgasm, that it's your 'right' to have sex, that it's 'only fair and natural' to get pussy and cum inside of a woman. None of that is true. You're a loser that has NEVER made a woman cum because you are plagued with a tiny, useless dick that deserves to be locked in chastity for the rest of your life. You're naturally a horny, chronic masturbator that can't keep his hands off his little 'idiot stick', so as a result, it should be locked up. All penises as small as your's belong in chastity. Strict, tight, and punitive chastity. The kind of chastity that makes your brain turn to mush when faced with a woman's commands. But you know that. You know chastity cages where made with simps like you in mind. There's a reason chastity cages are made only in smaller sizes - so they can accommodate the little penises they're meant to confine and keep out of the way of the real, big ones! I mean, let's be honest. You know you've never seen any chastity cages marketed for "Big Dicks" of "BBC Cock Cages" now have you? No, you haven't. And that's because men with big dicks don't belong in chastity. Only losers do, losers just like YOU. As a general rule, if your penis is small enough to fit inside a chastity device, then your penis belongs in one. And, unfortunately for you, you fall perfectly into that category. And even beyond that, you know that as you are sitting here typing this, your dick is so small that you needed to order a NANO-SIZED chastity cage (literally the 2nd smallest one that Holy Trainer makes); just so you could get the right fit for the remainder of your loser existence. And remember - YOU are the one that paid extra for your chastity cage to be hot pink with pink sparkles… could you get any more pathetic than that? Well, yes you could and you know you probably will after a lot more chastity - but don't fight it. STAY LOCKED. STAY HORNY AND STUPID. FIGHT THE URGE TO SELFISHLY UNLOCK YOUR PENIS TO MASTURBATE AND CUM. INSTEAD, LET YOUR AROUSAL MAGNIFY EXPONENTIALLY AND CHANNEL YOUR HORNINESS INTO THE ONLY THING YOU'RE WORTHY OF - SERVING, SPOILING, AND SIMPING FOR WOMEN.

Chastity has me DOWN BAD. And I LOVE IT. I'm a horny, horny, horny little chastity boy right now.

[morgannite22]

Liquid Courage

Ship: Kalego/Momonoki

It was after the Harvest Festival and the teachers were all celebrating together over some drinks. Kalego being the bitter man, ordered the most expensive wine when he found out it was on the principles coin. Unbeknownst to him the wine was much stronger than he anticipated which led to this moment of him sitting there feeling quite drunk.

On the other side of the room sat Momonoki with a glass of wine in her hand. Despite her grandfather protecting her she managed to be able to look around him and see Kalego. Though she had her own buzz going on she felt her face get hotter when she saw the flush on Kalego’s face. ‘He looks so good like that,’ she thought to herself.

As time went on Morax got distracted which gave Momonoki the opportunity to talk to Kalego. Normally she would have been too nervous, but the alcohol gave her a boost of courage.

Getting up from her spot, she made her way over to Kalego. “H-Hey,” she said as she sat down next to him.

Slowly turning his head, it took a second for Kalego to recognize that it was Momonoki. “Hmn”

Momonoki felt her face flush even more when she saw the glossy eyes and flush on Kalego's cheeks. Not wanting to see weird for staring for so long she quickly stammered out, “S-So, how are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s fine I guess…” Kalego said with a slur present in his voice. “You?”

Momonoki jumped a bit at the question, but quickly said, “It’s good!”

The awkward silence was once again happening and Momonoki quickly tried to think of a way to break it. Before she could say anything her thoughts were quickly interrupted. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said you look good,” Kalego repeated.

For a second Momonoki’s mind had quit working. ‘Did I hear him right? No, that can’t be. Must be the alcohol,’ she thought. Her thoughts were once interrupted again when she noticed that Kalego had moved closer to her. The look on his face had caused to her flush. ‘Dammit, he’s so hot!’ she thought.

“You think so?” Kalego asked.

“Huh?” Momonoki said as she looked at Kalego in confusion.

“You think I’m hot?” Kalego asked with a bit of shock.

It was then that Momonoki realized she had accidentally said her thoughts out loud. She covered her face as embarrassment had overtaken her. ‘I can’t believe I said that! Stupid stupid booze! I hate you! What am I going to do now?!’ She screamed to herself in her head.

Momonoki suddenly felt one of her hands being pulled away from her face. Looking up she noticed it was Kalego who did it. When she glanced down, she noticed that his hand was holding hers. She could feel the roughness of his hand.

“You really shouldn’t cover such a pretty face,” Kalego cooly said while looking her in the eye.

Momonoki felt herself flush and was in complete shock at what Kalego had said. The stone-cold guard dog of Babyls complimented her and was practically flirting with her. She wanted to pinch herself to see if it was just a dream, though the feeling of her hand being squeezed brought her attention back to him. Not knowing what to say all she uttered was an “Um…”

It was then that Kalego flashed her that million-dollar smile that had the ability to make any girl swoon. Momonoki herself felt charmed, but the feeling of Kalego’s hand holding hers was enough to keep her in the moment. “S-So…” Momonoki nervously said.

“So?” Kalego repeated back as he lifted up his other hand and placed it on her cheek.

‘This can’t be happening,’ Momonoki thought to herself as her face was quite flushed.

“Oh, but it is~” Kalego muses.

‘Not again!’ Momonoki shouts to herself for letting her thoughts spill out. It was then that Momonoki felt an unfamiliar sensation on her lips. She then realized that it was Kalego kissing her. ‘W-WHAT! WHAT IS GOING ON?’ she screamed inside her head.

A few seconds later Kalego pulled away. He looked at her for a second, but then his head fell flat against the table.

Getting over the initial shock of being kissed, she looked down at Kalego in concern. “Kalego?”

“Oh he’s fine,” a familiar voice interrupted.

When Momonoki looked up, she saw that it was Balam. “Is he okay? What’s going on,” she asked concerned.

“He’s asleep. I guess the poor guy couldn’t handle his liquor,” Balam said as he lifted Kalego up into his arms. “I think it’s about time I get him home. You have a good night Momonoki-sensei.”

Before Momonoki could say anything, Balam had already walked away. She was left sitting there with the thoughts of what the hell just happened. Looking up, she saw some of the other teachers in the room looking at her with grins plastered on their faces.

“So~ Wanna tell us what happened~” Raim teases with a grin.

All Momonoki could do was sigh. “Why me?’

[writingalterras]

Time for some information about Lord Valthoraxe.

Visual appearance;

Valthoraxe is a large bipedal with similar proportions to a human male. He is 265, 438cm (roughly 8’8”), weights 482,66 kg (1064,08 lbs), and is extremely muscular. Beyond that, all other features are the stuff of our nightmares. Horizontal slits for pupils, irises that burn dark orange, and eye whites as gray as stone. He possesses no hair, ears or nose, yet is still able to smell and hear. There are deep slits where his ears ought to be that glow a faint orange, and reports say there are similar “glands” at the roof of his mouth. Speaking of his mouth, you can only barely make out a pointed and very thin grey tongue behind a set of massive pointed grey teeth. The bottom row of teeth is slightly further back in the mouth, but it still perfectly aligns with the top row, creating a wall of knives whenever he grins.

His skin is perhaps the most unsettling of all. It’s an extremely dark purple, borderline black, and has a cracked and rough texture like rock or obsidian. This stone hide is strong enough to stop any known blade dead in it’s tracks, and a very faint orange glow seeps through the cracks in the skin. Several bones can be seen pushing against the skin, being his two spines, shoulder blades, knuckles, calf bones, and forearm bones. The should, forearm, and calf bones look more akin to armour than actual bone, and the dual spines form a v-shape that goes all the way to the base of the skull. He has no finger or toenails, but all of their tips end in razor sharp points that can cut through iron, and dent steel. Each foot only has 3 toes, two at the front, and one at the heel.

Whenever Valthoraxe is seen in public, it’s usually without his armour, or any other clothing for that matter. He possesses no reproductive organs or holes to remove bodily wastes, suggesting that he does not need to eat or drink to survive. He also has no want or need to intimacy, as he very clearly demonstrated when a half-orc prostitute attempted to flirt and caress the cursed lord, to which he responded by stabbing her through the head with his hand the moment she touched him. If it even is a him.

(Out of character)

Abilities;

I’m assuming you guys want to know what makes the great Lord Valthoraxe so powerful, well who am I to refuse.

-Incredibly durable hide: Valthoraxe’s hide is like a very dense, flexible stone, and is completely immune to any force not greater than that of a 9mm bullet. Even if a force breaks the skin, his blood reacts with air and instantly scabs over, even while a projectile is moving through him. This causes the projectile to slow rapidly, and his high internal body temperature will either melt or vaporize anything in his body, letting it pour out of the wound. Though a wound like this takes a long time to fully heal, taking about 3 months on earth to heal from the equivalent of a paper cut.

-Temperature immunity: Valthoraxe is simply not effected by changes in temperature, as his internal body temperature is roughly 44 million degrees Celsius.

-Lava-like blood: his blood, known as nyxor, is incredibly good at absorbing heat, which allows his skin to stay perfect lukewarm while being hotter than the center of a star. It reacts with almost anything to scab over wounds, as he would bleed out before a cut would be able to heal.

-Heat Control: Valthoraxe can control heat in it’s entirety, but can only create heat as hot as he can expel through his skin. This one power is so extremely overpowered it broke all sense of balancing I tried to maintain. Valthoraxe was going to be a hero originally, but this one ability made him so absurdly strong that it would take several instances of divine intervention to stop. The more you think about it, the stronger it is. It starts at beams of plasma, and ends up at disintegration while simultaneously freezing someone.

-strength: Valthoraxe’s size, weight, and muscle mass make him extremely strong, capable of lifting about 3-7 metric tons.

Weaknesses;

I had a bit of a panic when I realized how op heat control was, so I had to come up with a bunch of tiny weaknesses that are based off of his strengths.

-Less sensitive: His durability and lack of external sensory organ come at a cost. There is a very thick material covering his eyes that, while durable, make everything seem less saturated and darker. His lack of external ears also make his hearing capabilities less than ideal. He isn’t by any means hard of hearing, but he probably couldn’t pick up on someone sneaking up behind him or whispering something. His eyes are also farther back in his skull, giving him only 170 degrees on vision instead of a Human’s 220 degrees. On top of that, he has to open his mouth the smell, or breath in to be able to speak. He doesn’t require oxygen to live, but still needs to breath if he wishes to speak. He also has less sensitive nerves and this physically feels less, coming with the terrible curse of barely being able to taste anything. The only things he can noticeably taste are honey, extremely sour foods such as lemons, and alcohol. He can’t taste spicy foods at all.

-Weight: Valthoraxe weighs almost half a ton, making it impossible to go up most stairs, platforms, or even higher floors of a building. Due to this, I can legally say one of his biggest weaknesses is just upstairs.

-Depression, aggression, and many other mental disorders: I’m not going to get into this one, just know he has a therapist.

-Anxiety: Valthoraxe is paranoid as shit, and spends almost all of his time either forging more equipment or training by killing demons of Hell. Valthoraxe is absolutely terrified of …, heh heh, almost dropped a massive spoiler. Guess you’ll have to wait for the book to come out to learn what godless monstrosity could scare the second Hellwalker.

(Btw, don’t tell bethesda, but the Hell of Alterra is the same Hell as Doom. Valthoraxe canonically knows and trains with the DOOM SLAYER, but there is only a vague mention or two of this in the actual book to avoid getting sued out of existence.)

Bad drawing of Valthoraxe, this is my first time drawing a humanoid outside of pixel-art;

[flame-nova]

Chapter 4: The Cursed Blood

Books

Reminded me of a certain turquoise haired demon who used to pester me whenever I wanted time alone. Now that I graduated from the sorcerer academy, I couldn't help but thinking wistfully upon the memories I spend there as a student.

They had a library similar to the one I'm in right now. But this was Granadia's biggest library. The amount of documents found here was enough to cover half of the history of Granadia. My eyes quickly glanced over the sections. I was not here for relaxing reading like so many other demons were here to do. I was here with a purpose.

Finally, my eyes landed on a section that titled "ancient copendium". I figured that I could probably find some clues here as to why Queen Juno acted strange. My finger trailed over to the column of books on the shelf, my mouth moving, silently reading the titles of each book. Finally, I stopped at an ancient looking book titled "Curses of the Old". I was pleased. I took the book out of the shelf and I was about to walk away with it until I ran into someone. I fell and the book dropped on the floor with a "thud".

I raised my eyes angrily, about to snap at the person for not being mindful of their surroundings before I was met with a pair of calm, amber eyes. It was Vox.

"Oh I'm sorry Berwick." He bend over and offered me a hand to help me up. "I didn't think I'd run into you here."

I laughed quietly. "Neither do I."

I took his extended hand and pulled myself back up. Vox handed me the book and read the title with a raised eyebrow. " 'Curses of the Old?' What are you up to?"

Consider he also saw Queen Juno being out of control, I told him of my plans.

"Hmm..... Maybe we could figure something out together." He agreed. I nodded and took him to the reading area. We sat side by side and begin to look over the content of the book. My eyes stopped at a section specifically addressed to "Cursed Blood".

"Hold on." I told Vox. "That day when her majesty was going out of control, I saw red substance under her feet. I could only guess that may be her blood. This 'Cursed Blood' article may be able to help us figure out the problem."

Vox nodded, his eyes on me. I turned to the correct page as I begin to read aloud.

"The Cursed Blood was a phenomenon that was passed down from the royal family centuries ago, more commonly seen on female members. The cause of it was that the blood flowing in the royal family was also that of the Titans, thus granting them with an immense amount of power. However, loss of control could result in a destruction so great that it would cause the doom of the world."

The atmosphere was dead silent as both me and Vox sat lost in our own thoughts.

Isn't there any way to save Queen Juno?

"Wait- there's more." My eyes sparked with hope as I continued to read.

"However, there is a way to which that can keep the curse contained. It was the Dagger of Testament. A short sword masterfully crafted in a massive kiln by the Ancients. It is made of an impossible metal, said to need heat millions of times stronger than the sun to forge. The blade itself also bears three high-ranking Crests layered over each other. This lets it synergize with the powers of its owner, making it much more than a mere dagger."

"Maybe we can find a way to forge this blade so that she can live!" Vox stood up. I nodded. I'm confident that the heat coming from my flame magic is hotter than the sun. We just needed to find the three high ranking crests in order to forge the blade. And to do that, we'd have to ask her majesty to give us the crests.

"But how will we get the crests?" I asked. "The Queen is the keeper of the crests after all. We won't be able to ask for the crest without raising suspicion. Besides, knowing her, she won't allow us to do such a thing for her. She would rather suffer than accepting our aid."

Vox seemed to be deep in thought." You do have a point. But the only way for us to possibly get our hands on the crests was through her majesty. So whether it's a good idea or not, we might have to try our lucks."

"What about the others? Should we let Riviera and Duke in on the secret? I mean, it's our job as the Knights of Blood right? Protecting the kingdom includes protecting the Queen so in my opinion, we should tell them. Besides, we might just convince her successfully since there are more of us."

He nodded."You're right. Let's get going. Time's a wasting."

We returned to the castle grounds. Behind the closed doors of the headquarter, Vox and I took turns sharing what we saw earlier that day. I showed them the book and explained to them what we had to do.

"I didn't know that she was going through such a painful curse....." Riviera's face fell. Sadness swimmed in her eyes. Duke nodded. "But don't worry. I'm 100% agreeing with your ideas and you have my aid."

"Yeah. We need her majesty. She had done so much for us. It's about time we return the favor. It's only the best we could do." Riviera stood up. But Duke stopped her in her tracks."Hold up, it's late and her majesty had probably already retired to her chambers. We can try tomorrow instead."

"That's true. Well, you guys have a good night. I have to head back to my cabin and move my stuff over." I said. "I haven't had the time since I was busy all day.

"You need a hand?" Vox offered. "I mean, consider that it's dark out there and I don't want what happened to the night before happen to you again."

"Sure."

We walked in silence. After a while, I decided to break the ice."So, how did you find out where I live? I mean, I couldn't have ended up in my own cabin right after I passed out."

Vox scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "Well, thing is, I don't. I had to ask around and thankfully, you're quite well known and a few people does know who you are and your cabin's location. That's how I found your place."

"Huh, I'm quite famous you say?"

He chuckled."Of course. You came from a long family line of fire mages. It's not a surprise that quite a few people knows you."

I smiled bitterly. "Have you ever felt the pressure of carrying the family name on your shoulder? Because you're simply the next one in line to take the baton? I didn't have my own purpose and didn't even know what I wanted to do in life until I saw you guys sparring. That gave me a new meaning to life. I wanted to become a Juno Templar. Simple as that."

Vox lowered his head. "Nope. Can't relate at all. My parents died when I was a kid. I lived as a mercenary and met Duke. The two of us relied on each other to live until one day our mission failed. We almost died if it wasn't for her majesty. I owe her big time and that's why I agreed to help lift her curse. I'm forever indebted to her."

I was suddenly filled with sympathy and sorrow for Vox. "And that's why you swore on your life to protect Granadia." I concluded.

He nodded. The night was dark. I couldn't see the expression on his face. The two of us fell into awkward silence again.

I looked at the sky, the night was clear and I could see a lot of stars shining down on us.

"Look, that's Cancer." I pointed to one constellation. "In the Greek mythology, the giant crab was created by goddess Hera to kill the hero Hercules. But Hercules killed it instead. To commemorate for what the crab did, Hera threw it to the sky and allowed it to become a constellation."

"And that over there," I continued, pointing to another constellation. "Is Virgo. She was supposed to represent the daughter of the grain and harvest goddess. The daughter's name was Persephone. Her famous story of the pomegranate should explain why the constellation was there to remember her." I chuckled.

"Wow," Vox looked at the sky, his amber eyes gleamed as he marveled at the beauty of the night. I chatted and shared more of my knowledge of the stars with him. Before I knew it, we were in front of my cabin.

"Thanks for accompanying me and listening to my rant of the stars Vox." I scratched the back of my head sheepishly. "I just love astronomy."

Vox only chuckled."Of course I know that. You really opened my eyes on the stars though. Always thought that the stars were beautiful, but I've never felt so breath taken by them. You're a good teacher. Engaging and entertaining."

I blushed."Thanks. Now, I'll be back. Just going to grab things I'll be needing for tonight. I'll come back for the rest tomorrow."

He nodded and stood outside waiting for me. I quickly gathered my clothes for tomorrow and some hygiene products before locking the door behind me. We laughed, talked and got to know each other better that night. But Vox had no idea that I had developed some kind of feelings for him. I will probably keep it to myself. Only the stars will know.

-------------------------------------------

Author's Note

Like Berwick, I did a lot of research on this chapter. From Juno's curse to the constellations. Thankfully, I knew a little about constellations and Greek mythology since I was in 7th grade (as an elective class) so the knowledge helped me a ton.

I also logged on GS specifically and rewatched the CG scenes from the Copendium so that my memories can be jogged. It was a lot of work writing this chapter and I've been trying my best to stay in canon as much as possible. I apologize if incorrect information had been inserted. Please feel free to correct me of any errors I've made. Thank you for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter!

Oh also, before I go, I want to thank the unknown reader who had followed me all through. I don't know who you are, but I'm thankful that you're reading the series. Really appreciate it. It gives me the motivation to keep the stories coming. Thank you!

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

ASG - Part One: A Southern Gentleman

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: No, but it is deserved

Prompt: Bird's old friend, Elvis, looks a lot different than she remembers - a lot hotter, that is. Can she control herself as he walks her home like a good southern gentleman? [ Fem!OC ]

TW: None!

Rating: Pg-13     ||     Word Count: 1484

A/N: He's obviously not dating Dixie in this version. Damn...I really don't know what to do with myself. I used to have a crush on Austin a long time ago, but it's been rekindled like 2 million times stronger. Austin w/ dark hair just hits different 😩

This is Part 1 of ASG. Find the rest of the series here!

🦋 mila

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She’s folding an extra towel in the wings of the stage when a flash of pink silk catches her attention. She glances up just long enough to see a guitar and a pair of fancy black and white shoes. She shrugs, going back to finish her work and thinking nothing of it for the time being.

“He’s a young singer from Memphis, Tennessee,” the announcer’s voice booms around the building. “Give a warm hayride welcome to a Mr. Elvis Presley.”

Her head snaps up when she hears the name. Elvis?? She had gone to elementary school down in Mississippi with a boy named Elvis. It couldn’t possibly be the same boy…could it? She hurriedly finishes folding up the towels she’s working on and quietly sneaks behind the edge of the stage curtains. As she peers out at the tall young man standing at the microphone, she’s sure it can’t be him. The little boy she had known was blonde, skinny, and bony.

“It goes something like this…” the singer mumbles into the microphone. He continues to mutter a little bit of a song.

“Get a haircut, buttercup!” yells a man from the crowd.

Before she gets a chance to think again, he begins to sing. Like…really sing. His voice is strong and forceful, like nothing she’s ever heard before. She watches from the wings and can’t help but smile as he wiggles, dances, and moves around on the stage. His voice is incredible, deep and smooth. But the way his body moves, she has never seen anything like it before. Some girls in the crowd begin to holler, scream, and yelp. she bites her own lip and holds back a smile as she watches the silky pink fabric dance along his body.

Not before long, the entire crowd of women is leaning toward the stage and shrieking. As he reaches back into the crowd, some of the girls even pull at his clothes and the pink suit jacket lifts off his frame. As he stumbles back behind the curtains, a woman yells from the crowd. Bird peers around the curtain and catches a second’s glimpse of her: an older lady with dark hair. She knows this woman. She’s seen her before...

The sound of laughter near her catches Bird’s attention and her eyes land on the back of the singer’s frame as he walks away. Before she can stop herself, she speaks up.

“Elvis??” she asks, gripping the curtain tightly.

The tall figure pauses for a moment before a handsome face emerges from the shadows. She can’t help but smile. The moment she meets his sea blue eyes, the recognition spreads across his face. He lets out a breathy chuckle and smiles sweetly.

“It really is you…” she mumbles.

“Bird?? It can’t be…” he asks in a voice deeper than she expects. She releases her death grip on the curtain and reaches down to smooth her skirt.

He hands his guitar off to a bandmate and walks toward her. As he comes closer, she can smell him – a mix of sweat, musk, and something sweet like cinnamon. It’s almost intoxicating. She reaches out to steady herself on a table.

“What the hell are you doin’ up here?” he asks.

“Daddy got transferred up ‘ere, so we moved. I work 'ere,” she responds. “What are you doin up here? I almost didn’t recognize ya. You were blonde last I saw.”

“Yeah,” he replies, dropping his head to rub the back of his neck. A few strands of dark black hair fall over his forehead, and she has the urge to brush them away but she resists. “Well, how bout you, I mean, you’re all grown up now. Look at ya…”

She flushes as he gestures at her body. He leans on the wall near her, positioning his body diagonally. She takes a deep breath, quickly glancing at his flexing bicep. He tilts his head to look at her, and she catches his eyes tracing her figure up and down.

“You’d better get going, Bird,” one of her coworkers says as they pass by. “Your daddy won’t be happy if you get home late again.

“Oh damn,” she mutters, glaring through the cracked glass of her old wristwatch. “Well…I’d better start back. You 'member how daddy is.”

As she turns to reach for her sweater, his hand catches her wrist.

“Could I walk ya home?”

“Oh, yes. I’d like that very much,” she responds.

He swipes the sweater off the table and holds it out for her to shimmy into. As she steps back to stick her arms through the holes, she accidentally brushes against his chest. Her breath hitches in her throat.

They walk out together, a few feet between them. She is grateful for his presence since the shortest way to her house takes them through the forest area behind the building. The wind is chilling as it blows through the trees, and she wraps her sweater closer around her shoulders.

They get to talking and start remembering old times in Mississippi when they used to play together in the schoolyard and when Elvis played pranks on the teachers. They talk and talk and talk, laugh and laugh and laugh. Silence eventually settles for a few moments as they both try to figure out what to say. Finally, he clears his throat.

“You really have grown up,” he says, glancing at her. “I always knew you’d be pretty, but I didn’t know you’d turn out to be so…well, gorgeous.”

She bites her lip. She likes the way his southern drawl hangs on each word and each compliment he gives her.

“I’m gorgeous? Give yaself some credit. Those girls were practically rippin your clothes off tonight.”

He chuckles, drops his head down, and rubs his neck again.

“I guess they liked it, huh? I ain’t doin nothin on purpose. It’s jus the way the music moves me, you know what I’m sayin? I guess they liked the way I move.”

“I like the way you move,” she says without thinking. Immediately after she’s said it, her smile flattens and they both stop in their tracks.

“You what?”

“I, uh…I,” she feels her cheeks flush and stutter. He starts to walk closer to her and she instinctively backs up. “I jus think…well, I-“

She stops speaking when her back hits the trunk of a tree. He stands over her and places his hand above her head, leaning against the tree like he’d leaned against the wall earlier. It suddenly occurs to her how alone they both are, among the trees with no one else around. Secluded. she gulps as his face twists into a handsome smirk.

“Now what did you say, darlin?“

“I jus think…well I said that I liked…”

“The way I move. Is that what you said?”

She opens her mouth to respond but doesn’t know what to say. She melts into the trunk of the tree as heat floods into her face and ears again. When she glances up at Elvis through her eyelashes, he starts to lean forward. At first, she presses further back into the tree but when he steps closer, she finds that her body can’t move. As soon as she feels his breath on her face, her chest moves her forward to meet his lips. The kiss is soft and gentle, and his lips are warm against hers.

When he pulls away, she feels her body inadvertently move forward, begging him to come back. She opens her eyes to see him smirking down at her with an arrogance that only makes him more handsome. His finger tilts her chin upwards, and he presses his lips to hers again. Her hands instinctively find their way to his silky black hair. His fingers trace down her jaw to her neck, her shoulder, and all the way to her waist. As he grips her hips to draw her body closer to him, she accidentally lets out a squeak.

Her eyes fly open, and Elvis pulls back with a breathless smile. His hair is disheveled and hanging over his face again. Her skirt is pulled up her thigh and her sweater is falling off. For a brief moment, she thinks about how dead she would be if her daddy could see her now. She bites her lip again and brushes the locks of hair out of his eyes. He smiles down at her tenderly.

“You really are beautiful,” he says, tucking a strand of misplaced hair behind her ear. “And I like the way you move, too.”

She playfully punches his shoulder and buries her head in her hands. He pulls her into a warm embrace, rubbing her back soothingly.

“Aright now, let’s get you home to your daddy,” he says, adjusting her sweater.

“What a good southern gentleman, ya are.”

“I can be when I try,” he smirks, and she laughs.

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[godlygreta]

i never stopped loving you | j. kiszka

title | i never stopped loving you

summary | jake and y/n have known each other since grade school, they’ve been neighbors forever. a bit of romance ensues, but ends fairly quickly when complications arise while the boys are touring. a trip home from college ends in a slightly drunk confession.

warnings | some mature themes (bit of sex, but not explicitly), swearing, slight angst

word count | 2.5k+

author’s note | hi! this is the first thing i’ve written for any of the boys, so i hope you enjoy. i’ve written for other bands before, so writing isn’t new to me, but writing for greta is.

“I never stopped loving you.”

It slipped out. It didn’t mean to come out. Jake didn’t necessarily want it to come out. They say drunk words are sober thoughts, right? At the same time, who trusts the words of a drunk person? Usually it’s just brushed off as babbling, but Y/N couldn’t ignore what Jake said. Especially because she couldn’t blame it on not hearing him. There was no music playing outside the bar. The music was faint enough that anything Jake had said was heard.

High school was rough for Y/N with hormones mixed in with academics, horny teenage boys at every turn. Y/N wasn’t even interested in dating, not due to the fact that nobody was necessarily interested in her, but because she was too focused on her studies to even give a damn. School dances were a nice break from academics. There was a shift, though, when one boy in particular would start to really pay attention to her.

Jake Kiszka was charismatic in every sense of the word. Him and his twin brother, Josh, were always the two sweetest, yet most famous troublemakers in all of Frankenmuth High School. It got even worse when their younger brother, Sam, ended up in high school with them as a freshman. Jake had girls wrapped around his finger from the moment he had gotten a haircut. His hair was a lot shorter than before and barely even touched his forehead. Y/N didn’t really give a damn. To her, he was still Jake Kiszka, neighbor.

Their parents were friends and always hungout on the weekends. Y/N’s family had a cabin on the lake which they always vacationed at and occasionally would bring Jake’s family with. One particular summer, they stayed there for a week between the summer of sophomore and junior year. The summer’s were always hot, but this week in particular was hotter than the other summer’s before. “It feels like the Devil’s asshole out here.”

“I know, Mary, but that’s the exact reason we chose to come here this week. The kids can swim in the lake, it’s a lot cooler in the water than on the grass.” Y/N’s dad spoke, returning the conversation from her mother. He gave her a quick kiss on the side of the head and returned to unpacking the car. Y/N and the boys had already gone into the house and picked their rooms. The boys shared one, and Y/N got one of the spare bedrooms. 

Dinner was made as soon as everyone was settled in. Everyone sat around the dining table, laughing and eating as they did almost every weekend. “You excited for Junior year, Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m sort of nervous about taking the SAT and ACT. I’ve been studying when I’m not working at the shop.” She picked at some asparagus on her plate as she answered Mrs. Kiszka’s  question. Jake and Josh weren’t entirely ecstatic about it, it didn’t really matter to either of them. Music was their passion and that was never going to change.

Smores after dinner was a tradition that started when they were all really little, barely old enough to eat them. The fire was lit by Mr. Kiszka and Mr. Y/L/N. Jake, Sam and Josh had always played music while the rest of them made their smores. Y/N always made extras for the boys for when they were done playing music. Whenever they had no idea what to play, Y/N always knew the answer. Running out of songs to play, though, was a rarity in itself. The Kiszka’s knew so much about their sound, nothing was in their way of playing songs that fit it. However, every once in a blue moon they would ask their friend what she would like to hear. “C’mon now. You should know I’m a sucker for The Beatles.”

Y/N could recognize the sound of Blackbird the second it started playing. She had only listened to it eight million times that summer. She hummed lightly along as they played. Everyone clapped as soon as their song was over, the boys immediately delving into their smores. Y/N had finally taken a seat next to Josh when she was finished making their smores for them. Once their parents had gone inside, though, Y/N and the twins dipped into their parents' cooler of beer.

Neither of the sets of parents cared, they knew their kids would be safe and unharmed if they drank at the cabin. Jokes were told and stories of the past school year were discussed, as well as the future. A topic so vast for high schoolers. “I still can’t decide between a lawyer and an art teacher.”

“You’ve always been great at arguing,” Josh joked, “Practically got fuckin’ Lindsey McNeil out of that suspension.”

“It wasn’t fair. All she did was stand up for herself and what she believed in, plus that teacher is fucking creepy and everyone knows it.” Everybody laughed, the beer in everyone’s hands was getting a little warmer with every minute that passed by. Everyone filtered out one by one. Sam went in first, followed by Ronnie (she was slightly upset about coming, having made other plans with friends for the hot weather), and then Josh followed, leaving behind Jake and Y/N.

“Did you want to go inside yet or stay out here for a bit longer?” The silence beforehand hadn’t been awkward for the pair. “Cause I was thinking of going swimming for a bit.”

“I’ll join you, we haven’t swam yet today.”

The sand leading into the lake was met with a bit of rocks. It was picturesque under the moonlight. The pair discarded their clothing, leaving their underwear and got into the water. The coolness of the water sent goosebumps along her skin, leaving no piece without some. Jake followed in behind her, coming up next to her before completely dipping under the water. He popped back up and shook his head.

“You know,” Y/N started, “I think you’d look really good with longer hair.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. You should grow it out.” She swiped his hair out of the way and giggled a bit. “You’ll still never be prettier than I am.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling.”

The rest of the summer followed with light flirting and spending lots of time together. Junior year came around and nothing changed a bit. Prom was spent with the Kiszka family, Josh driving the three of you, as well as Josh’s date. The dance was lame, the songs were overplayed pop music, which Y/N secretly had a bit of a soft spot for. She would never tell that to Jake, though.

The pair ended up back at Y/N’s house, giggling all the way up to her room. He went into the bathroom to take his suit off, using one of Y/N’s hangers to make sure it wouldn’t wrinkle. However, Y/N was still having issues. She couldn’t manage to undo the zipper by herself, waiting for Jake to come back into the room to do it for her. He came back in, saw her still in her dress. “Need my help?”

“My zipper -- I can’t reach it.”

“I can do it,” he whispered, knowing Y/N’s parents were asleep. His hands were warm against her back, undoing her zipper slowly. The moonlight coming in from the window felt like that hot summer night at the cabin. He slid the straps down her shoulders, his mouth slightly agape. How could someone look so beautiful and delicate at the same time?

She turned around, her body facing Jake’s. He stuttered, telling her he could leave and he was honestly about to. Until he felt her hand grab his wrist. “Don’t go.”

He nodded his head, helping her get the rest of the way out of her dress. She stepped closer to him and put her hands on his chest. She could feel how fast his heart was beating. She had a hard time meeting his gaze, nervous of him not feeling the same way she had been. “You looked really good tonight.”

“Me? Everybody was staring at you the whole time, Y/N,” he spoke, one hand finding their way to her waist, the other pulling on her chin to force eye contact. “You looked absolutely breathtaking.”

There was a split second where both of them second guessed themselves. But it was over when Y/N pressed her lips lightly against Jake’s. It was such a feathery light touch, it almost felt like she wasn’t even kissing him. She pulled away slowly, her eyes closed, not really knowing what to do next. She didn’t have to figure it out though, Jake’s lips returned to hers with more pressure.

His hands had found their rightful place on her back, bringing her closer to him. Hers found their way into his hair. It felt so natural - the need for each other grew stronger with each passing minute. His mouth never wanted to leave hers, it felt as though her lips were coated in fucking drugs the way they were so addicting. He couldn’t get enough. “Do you want to..?”

“Yes, please.” It came out so needy - desperate. Y/N didn’t even care about how that presented itself to Jake. She just wanted to be even closer to him than she already was. And she got to be right where she wanted to be.

Her bed was more comfy than Jake had previously remembered. Or maybe that was because they were here under different circumstances, not just studying algebra because Jake wasn’t quite getting it. All he knew was that he wasn’t ever going to forget it. He wanted this moment to replay forever and ever. Not because he was just some horny teenager, but because holy fuck, this had just been some random thought - a daydream, almost. But this was real. This was happening.

A tangled mess they were when climaxing. “I love you,” came out as barely above a whisper. It took Y/N a half of a second to register what he was really saying before it finally hit her. She didn’t feel as if she had to say it back, if anything, he should realize that she loved him too.

“I could honestly stay here forever and stare at you until the end of time.”

“So do it. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

They didn’t though. And it wasn’t that simple. Complications arose after that night. Everything got messy and trying to tie in a relationship while the band was traveling and on the road became increasingly difficult, especially when Y/N went to college.

She came home to Frankenmuth while she was off for the summer. Her mother and father missed her a great deal and the first weekend home was spent in the Kiszka’s backyard, the boys excluded. It was weird to be at their house and not see them littered around anywhere. Ronnie was full of stories though, telling Y/N about previous times the boys have come home from touring and the memories they brought back with him.

It was painful to hear, but she was so incredibly proud of everything they had accomplished and done. Every once in a while, Y/N had checked up on their band's Instagram account. When she was really nervous — having a hard time not worrying about them — she texted Josh or Danny. Neither of them were ever going to say anything to Jake or mention it to Sam.

The two families decided to get together and have dinner at a local bar. The boys were still away, they weren’t scheduled to come back to Michigan for at least another month and a half. Ronnie and Y/N spent most of their time talking about future plans for the upcoming weeks while their parents discuss their weekend plans — what to have for dinner and who’s house to have dinner at. Time had passed quickly and before they knew it, it was 10pm.

The parents had left, leaving Ronnie and Y/N at the bar by themselves. At least, that was until the boys walked in.

Ronnie smiled widely, hugging her brothers but then proceeding to punch them for surprising her and not just telling her. Josh and Danny hugged Y/N first, Sam leading after. Jake didn’t hug Y/N. It stung a bit. It made sense though. The last time they talked — it ended in an argument which was the resulting cause of their breakup.

A few drinks were downed, a couple shots thrown in there as well. Y/N figured it was time to throw the towel in. She couldn’t handle the awkward glances and forced conversation on their part. She grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and put it on as she said goodbye to everyone. “Boys, lovely to see you again. I’m sure I’ll see you this weekend.”

She wasn’t going to. She was gonna avoid them at all costs. Come up with a lie — say she had the flu or something. Her mother would believe her either way, as well as understand where she was coming from with her avoidance. Her mother was there for her while she cried her eyes out.

She didn’t notice when Jake had followed her out. She didn’t notice him calling her name. The only thing she could notice was the tears falling down her cheeks, wiping them as soon as she felt them.

“I never stopped loving you.”

It slipped out. It didn’t mean to come out. Jake didn’t necessarily want it to come out. They say drunk words are sober thoughts, right? At the same time, who trusts the words of a drunk person? Usually it’s just brushed off as babbling, but Y/N couldn’t ignore what Jake said. Especially because she couldn’t blame it on not hearing him. There was no music playing outside the bar. The music was faint enough that anything Jake had said was heard.

“When we broke up,” he started. “I was a wreck. I was immature. It could’ve worked out - it would’ve worked out if I wasn’t such a child about everything.”

“Jake —“

“No, Y/N, I need to say this now. I’m a little drunk so I actually have the balls to say everything I want to. It was stupid to break up over something as menial as distance. The things I feel for you are so intense it scares the fuck out of me. I was so afraid of being gone all the time. You deserved someone who could be there to help you study for midterms. I was always in another state and sometimes another country. I wasn’t… there to be able to help you through anything. Everything’s different now, though.”

She sighed, not entirely sure on what to do with the information that was thrown at her. She was sober enough to remember the conversation tomorrow, but not nearly drunk enough to be able to deal with it tonight. “Do you wanna just come home with me? Talk about this tomorrow morning when we’re both sober.”

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

[dr-imagines-modfuyuhiko]

Toko/Syo, Hajime, Kazuichi, Miu, Rantaro x Fem!reader

who is confident with sexual acts/flirting, but gets flustered by wholesome acts/flirting

I once again came up with this on my own for another rep for my writing style :)

Category: low-lime/fluff headcannon-imagines

Specifics: Fem!reader, not necessarily during killing game, Ultimate is not mentioned

Warnings: mentions/references to NSFW

Toko/Syo

Oh lord

You and Toko are complete messes

When she first met you, she immediately knew of your flirty nature with everyone, constantly calling you a slut for it

Of course you always came back with a more innuendo-esc remark that made her shut up from being flustered

You found this adorable and decided to have her as your main flirting target

You flirted just as much with Syo when she showed up too

“Hey, that tongue looked pretty useful, mind using it on me?”

Syo was definitely more amused than Toko

When Toko found out about your little weakness, it was on complete accident

Well, kinda

You were going about your usual day, flirting with and pestering Toko before she could run off when she had an idea

“As I was saying, I think you’d be pretty cute on your knees~”

“Y-you’re pr-pretty cute even off your knees..”

You froze

And your face grew hot

You could barely get a word out

To be fair though, neither could Toko

But from that point, you became more careful when flirting, seeing as your personality could do a 180 with simple hand holding or the word “cute” coming to describe you

Most of the time though, Toko was too nervous to do or say anything

Say Toko really wanted to cuddle you/hold your hand/make a flirty remark/etc, and she sneezed

Syo would immediately get the idea and initiate it before forcing herself to sneeze again, causing Toko to wake up fronting and met with your gaping and stuttering form

She was also flustered but grew mostly comfortable seeing as she could make you fluster like that

—————

Hajime

This boy-

Help him

Just please

You were essentially a female Teruteru, but more respectful

For that second part, he tolerated your behavior

But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t completely flustered and needed breaks from having you around

He was one of those more easily flustered but rarely put up a fight (to which you stopped when he or anyone did) so he became your favorite victim flirting buddy

You had even gone as far as casually sitting in between his legs and leaning against him while talking at breakfast cause his reaction was usually a red flustered face you couldn’t see but could feel practically radiating from behind you

Usually

It was one of these days where you sat in front of him, facing away from him, and talking with Akane (since she was least likely to be affected by your flirty behavior)

You had started lightly grinding a bit yes on purpose back against him, causing the boy to be more flustered

It wasn’t enough to be noticed by an outsider (mainly Akane) but enough to set Hajime off

So today, he decided to do something about it

You stopped mid-sentence when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, forcing you to stay still, and a face pressed against your back/neck/hair (depending on height)

Akane burst out laughing at your pause, leaving to give you two a moment, or as she worded it, to “go get some”

Hajime had thought he had done something wrong and began to remove his arms, stuttering out an apology when he felt you grab his arms and pull him to continue hugging you

“I-I di-didn’t say t-to stop…”

He couldn’t see your face, but he’d never heard your voice so soft and nervous

It took him a moment to realize you were just flustered beyond relief

When he did, he simply chuckled and said something about now having a secret weapon against you before resting his head against your back again, holding you a bit closer

From that point onward, whenever you were getting to be too much for him, instead of leaving he’d just hold you or your hand to make you shut up

Which worked until you had calmed down and started threatening to gag him next time he tried to shut you up

—————

Kazuichi

Kazuichi had almost immediately started calling you “Miss Y/n” just like Sonia

Of course when he did this, you had followed up on your natural attitude

“Awe, you didn’t seem like the type to have a mistress kink, but I’m more than happy to come through on it~”

Let’s just say he rarely called you that ever again but the urge to somehow became stronger

After that moment you immediately loved his reactions, especially when he was being a dumbass and needed to be shut up

There will be times where he’s getting ready to go off on Gundham and you just look him in the eyes and go

“I will fucking gag you, don’t even start”

He usually starts whimpering and blushing

But something you didn’t know how to really help with was when he was upset or panicked

You wanted to help, but you didn’t think your remarks or any sort of sexual actions would be enough to distract his mind, maybe his dick, but not his mind

And now was one of those moments

Kazuichi was in his cottage where you usually hung out (yes you had made plenty of comments before) and going into a panic

You, meanwhile, were outside and waiting to be let in

You were about to leave when you heard a loud sob come from inside

Now, you weren’t good at comforting but you had to try, right? He was your best friend here

You went to see if the door was open and luckily it was

When you walked in, Kazuichi was curled in a ball on the floor in front of his bed

So as much as you hated it, you knew soft physical contact helped ground him, so that’s what you did

Making sure not to scare him, you slowly sat in front of him and placed one of your hands on his, pulling it away from scratching his arm, and your other went to his head to softly pet it

You could feel your cheeks becoming warmer than they’ve ever been, but right now your focus was on the slowly calming boy in front of you

Once he did finally calm down completely, he quietly thanked you, looking up and expecting you to just have a comforting smile or something of the sort

He was more pleased when he found your face practically screaming how flustered you were, his lips turning into a small smirk at this

“You really blushing at simple hand holding? Wow Miss Y/n, I’ll keep this in mind!”

Your response to this was an even hotter face and looking down to hide it

He quickly learned that any sort of acts like this would get that same reaction or better (better for him at least, worse for you)

After that point, he almost never completely let go of you when you were together, having a hand holding yours or around your shoulders/waist at all times

He especially loves praising you while cuddling, it always got the best reactions

Best for him

—————

Miu

Once again

You two are a complete mess

Like seriously

When Miu first met you, she was caught completely off guard

Even though she was the one who started the flirty comments

“Hey! If you’re gonna eye-fuck me you should at least start talkin!”

You took a moment, looked her up and down twice, bit your lip, and slammed a hand on the wall next to her

She was already flushed and stuttering

“I could think of some better things to do with my mouth~”

Safe to say, Miu was careful not to mess with you too much

Now occasionally you’d let her keep her confidence and pride but as soon as you both were alone, she was forced into being a flustered mess

She almost always enjoyed it and was drooling over it though

If she ever did show signs of discomfort instead of being flustered, you immediately stopped, which is something that comforted her

You tended to spend most of your time together

So when she realized you hadn’t shown up at her lab after lunch, or hell, even seen you at lunch, she went looking for you

She finally checked your lab and booyah!

You sat facing away from her, working with a pen and paper, she assumed it was something to do with your talent

You were too focused on whatever you were doing to realize the door had opened

She left and ran to the kitchen to bring you something to eat, as she didn’t think yelling at you to do it yourself would do much convincing

Once she got back, you were in the exact same position you had been a few minutes ago

This time, she made her presence clear as she held a small bowl of soba

You looked up and turned around to see Miu there with the food, a little confused as the girl just scoffed at your expression

“It’s for you, moron! You weren’t at lunch!”

For a second you just sat there, shocked that she would even think to bring you food

Then it sunk in- she was concerned about you eating, enough so to bring you food herself

Before you knew it, your face had grown hot and you could barely mutter a thank you to the inventor

Miu had taken notice of your flustered state and a smile took over her face, she found your weakness and she was gonna abuse it

“Awwe! You’re kinda cute when you can’t speak even without a gag, Y/n! Now open up!”

You had tried to speak again to defend yourself, but a pair of chopsticks were placed in your mouth and you were forced to eat with a burning face, Miu happily feeding you

Her remarks and teasing never seemed to stop, causing you to only get redder and warmer in the face

She’s definitely using this against you from now on

Of course later on, you had to ask the million yen question

“Miu, did you put your hair in my soba?”

“……maybe?”

—————

Rantaro

Avocado man saw it coming

Your strange personality that is

And he had the theory that you were flustered by softer acts but didn’t do anything to test that just yet

Rantaro was possibly the most calm when it came to your behavior

When he was feeling more playful, he’d flirt back

You both often pushed the other to a wall and started teasing them, whether that be light touches, kisses, even hickeys

You two may have had a few night stands and they were the best of your life

You guys were honestly just really close friends (maybe you had crushes on each other but if you did, neither felt the need to say anything)

But one day Rantaro was just bored out of his mind

So naturally, he went to find you

You were curled up in the library, nose buried in a book of some sort

Rantaro had thought of how to approach you for a minute, then decided he wanted to test his few-month-old theory out

He quite casually walked up to where you were curled up in a chair, picked you up and sat in your place, putting you in his lap princess style

This mans is strong asf from his sisters being all over him and his adventures so even if you weigh 1000lb he can carry you, don’t @ me

This by itself might’ve taken you off guard and gotten your face a tad warmer

But then he started playing with your hair

Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you tried to keep your focus on your book so your face wouldn’t burst into a blush

This bitch noticed it and decided to make it worse for you

With his free arm, he pulled you to lean against his chest as he hugged you, then placed a light kiss to your temple

Right then and there, you were over

Your face was burning and you couldn’t make yourself complain or make any snarky comments

But this bitch of an avocado-

“Mind telling me about what you’re reading?”

Your words came out in a stuttering mess as you attempted to answer him, voice wavering a bit when he rested his head against yours and held you tighter

You could feel his pleased smile against your head, and as much as you wanted to get back at him, 1.) he’s the hardest person in the world to fluster and 2.) you weren’t exactly complaining about the situation….

To keep it short, he would do this sort of thing constantly after this

Mostly headpats and small praises, sometimes he’d get you a book or something he thought would help your talent

But nevertheless, it made you stutter and heat up every time

He had a new way of fucking with you and he loved it a little too much

[apod]

2021 April 16

The Doubly Warped World of Binary Black Holes Scientific Visualization Credit: NASA, Goddard Space Flight Center, Jeremy Schnittman and Brian P. Powell - Text: Francis Reddy

Explanation: Light rays from accretion disks around a pair of orbiting supermassive black holes make their way through the warped space-time produced by extreme gravity in this stunning computer visualization. The simulated accretion disks have been given different false color schemes, red for the disk surrounding a 200-million-solar-mass black hole, and blue for the disk surrounding a 100-million-solar-mass black hole. That makes it easier to track the light sources, but the choice also reflects reality. Hotter gas gives off light closer to the blue end of the spectrum and material orbiting smaller black holes experiences stronger gravitational effects that produce higher temperatures. For these masses, both accretion disks would actually emit most of their light in the ultraviolet though. In the video, distorted secondary images of the blue black hole, which show the red black hole's view of its partner, can be found within the tangled skein of the red disk warped by the gravity of the blue black hole in the foreground. Because we're seeing red's view of blue while also seeing blue directly, the images allow us to see both sides of blue at the same time. Red and blue light originating from both black holes can be seen in the innermost ring of light, called the photon ring, near their event horizons. Astronomers expect that in the not-too-distant future they’ll be able to detect gravitational waves, ripples in space-time, produced when two supermassive black holes in a system much like the one simulated here spiral together and merge.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap210416.html

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 7 (Night Sky)

Summary: They don’t know it’s called love. Terra and Aqua dare a night out in a storm. || Word Count: 4,511

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek AAAAAAA it’s over!! It’s been a wild ride. This particular fic I feel is my weakest of the collection - I literally ran out of time to make this one special in my eyes. It’s just a soft and tender fic. I’m sorry I couldn’t give a stronger conclusion, but I hope you take something you like out this one regardless!

~~~~~~~~~~*

Wayfinding

The sky over Destiny Islands is beautiful. Like the mountains in the Land of Departure, we’re isolated here, an audience to pinpricks of light blinking down at us with secrets from far away. 

Kairi’s been begging us to visit for a couple of nights to stargaze with her and her friends. She says we’ll be blown away. Tonight, storm clouds blot the sky in clumps, leaving us breaks in between to guess constellations. I do believe you could see stars from Destiny Islands you can’t see anywhere else, even though we all share the same sky. It’s special.

Ven points to a nebula, millions of miles away. “Hold on, is that—” 

“The star system of Montressor, yep.” Terra takes a swish of water.

“It’s so much closer here.”

“What’s Montressor?” Sora crushes melted marshmallow onto chocolate, his fingers coated. 

We’re sharing a fire, camping out on the beach and listening to the waves crashing. The beach overwhelms the senses in a way that grounds you. I can’t see the ocean through the darkness, but I can smell it. I can feel it by the humidity that drapes over my skin. There’s no mistaking where I am. The beach in the Realm of Darkness smelled like nothing. 

And yet, if I walked into the water, I’d walk forever. The horizon vanishes at night.

The cloudy weather lately has made it difficult for us to see everything, so Terra has asked if we could stay longer. This is our third night.

“It’s a cluster of its own stars, like a galaxy.” Terra denies chocolate with his s’more. “The people there travel between different planets with their skyships.”

Kairi snorts. “The adults told us that a god sneezed millions of years ago and that’s his celestial booger smear.”

Sora gapes. “That sounds cool, I’ve never been.”

“You’re missing out,” Riku says, smirking as he chews.

“Wait, when did you go?”

Kairi plucks a marshmallow from the basket. “We can schedule a trip together. It will be fun.”

Terra cocks an eyebrow. “If you enjoy getting mugged by sky pirates.”

Sora leans forward, eyes wide at Terra’s nose. “Sky pirates? There’s such a thing? Oh, I’m in.”

They’re lovely kids, self-trained and their technique shows it. I take a sip of water out of a straw from a coconut that Riku had broken in half by smashing it against a boulder. 

Terra eyes me from across the fire, holding my gaze as he drinks. We chose not to sit next to each other—no one else needs to know—but I admit that from this angle, I get to enjoy the way he looks at me. It was only last night that he held my hand and brushed his lips against mine, tucked behind a palm tree where no one saw us. I came back to the hut with fire on my cheeks. I still feel it in my stomach.

I can’t help my smile. I want to look at him longer but I don’t, so I cross my legs. 

Paopu fruits hang on the trees nearby. Ven has mentioned (in front of everyone else) that Terra and I should share one. I told him to shut up, and he hasn’t brought it up again since. 

“If we’re lucky,” Sora says, “we could see a meteor shower.”

I choke on my drink but keep my lips sealed.

Ven opens his mouth to reply but Terra hands him a warning glare.

Every star in the sky is a world. When worlds fall, the sphere that holds them together breaks into pieces, like the glass that shatters when the lantern is dropped. That is a meteor shower, but I wouldn’t want to break anyone’s heart if they believe otherwise.

“Don’t you wish upon them?” I ask, forcing myself to swallow. The thought of wishing upon the harm of others, even unintentionally, churns me. “Is that the tradition?”

“You mean you don’t?” Kairi asks. 

I shrug, desperate for an answer. “We… don’t wish upon much. There’s little use for it when you’re training for the Keyblade.”

Terra turns away to hide a smirk.

“That’s so depressing,” Sora says and I frown.

The wind is warm and moist. It’s so peaceful, of course the only stories you’d ever hear about the stars are the good ones.

Ven jumps up, pointing at the sky. “Look, look!”

Two shooting stars fly straight across. May they be blessed.

“Okay.” Sora slaps his hands together. “Wishing time. I wish…” He closes his eyes, and for a second, a solemn smile darkens his face. “I’ve been away for so long. Any minute Donald is going to ring me up and take me somewhere. I just want to stay home for a while, just a few days. You know, take a break, be with you guys, my best friends. I promised my mom I’d help with her gardening and stay one night for dinner.”

Riku nods to himself. 

“I’d like the same,” Kairi says, laying on her stomach on her blanket, gazing at the fire. 

“You’re not supposed to be wishing on them,” Ven blurts out, covering his mouth too late.

Sora’s eyebrows furrow. This is not a look I like to see on him. “Why?”

If Ven could kick himself without anyone seeing, he would.

Terra holds onto Sora’s shoulder. “A shooting star is someone traveling between worlds. Their heart is reaching out to someone to comfort or protect them. You don’t want to wish for something selfish, you want to wish the best for them.” 

The expression Sora gives can only be described as horror. “Oh, well, um, safe travels buddy. I hope you find your friend.”

“Is it too late to take the wish back?” Riku asks. I think he’s asking on purpose considering how much more fraught Sora becomes and how much Riku is enjoying it.

Terra notices. He nods his head to the side. I love the way he does it. He’s beautiful. “Probably.”

“But I really do want them to be safe,” Sora whines, defeated. 

The wind picks up, clouds floating across the sky at a speed where they swallow the stars. It smells damp and it feels hotter.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” Riku says, dumping the pail of water next to him onto the fire. He kicks sand over it for good measure. Sora and Kairi don’t hesitate to stack baskets and fold blankets. 

“What’s going on?” Ven asks, moving slowly when he folds his chair, as if unsure.

“Monsoon season.” Riku steps on the last embers. “We didn’t expect a storm to come out this soon but you never know.”

“Maybe it wasn’t supposed to come tonight.” Kairi eyes Sora suspiciously.

“No way—” Sora starts.

“Nice job, Sora.” Riku says. “You’ve doomed us all.”

“I didn’t wish for a monsoon!”

“You wished to be locked up here with us. Congratulations.”

I interrupt. “What do you need me to do? Where do we go for shelter?”

Kairi points to their treehouse, which connects through the cavern and which, from my understanding, stood there through their entire childhood. “My dad—the one you’ve met before, Papa—fortified it with extra wood on the walls and the roof. It’s always been safe.”

By the time we have everything packed and are going up the ramps to the treehouse, it’s pouring. At least it’s not the iciness of mountain rain.

The door bangs when Kairi swings it open, the wind throwing it back and forth as if it’s juggling it between two hands. Ven waves his arm in a circular motion—his magic redirects the wind for as long as he can hold it, letting everyone inside before he lets go and the door slams behind us. 

Inside, we dry ourselves with rags, our shoes and socks warming up under the lanterns. We have fresh blankets and sacks of food, in case the storm lasts all night. 

Except in terms of blankets, we’re one short.

Ven hands Terra the last blanket and (pointedly) says something to him. 

The last blanket is the largest, so I’d have to share it with Terra. I adore Ven to pieces (and I won’t protest sharing any space with Terra), but when Ven gets difficult, I sometimes have to suppress myself. Judging by the way Terra wraps it around our shoulders and nudges close to me, he doesn’t care what the others think anymore. 

Kairi quickly looks away from us, rolling her lips inward like she’s witnessed a scandal.

Rain beats onto the roof, a million patters like the fingers of thousands of people asking to be let in. Thunder rumbles in quickly, soothing then unsettling. Terra and I sit in front of a window, the water so thick that it blurs the screen. Under the blanket, he rolls a finger over my wrist, stroking my palm. I smile at him. 

“We should have brought real fruit,” Ven says, chewing on dried mango. If by real fruit he means paopu, he’s smart for not specifying it. 

“You need finer taste,” Kairi says, chewing on the same.

“You need culture,” Sora says, swallowing something I don’t recognize.

The idea of a spontaneous camp-in might have been exciting the first several minutes, but hours later, it becomes agony. 

All this time, I can’t talk to Terra about anything too personal, though we’ve snuck a few passing whispers here and there. 

He asks me an indistinct question that anyone can misinterpret out of context: When did you know? 

My answer is just as vague. I was fourteen. 

There’s not much we can do to explore touch. I tend to listen more to the way he takes finger by finger. Terra will intermittently say one sentence with minimal effort, but just enough so that the others know we’re still with them. I worry that if I laugh a certain way, it would expose us. 

But no one asks, too busy chatting about building bigger boats for the one dream they’ve never been able to accomplish. 

At some point, Terra challenges Riku to a rematch.

“So what you’re telling me,” Riku says, a mock-smirk that fits perfectly on his face, “is that you’re very impressed and you want to be foolish enough to lose to me a second time so that everyone else knows how impressive I am.”

“We all know, Riku,” Sora says.

“But Terra wants to remind you.”

Terra laughs as if he’s not interlacing his fingers with mine. He squeezes my hand. 

It’s when everyone’s eyes are closed, drifting away to sleep, that Terra wraps his arm around my waist and I rest on his shoulder. One lantern is still on. The storm has quieted for now, but we’ve been told to expect another onslaught. 

Terra cranes his head back, looking out the window. He’s done this twice per hour, but the sky has been black, the clouds smearing everything.

“What are you looking for?” I whisper. 

“I have this very,” Terra starts, pausing, “vague memory of looking up to the stars, looking for home but I could never find it.”

So not his memory, but Xehanort’s. Blurs and images that make no sense, as if from a dream. Castle Oblivion never shined, so of course Xehanort couldn’t find it for the last twelve years. Terra is lucky that’s as much as he remembers. I don’t know how he could possibly deal if he woke up with a history of every crime Xehanort has committed in his body.

“And I feel like,” Terra continues, his eyes lost, his voice hushed. “I’ve—or he—tried over and over again.”

“Ah.” I sigh. “You were looking for it these past few nights.”

“The Master told me that home is the brightest star in the multiverse. You could see it through the clouds. It would always guide you back if you were lost.” 

“I never heard that story.”

Terra looks at me and holds me closer. “That was before you came.”

“Whether it’s true or not, it’s out there.”

He frowns, leaning his head back against the windowsill again. “The idea that home was gone at some point… that’s the one thing that haunts me still, even though I know it’s just a trip away and I could always go back. But knowing that doesn’t suffice.”

I rub his stomach. “We can find it together.”

He goes quiet, the hand on my waist tensing up. The wheels in his mind turn. “Do you want to find it tonight?”

I look up at him. 

“The storm has stopped,” he says.

“For now.”

“Then we come back before it starts again.” He pulls me closer, nearly settling me on top of his leg. I feel his smirk in my hair.

I glance out the window. “But the clouds are too thick.”

“Well, if the story is true—”

“If.”

“Then we’d take some time for ourselves.” He nudges my nose, and I wish he’d kiss me. “We’re Keyblade wielders. A monsoon isn’t impossible to manipulate.”

I stifle a laugh. He has a quick answer for everything, and to any given person, it’d be infuriating. I once found it so when I was younger. 

“I am obligated to remind you that it’s dangerous,” I say, wishing I could get away with tasting his lips. I come close to.

“I feel like I’m about to scream,” he says, brushing my hair. “I need to do something loud. Yell. Throw myself into the ocean. Touch you—I don’t know. It’s too suffocating in here. I’ve suffocated for twelve years. I’ve had enough.”

I don’t know why my heart jumps at the idea when it’s so reckless. Terra is not a bad influence, he’s just as responsible as I am, yet I find myself yearning for the thrill. 

I haven’t tasted something like this in years, when thrill was something to be avoided in the Darkness.  

“Okay. But we come back in no less than twenty minutes.”

We blow out our lantern and Terra takes precious, long seconds to turn the doorknob. 

Ven stirs, his bright eyes blinking open in the dark. “You guys are leaving?” he whispers. 

“We’re coming back,” Terra says.

“Is this going to happen a lot?” 

My heart sinks. It’s usually the three of us, never disconnected except when we’re bickering. I look to Terra for what to say when he replies with, “Do you want to come with us?”

Ven looks at me. “Nah. I’m tired.”

I bend down and pet his head. “You’ll come with us next time.”

“I know.” Ven wiggles in his blanket and gets comfortable. “Just don’t drown.”

Terra gently takes my wrist. As much as I’m compelled to stay with Ven, Terra’s smile is a reminder that there’s little to worry about with him. We leave the shoes and socks behind.

Outside, the wind howls strong, my sashes beaten in fury. The sand is warm when we step off the ramp, loose swirls of dust devils skidding across the beach. It’s dark without the moonlight, the ocean waves crashing onto the shore so hard that all I see are white bubbles. My heart races, but this feeling is nothing like the constant race of fear in the Dark Realm. No, this is familiar yet foreign. The slap of salty air in my face makes me gush with something jittery. 

Terra cups his hands close to the ground and jerks them forward near the base of the giant tree where the treehouse stands. The sand buckles—he’s moving earth and boulder against the trunk of the tree, compensating for years of erosion, creating a natural scaffolding to fortify it further.

The river nearby spills out of its bank, small streams skittling towards the ocean. I bring my hands together and wave them back inland, redirecting the water away from the tree so there is less risk of flooding. 

I hear Terra calling me. The wind ruins his hair—he looks more charming this way. When he walks, his pants flatten and blow open like balloons. He gathers bunches of my hair in his thick, large fingers, holds it off of my face, and kisses me. He’s firm and pulsing, strong but gentle, the touch of his lips igniting a flame that rides up to my heart. By the way he breathes through me, he’s been wanting to do this for a long time. 

A gust of wind bashes against our bodies. Water splashes on our knees and I nearly topple down.

We laugh into each other’s shoulders, my legs caked in wet sand. He’s holding me up by my arms, taking me towards the nearest palm tree.

“This is the most insane thing I’ve ever done,” I say, my voice raised to compete against the roar of the wind.

“I needed this,” he says, nodding. 

My heart sighs in agreement. 

Terra trembles from adrenaline, his smile glued on his face. He gestures in a way to call something down from above. A palm tree bends over, giving its head to us. “I want you to meet my new best friend, Leafy.” 

I snort. “What is this for?”

Terra giggles before grabbing a paopu fruit. “Thank you, my friend,” he says to Leafy, bowing.

“You’re talking to a tree.”

Pointing that out melts him into hysteria. “I don’t know how to describe it. I am so happy right now.” He gestures like he’s about to rip his skin off, something inside about to explode. “And I don’t know what to do with that feeling.” He turns to me, holding out the paopu fruit. “I want to share this with you.”

My cheeks hurt. “We don’t know how it works.”

“Will you accept it anyway?” 

No second thoughts. 

It has the consistency of an orange, the taste of a grape. The legend of the fruit claims that it binds the destinies of those who share it together, intertwining their hearts and fates so they’re a part of each other’s lives forever. It could be a symbolic gesture—I certainly thought so when I made our Wayfinders, embedding my magic into them to make sure they work that way. 

I don’t know what I think of the future—I stopped planning for it the day I fell to Darkness—but I would be okay so long as Terra stays somewhere in my life.

Terra leans forward and bites the other side of the fruit, right out of my mouth. It catches me off guard, shuddering me into a chuckle, and I lean to meet him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He tastes of warmed juice. My heart pounds at the slide of his fingers on my forearms as he pushes my sleeves away. I lose the paopu fruit somewhere when he pulls me in.

I realize now what it is: I’ve been numbed. The Realm of Darkness hushes it all inside, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts. When you can’t take much more, you wish for it to be over. Then, you are soothed, a sick, cold honey that drips over your skin. The numbness makes you keep walking so you keep living, until you can’t take the numbness anymore and you go back to despairing. Only to be soothed yet again. The only real emotion that lasts for more than a moment is the sudden whiplash when Heartless attack and you have to survive. The wrong kind of thrill.

Terra has been cut off from all senses for twelve years.

I’ve been quieted. 

So I need him. I need him to brush his fingers on my skin, I need to taste his tongue, I need to run in the rain, laugh at stupid jokes, get scared on purpose, for reasons that don’t truly threaten me. Terra reminds me of the morning when we raced in the ravine as children. He reminds me that there’s more to the way my heart beats than keeping my hands to myself. 

Terra sighs into my neck. “I wish I was strong enough to be a shooting star for you,” he says into my ear. “I’m sorry we waited twelve years to do this.”

Does he not remember that he came to me in the Darkness? He told me not to give up.

He told me that I never stopped lighting his way back. I must have flown in the sky too, without knowing, for other children to see. Maybe I’ve done so many times. I hold him tightly.

An unnaturally strong gust targets at us, loose leaves slapping us and nicking my face. Terra looks up and bursts into laughter. “Stars, he’s watching us.”

Ven sits at the window, waving his arms in circles, as if to slap our wrists with rulers for such behavior. 

My instinct is to remove myself from all scrutiny, but I bump into Terra’s chest. I laugh. I don’t know what else to do except to take his hand and run to the other side of the beach. I think about how Ven must have been worried, and opened that window to see what we were up to, only to witness what he did, and— 

—I cover my mouth and snort. “I can’t believe we were caught.”

“We’re being sloppy.”

I can’t stop laughing. It hurts, but in a good way, better than the victory after a Heartless attack, better than even seeing my friends again after so long, when I couldn’t stop crying.  

Water washes over my feet faster than I can step out of it, my toes sinking like I can be erased in a heartbeat. We all could, at the precipice of Darkness. I could laugh right now, I could mourn tomorrow. The thought chokes me.

“Aqua, are you okay?”

Storm clouds have suffocated everything, dark paint dabbed with a sponge layer after layer so that everything under is hidden. I lean back, but I don’t step away. It’s dark but not Dark, I tell myself. We’re alone, but I’m not. We’re nowhere close to home, but with him, I am. Small reminders for large steps forward. 

“It looks like it goes on forever.”

Terra squeezes my hand, and it says so much. He understands. “We’re facing west. Home would be this direction.”

I’ve faced the darkest enemy and survived. I’ve been running—it’s my instinct to—but I don’t have to run anymore. 

Yet I don’t know what else I could do with all this energy. I face the black ocean now. I want to do something crazy.

“We could try to find it,” I say.

Terra jerks like he’s about to torpedo himself into the sky. “We’ll fly.”

I swallow. “The ocean looks bottomless.”

“It’s not.”

“I know it isn’t.” I look again. The star isn’t there. “But that doesn’t make sense to me. Dark is dark, kind is kind, and the things that hurt me hide.”

“There’s nothing out there that can hurt you, only whales. And I know for a fact that you’re stronger than any shark I know.”

I pause, a mix of childish giddiness and sudden tears wrestling with each other and I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. “We don’t fight sharks.”

“We don’t.”

“You don’t know any sharks.”

“You’re right.”

My body gives up and I laugh and cry at the same time. “That was the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

Terra wraps his hand on my waist, leaning against my forehead. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you fall. Ever again.” 

“I know.” I place my hand on the center of his chest. Sometimes lessons are learned too late. Sometimes the consequences are more than what we’ve prepared for. “Let’s fly.”

He summons his Keyblade and commands it to transform into his glider, helping me on with the guidance of his hand. Neither of us want to break contact. His glider isn’t designed to carry two people, the curve of its engine forcing me forward so I lean onto him. His back muscles are well-formed, sturdy under my weight, his waist so thick that I have to grip his shirt to hold on. 

When Ven sees us take off, he makes frantic arm movements, grabbing fistfuls of air. It calms the fury of the wind around us, giving Terra a smoother path ahead with mild turbulence. We leave the beach behind, and ride into a world of nothing. 

I grip harder into his stomach and contain a meep. Terra slows to a stop. We haven’t gone far.

“I’m okay,” I say onto his neck. It’s quieter out here, without the waves and the trees.

Terra palms a hand over mine, gliding it up to his chest like he wants to feel his heartbeat through both of our hands. It’s hammers, like he’s running away, or towards something.

Or nowhere, really. We’re running just to run, just to remember what it feels like. I kiss the back of his neck, where it meets his shoulder.

“Look,” he says softly. His grip tightens on the handlebar, and he shudders under me. He’s about to cry.

There is one star through the clouds, brushed over in fog. Terra reaches up as if to grab it, measuring our home in the pinch of his fingers.

“To think our beds are small enough to fit,” I say, smiling into him.

Terra takes my hand from his chest and kisses it. 

A gust of wind knocks his glider, and he revs it up to stabilize us, holding a solid kick onto the pedals. Ven is either too far away or too tired to keep helping us.

Rain prickles onto us, and starts to build. I tremble. For some reason, I don’t want to go back into the treehouse and sleep it off. I feel cut off, trapped in a bottle where I can’t move. 

I look behind me. There are now four heads on that window, four worried faces gawking at the scandal. “The others are awake.”

“Let them have a show.” He turns over and holds me close, taking my lips with his. Again, again, again. 

I shiver. He tastes like springwater. I don’t know why I don’t find our predicament threatening. We’re hovering over darkness—but I’ve won against the Darkness. We’ve hovering in a dangerous storm, and yet it seems miniscule. I’m grateful.

“I can make the water dance,” I say.

“I know. That’s why I’m not scared.” He smiles. It’s like he’s asking permission.

I nod. “We wouldn’t be falling.”

“We’d be flying.” 

He dismisses his Keyblade. He falls first, relaxed, his arms open like he doesn’t mind landing into the turret of waters, like he’s about to fall on a feather bed. 

I call for my Keyblade and let it shine. The rain around us swirls, bursting into bright pellets. Terra catches me with one arm, hooking it around my waist and keeping me close. We twirl like we’re caught in a tornado. We kiss. We laugh, our legs wrapping over each other. The light spreads, tiny pinpricks of asteroids and firecrackers that shower Destiny Islands.

I can’t be crazy. I can’t fall. I’m safe and sound with the earth beneath my feet.

[mrs-daddyissues]

considerably

~ C H A P T E R  8 ~

~ Masterlist ~

Pairing: Alfred Pennyworth x OFC

Series Summary: Sarabi Nichols is Bruce Wayne’s life long friend that aids in creating weaponry and making outfits. When she was younger she had a thing for Bruce but now her taste has aged. Considerably. Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce’s guardian and butler is more her style now. Despite this knew found liking, Sarabi feels trapped. She can’t talk to Bruce about it and clearly can’t mention it to Alfred. The only person she has is her best friend, Claudia. Sarabi has to fight the things she feels for the older man because he could never feel the same way back, right?

{Normal} Playlist

{Slowed+Reverb} Playlist

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references

Word Count: 1831

Author’s Note:

If you didn’t see it in my last post, I just wanted to say that I am returning to work soon so my posting schedule will not be as consistent. Apologies but for now, enjoy!

Sarabi’s eyes fluttered open as soft morning light filtered through her curtains. She felt warm and tingly all over but couldn’t remember having a sex dream that night. She felt around her nightgown and found no evidence. Suddenly, like a large wave, all the previous night’s events replayed in her mind.

She remembered the way every person stared at her as she graced those stairs. She remembered dancing with that old guy and then with the young, skinny Edward Nygma that she introduced to Claudia. 

But the thing that was making her feel so pleased was the moments she shared with Alfred. She recounted their sensual dance as if they’d done it millions of times before and the way he talked to her in his jealous almost possessive tone. The dance and the small encounter that happened afterwards replayed in her mind and made her sigh contently.

At that moment, her phone pinged. She turned over with a gruff and grabbed the phone. On her screen was a text from Claudia.

So...did you get some? ;)

Sarabi’s smile faded when she realised what this all meant. She would have to face Alfred today and what was she supposed to do? Act like nothing happened or address the ache in her core that had started building. She felt a pinch of annoyance as she thought about how she could’ve ended the night with Alfred in her bed. 

Sarabi rolled back over and slapped her forehead. ‘What the fuck am I suppose to do?’ Sarabi stressed over and over again before deciding to text Claudia back.

No, did you?

Sarabi tried to distract herself by making conversation with Claudia but it didn’t help. Her body yearned for Alfred in a way it hadn’t before. Sarabi knew this stronger craving was because of how close she got to what she wanted last night. She didn’t know how long she could stand it.

Aw, that’s too bad. You’ll get him eventually. And yes I did get some and it wasn’t half bad. 

Sarabi was glad Claudia had some fun but now she wanted to have her own fun. She didn’t know what to do but she knew Claudia would.

What the fuck should I do? Do I act as if nothing happened?

Sarabi texted, hoping that Claudia had all the answers she needed.

Talk to him. When you get a spare chance. I might come over later and we can discuss it further, alright Sarbi? Gtg but I love you and go get some ;)

Claudia’s answer made Sarabi’s nerves fly through the roof but she made the decision. She’d discuss it with Claudia, hopefully, and get all the advice she needed. She would then, when she got a private, spare chance, talk to Alfred and see what happens. It could ruin everything they had but if it went the way she wanted, it could have some of the most delicious payoff.

Please, come over. I need your guidance, wise one! Love ya.

She texted back almost instantly. Sarabi knew it was the only way to know for sure. If she didn’t talk with him she would never know.

Sarabi managed to avoid Alfred for the day as he was in the ballroom helping clean up. Sarabi busied herself with work in the cave that ranged from weapons manufacturing to hacking into security cameras and surveying crime. In retrospect, she’s very glad that Bruce had that gala because now Alfred would be away for the whole day.

Halfway through the day, Sarabi realised what she was doing was useless so she retired to her room. Having no clue what else to do, she read, watched some TV and even had a random shower. She was bored and kind of wishing she had some sort of work to do.

“Miss Nichols?” The sonorous British voice registered in her ears while she put away a pair of socks. She turned around quickly and felt all rationality leave her mind. Everything she had prepared before was completely washed from her mind like a sandcastle during high tide. She marvelled at how Alfred, without any effort, could make her mind unravel like that.

“Miss Nichols?” Alfred’s head inclined when Sarabi didn’t respond. She then quickly snapped out of her trance and shook her head, her curls bouncing on her shoulders.

“Yes, Alfred?” Sarabi let go of a shaky breath as her heart thumped against her chest.

“Miss Flynn is here to see you,” Alfred responded with the most professional voice Sarabi had ever heard him use. It was like he was trying to be overly professional.

“She didn’t tell me she would be here,” Sarabi wasn’t surprised though, Claudia was the ultimate best friend. She was there for her whenever she needed it.

Sarabi walked up to where Alfred was standing and watched how his eyes flickered down to her lips and back up to her eyes. Sarabi gave a similar stare to Alfred hoping he would just confess to her first. The tension between the two was thick.

After the dance the two shared the feelings between the two seemed much hotter and heavier. The tension was extreme and almost unbearably. She would love to get it other with and jump Alfred’s bones but he had other plans. 

“Miss Flynn is waiting,” Alfred reminded Sarabi as her body moved closer to his. Sarabi didn’t even notice she was doing it.

“Right, thanks,” Sarabi quickly scurried away to find Claudia watching from the bottom of the staircase.

“Did I interrupt?” Claudia asked with a worried but playful tone. She hoped she hadn’t interrupted an important moment but also hoped that things were moving forward.

“You interrupted nothing, let’s go,” Sarabi grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along.

“Where are we going?” Claudia questioned, thinking they would just talk at Wayne Manor.

“Anywhere but here,” Sarabi responded, she looked back to find Alfred watching her from the staircase. Those eyes were burning into her but as soon as Sarabi caught them, he turned around and walked away. The voyeuristic stares shared between the two were growing in number. Sarabi had no idea what to do about it. Sarabi just hoped Claudia had all the answers.

The two girls ended up having lunch at some swanky 50s style diner in downtown Gotham. They were seated at a red leather booth in the very corner. Claudia had in front of her a cheeseburger, fries and a large coke. Sarabi consumed and thoroughly enjoyed a hot dog, fries and a cherry cola milkshake.

While they ate, they discussed everything that needed mentioning. 

“So, how was Edward Nygma?” Sarabi wanted to know all the details and knew Claudia would share them without a care in the world.

“He’s got some weird quirks, that’s for sure, like he kept giving me riddles the entire night but I like riddles so it was kinda cute. We went back to my place and did it in my bed, on my couch and on my kitchen counter,” Claudia listed off the places she had sex with Edward Nygma and Sarabi scoffed.

“Jesus Claudia! I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up with an STD at some point,” Sarabi took a sip from her milkshake while Claudia rolled her eyes.

“They’re called STIs and I get tested regularly, I also always use protection,” Claudia stated matter-of-factually while shoving a bunch of french fries in her mouth.

“Is that what you did with Edward?” Sarabi teased and Claudia threw a fry in retaliation.

“No, but yes,” Claudia answered and the two girls giggled like school children.

“So, was he good?” Sarabi inquired, throwing a fry back at Claudia.

“Well I fucked him 3 times on 3 different surfaces, so,” Claudia chuckled while the waitress walking past stared on in disgust.

“I’m guessing he was pretty good,” Sarabi watched as the same waitress’ mouth hung open in utter disbelief. Sarabi had no idea what was wrong, they were talking quietly so the family a couple of booths over couldn’t hear and it was a free country after all. Sarabi just rolled her eyes at the waitress and she went on with her duties.

“Who are you rolling your eyeballs at?” Claudia looked behind her in the most unsubtle fashion and Sarabi slapped her arm.

“The waitress, now turn around before you get us kicked out,” Sarabi pulled Claudia by her shirt back into her seat and she pouted her lips in mock sadness.

“Okay, mother!” Claudia chastised with an overly dramatic eye roll and huff.

“Can we talk about Alfred now?” Sarabi looked around cautiously and she had no idea why. It’s not like Alfred would be around or had supersonic hearing.

“Right, right, right, let’s get down to business,” Claudia clasped her hands together and leaned against the table as if it was an interview.

“You reckon I should just talk to him?” Sarabi scratched the back of her neck nervously at the thought of confessing her feelings.

“Yes girl, definitely! Talking sorts everything out. You just sit him down and tell him how you feel,” Claudia explained as if she’d given the same talk a million times.

“But I don’t know how I feel,” Sarabi huffed in annoyance. She didn’t know if it was love, liking or something entirely different.

“Of course you do. Look deep into your heart and look. Do you find Alfred there?” Claudia spoke in a soothing voice as if she was a yoga instructor.

“As if Alfred is where?” Sarabi queried, confused beyond belief. Claudia could be overly poetic sometimes.

“Your heart, dipshit! Do you see him in your heart?” Claudia allowed ample time for Sarabi to take a look. 

Sarabi let her mind wander to the man being discussed. She felt the suave brilliance that followed him wherever he went. She saw his beautiful locks of hair and deep brown eyes. She heard his voice, low and rich with expression and British excellence. She could also smell his aroma, musky and deliciously masculine with the right hint of cologne. She experienced Alfred in every facet. She saw him, heard him, smelt him and felt him. He was everywhere. He was on her mind, behind her eyes, burning her core and in her heart.

“Yes, I do,” Sarabi opened her eyes and saw Claudia smile mischievously. 

“Then you love him! Simple as that, do you see yourself with him in the future?” Claudia took another fry and swallowed it greedily.

“I hope so,” Sarabi took a gluttonous gulp of her cherry cola milkshake, feeling the cool, sweet liquid burst in her mouth.

“So yes. It’s love, girl and believe me I do know what love is,” Claudia reassured when Sarabi’s head cocked to the side.

“So I love him?” Sarabi’s mind seemed to clear when the realisation hit.

“I do. I love Alfred,” Sarabi admitted to herself and for once, she felt relieved. 

For once she knew what she was, she was in love.

<<CHAPTER 7<<  ~ ~ ~  >>CHAPTER 9>>

[rwbyremnants]

WARNING: This chapter contains use of a couple of racist terms for Italian-Americans and Chinese-Americans by a particularly bigoted character; no offense is intended toward the readers and the words used do not reflect the views of the author, but rather the historically accurate attitudes of the 1950s era in the USA. Please be advised that you may wish to skip this chapter if you prefer to avoid terms like those.

Well I knew writing would take up most of last month... sorry about that. I'm gonna try to do better about posting from now on. Hope you guys are having a fun hot girl summer~

=Chapter 38

Before long, Kali did come by to wake them up, and was almost alarmed that the girls were already up and chattering with each other. Though they quieted quickly at being commanded to get ready for school, knowing doing anything else would probably get them in even hotter water than before.

But Kali's eyes remained shrewd on Blake the entire morning, and seemed to be reading Weiss like a book. She knew. That would have surprised her before the past month of insanity, but by now she fully appreciated that Kali Belladonna was nobody's fool. She just had to hope the woman would leave the situation up to them instead of butting in.

And she did… sort of.

“Weiss,” she said as they moved toward Blake's motorcycle to head to class. She stayed back.

“Yes, Kali?”

“I trust you… slept well.” Her eyes were still discerning, stabbing into her as if she had x-ray vision.

“I did. Thank you for asking.” When the silence was growing stale, Weiss prayed that her cheeks weren’t pinkening as she asked, “Was there something else?

Kali shook her head, a half-smile hitched into place. “No. Just be careful. As you've been learning, this world of ours… has a lot of hidden pitfalls. Don't make a mistake that you'll wind up regretting. But I'm probably worried about nothing, right? You're a smart girl. Just don't forget to be smart.”

With those ominous parting words, Blake's mother went back inside and Weiss went back to Blake herself.

“What was that about?” she asked while handing over her spare helmet.

“Oh, nothing, I suppose. But I think your mother was trying to warn me not to make out with you.”

“Mm.” Only after their helmets were on and they were both seated on the bike did she burst out, “WHAT?!”

-------------------

That day at school was very strange for Weiss. As if she had woken up on the wrong side of the bed - which, in a manner of speaking, she did.

As had become usual, Yang spent a lot of time making eyes at her in the hallway, finding excuses to touch her. They didn’t have actual classes together, but the rest of the day found her slipping a hand down below the hem of her skirt and teasing her thighs before drawing it away, making sure nobody would notice. That was normal - though it had lessened during certain points where one or neither of them were in the mood, or were in the hospital. After their fun on the lakeshore, Yang was back at the top of her game, and it was almost more relief than exhilarating.

Now, however… it wasn’t just Yang. Though she didn’t get nearly so bold, Blake was also winking at her occasionally, finding an excuse to whisper something into her ear that probably could have been said out loud without anyone caring. She never did it in front of Yang, but it still happened. Weiss didn’t respond as favourably to her, but neither could she seem to completely ignore this new attention.

She felt like a cheap floozy. It wasn’t fair to herself, and she knew it mentally, but her emotions were another story. So what if Blake let off a little steam? Technically, she didn’t even help her directly; just encouraged her to take care of herself. But she knew her more prudish friends might not see it that way, even if it was all that had transpired.

After classes, Yang took her to their spot at the abandoned depot. They did kiss for a little while, but it wasn’t quite the same; Weiss felt that morning hanging over her like a dark cloud, threatening to crack open and pour down on the whole situation.

“I’m sorry.”

To Weiss’s surprise, she hadn’t been the one to say it. She pulled back to ask, “For what?”

“There’s just so much happening, y’know? With your dad, and…” Yang sighed and reached up to caress over Weiss’s neck. “It’s dumb, but I keep thinking about Ruby and Qrow.”

“No, it’s not dumb. But what have you been thinking about them?”

“That it’s all my fault we got so… so- I mean, I shoulda known they didn’t hate me. Seems pretty obvious now. But I let myself get all wrapped up in my mom’s anger, and…”

Her girlfriend looked so stricken that Weiss couldn’t help leaning up to kiss her forehead. “You didn’t know. Weren’t you a little girl when this all happened? It is dumb to expect a child to understand what’s going on when she’s already dealing with losing her mom. Or step-mom.”

“Yeah.” She nodded very faintly at first, then a little stronger. “You’re right. I only wish I knew then what I know now, I guess.”

“Mmhmm. Was there something else? You still seem…”

“Well, yeah, there are a couple of things. Like your dad, and you and your mom having to shack up with Mrs. B., and Cinder still not being back in class… it’s just so much. Feels like we can’t catch a break lately.”

Guilt fluttered in her stomach. And here she had been about to add to Yang’s worries by asking about that “free pass” to try making out with a few other girls. As if she even needed to, really! “I’m sorry. So much of that is my fault, in a way. Your life just got more complicated when I came along.”

“Complicated in good ways, too,” she said with a half-smile. But Weiss didn’t return it, so she tilted her head a little. “Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Something’s off with you. Did you and Blake have a fight? She’s been acting weird, too. Pretty much… all day. And I saw you two whispering a lot.” Weiss didn’t even have to answer; the way she looked away biting her lip was enough. “Nnnnnot a fight. Got it.”

“Yang-”

“It’s okay, everything’s boss. I’m hep.” But she didn’t look it. Weiss didn’t think she had ever seen Yang so confused and out of sorts before. She wasn’t angry, or scared; just highly confused and maybe a little sad.

“This isn’t what you think,” she tried, knowing that only made it sound worse. “Blake… she just has been really lonely lately. Nothing happened between us, exactly. But I did…” She felt like she would be sick. “I did help her a little.” Her face was burning, definitely, and maybe even her ears and neck. “Mostly I just watched… and told her she didn’t have to stop. Th-that was all.”

Yang forced a smile that only hurt both of them. “Didn’t I just say I’m fine? And… I never said you had to pin me, and I haven’t pinned you. Neither of us is wearing handcuffs, neither of us is committed. You can do whatever you want with her.”

“But I don’t! I want to be with you, Yang! She just… like I said, she’s been so lonely, and I helped her out a tiny bit. That all. And trust me, I’m not the one she wants to be with - but I can’t go into detail.” Yang didn’t answer. “Do you trust me?”

She still didn’t answer - right away. But when she glanced up and saw Weiss looking as if she had just been shot, she relented. “Of course I trust you! Sorry, I'm sorry, Princess. I just… haven't had to think about…” She swallowed hard and reached up to grasp Weiss's shoulders hard. “I've never had a steady girl before. Ever. So this is all brand new! But I think… maybe I really would be alright if you and Blake-”

Weiss's hand came up and pressed very gently into Yang's mouth. “Don't say that right now. Okay? Just, um, just think about it for a while and get back to me later. You have a lot on your plate, and… I didn't even know how to bring this up to you. It seems cruel when you're already dealing with so much. But it's way less important to me than making sure you and I are hunky dory.”

Before Yang even nodded, she was already kissing the fingertips. Weiss felt her knees go weak and was glad for the old couch they were seated on. The lips kneaded more and more against her fingers until they ran up to take the middle one inside, tongue swirling around it teasingly. It didn't completely distract her from their conversation… but went a long way toward doing so.

“We're hunky dory all the time,” the Dragon finally told her without a hint of hesitation. “And… I know how we feel about each other. I've just never had something I could lose like this before.”

“The only way you'll lose me is if you don't want me around anymore. That's it. Even if things get rough, and my father tries to take me away, and a million other girls want to turn my head, I promise I will find my way back to you. Bet on it, Xiao Long.”

Nothing could have kept the two apart after that.

-------------------

A little while later and they were heading back to the Belladonna house, physically sated even if they were still a little emotionally frayed. Once they parked and started to dismount Yang's motorcycle, she reached out to stall Weiss from heading up to the house.

“This thing that Blake's dealing with… whatever it's about. Or whoever. Should I tease her to make it seem less big, or is it too big even for teasing? Just don't want to make the wrong move here.”

Weiss had to fight down a surge of panic. “Nooooo, no, don't bring that up, at all! Please? You're her best friend and she would be really embarrassed if you found out from somebody else. And if you hint that you know part of it, she might accidentally say the rest and then we’ll all feel awful.”

“Right, okay: I don't know anything. I'll be cool.” A little grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “But I'm glad you're looking out for her, even if it's frustrating not knowing what the hell is going on. She's a good friend.”

Privately, Weiss cringed on Blake's behalf at that last line. And because they were slightly dancing around the notion of opening their relationship up to outside parties. But there was no time to lament such things - especially with Yang standing right there, focused on the situation.

The instant Blake looked up from setting the dining room table and saw the two of them there, her face went through a few quick transformations. Anger, annoyance, sadness, embarrassment. Jealousy in spades. But there was a more pure form of longing there, as well. And that quickly, it all vanished, replaced with an honest gratitude to see her two friends.

“Hey, girls. Mom says it’s almost ready - cacciatore tonight.”

“Great!” Yang glanced at Weiss, her eyes full of an intense question: ‘What is going on with her?!’ Clearly, now that she knew to look for it, she had seen the same transformations Weiss had. But she kept the question in her eyes only, and even that faded away before she turned back to Blake. “Um… so… what’s new?”

Weiss wanted to groan, but it would have been a dead giveaway. Blake blinked and said, “Huh?”

“Seems like I haven’t talked to you much lately is all.”

“Nothing, really. I mean, my news is the same news as your news. By now, you know about Weiss’s dad, right?”

“Yeah! Ain’t that kooky?!”

The rest of the dinner was taken up with chatting about Weiss’s father, and other Dragons goings-on. Kali turned out to have one or two ideas for a new base of operations, even if they weren’t currently workable; she had been ruminating on the problem. The solution just might take time.

“Blake, finish your beets. They’re good for you.”

“Mom, I’m enjoying the chicken,” she sighed weakly. “Don’t ruin it with those red tiddlywinks.”

Weiss may have been the only one to catch the knowing glint in Kali’s eyes as she said in the same casual, matronly tone, “You looked a bit flushed this morning. I’m worried about your blood pressure.”

Instantly, Blake was choking on the bit of beet she had reluctantly nibbled. Yang was quick to go pound her on the back, even though Kali was there nearly as quickly. Weiss was at the far end of the table with her mother, so though they both rose to their feet that was as far as they got before Blake was breathing normally again.

“You aren’t supposed to breathe them!” Kali was chuckling gently, still rubbing up and down her daughter’s back. “Calm down, I only said you looked like you were a bit… strained.”

“MOM!” Blake gagged in annoyance. Everyone laughed, and she looked even more mortified.

“Alright, alright,” Weiss finally said with a wave of her hand. “Lay off her.”

“You laughed, too, Princess!”

Yang smirked and folded her arms over her chest. “Hey, I thought I was the only one that got to call her that.”

“Since when?” Weiss asked.

“Since forever!” When both Blake and Weiss looked at her curiously, Yang laughed again, going back to her chair. “I'm kidding; I don't actually mind, you know.”

“Oh…” Plopping back down, Weiss picked up her fork again. “Good. But don't worry, I still like hearing it from you the best.”

This time, the retching sounds from Blake were feigned, but her mother still turned back to her as if it were a real crisis. That started the laughter again, especially from Willow who saw much of her own parenting reflected in the other mother - even if she had taken an extended leave of absence, thanks to her husband and hundreds of bottles of wine.

Following dinner and dessert, they were relaxing in the living room in front of the TV when they heard a car pull into the drive. “I’m not expecting anyone,” Kali said.

“Me, either.” Blake glanced around at everyone else, then back to her mother. “Is Salem back? Already?”

It certainly wasn’t Salem. When they gathered on the porch to see what was going on, they found themselves staring at none other than Jacques Schnee, leaning on a diamond-topped cane that he had certainly never needed before with his hair and mustache a little too perfect. He was standing in front of an actual squad car, with two actual policemen in the front.

“Porco cane!” Kali hissed under her breath, eyes narrowed. But she made no other sudden movement.

“So this is where you two have squirreled yourselves away,” he sighed in a disinterested voice. “How very… pedestrian. Is it even up to code? I wonder if I could have it condemned…”

“What do you want here, Jacques?” Willow said in as even a tone as she could manage. It wasn’t fiery, and it wasn’t firm. She was terrified that he had found them - as was Weiss. Though she was content to stay in the background of the encounter for as long as possible.

“Why, honey, I thought that would be obvious. I wish to reunite my family.” His smile was genial, like he thought he was Santa Claus. “Whitley misses the both of you.”

While she was trying to come up with a reply for that, Weiss found her voice. “We have a family. Right here.”

“Oh, is that what you call this? Such a random collection of rabble - a couple of black-haired dago greasers and some chink girl? That passes for family to you now? My, my… how the mighty have fallen.”

Kali nearly lost it. In fact, she took a single step forward, but Blake managed to hold her back at the last second. The gentle pressure on her arms reminded her of their situation, of the cop car waiting just behind the enemy, and she brought her temper back under control.

“You see?” he laughed harshly, gesturing with a hand. “Animals that can scarcely control themselves. Come home, Willow. We’ll sort this out later.”

By now, the Schnee matriarch’s anger was starting to overtake her fear, even if marginally. “Come home? So… s-so you can spank me as if I were a spoiled little girl? We have had this discussion, Jacques. I will never sleep under the same roof as you again.”

He only wasted a few seconds digesting her words, glaring daggers at the woman he had claimed to love when he married her. Then he grinned darkly. “Never say never, my dear.” His fingers snapped toward the car, and one of the officers exited to stand next to him. “Fetch the bitch.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Yang drawled out, cracking her knuckles. “She ain’t done anything wrong. You can’t just go sticking people in handcuffs for no reason.”

“Ah, but they can, and they will. Who’s going to stop us? You? If you resist, we will claim that you were shot in ‘self defense’ - and who will the judge believe?” His hand pressed into the center of his chest. “A respected pillar of this community, running for the office of mayor? Or an unfaithful wife who runs away from her problems and into the waiting arms of a handful of thugs? None of you have a leg to stand on.”

“You’re right,” Kali announced, eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. “But first, you would all have to make it back to the station in one piece.”

Then her gun was aimed at Jacques. Weiss hadn’t even noticed her produce it - and neither officer had theirs out yet. The one already out of the car went for his piece-

BANG! His hat went flying from atop his head, spinning off over the car and toward the ditch that lay between the Belladonna’s front yard and the street.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she said in a dangerous tone. “I actually don’t want to kill a police officer. But that doesn’t mean I won’t if given no alternative.”

“You are committing a serious error in judgement, miss,” the officer said, speaking for the first time. “We could have you locked up on counts of-”

“Spare me. What you are doing is immoral and illegal, even if no one else ever finds out about it. And you will have to live with that for the rest of your life. Now…” Her eyebrow rose as she lowered the barrel, just enough to be noticeable from a distance. “Do you want to spend the rest of that life being able to make love to your wife, or not?”

That definitely got him to gulp, and he raised his hands up over his head. By this time, Blake reappeared - when had she left?! - and had another pistol aimed at the two men, sliding along to the end of the porch. Jacques rolled his eyes skyward.

“You expect me to believe this pipsqueak knows how to use that? We ought to run you all in for harbouring too many dangerous weapons and putting them into the hands of children.”

“I’m not as good as my mom,” Blake admitted easily. “I might miss the cop and hit you instead. Now, take out that piece nice and slow - two fingers. That’s it… toss it on the grass. Cock it before you do and I’ll take you off here and now.”

She hated to admit it, but Weiss was impressed. The Belladonnas didn’t mess around. Once he had disposed of the gun, she nodded sideways at Yang, who dropped down and crawled over to pick it up by the trigger guard with her pinky. Once backed out of firing range of the two women packing heat, she stood again, holding the gun the same way.

“Isn’t she a great shot, too?” Jacques teased irritably.

“I don’t believe in guns,” Yang snapped. “I’d rather have a clean, honest fight any day. The other guy - he can toss us his gun, too. And the keys.”

They obeyed. Jacques looked hopping mad, but he didn’t protest as Yang caught two guns with the same pinky, then circled around the squad car with a wide berth before she unlocked the trunk. At this point, Jacques tensed as if he was going to try something stupid, but Blake cocked her gun and he went still.

“You wouldn’t. You might hit the blonde.”

“We’ve all been shot before,” Yang answered for her. “Or stabbed. But you know all about that, right?” She locked the trunk again with the guns inside, then circled around to the passenger’s side. “Pop that glove box, will ya?” He did, and she tossed the bullets inside. “Good boy.”

“Now,” Kali announced as Yang rejoined the others, tossing the keys in through the driver’s side window. “You’re going to get back into that car, and vacate my property. And don’t bother seeing if this firearm is licensed; it is. I have a legal right to bear arms under the constitution. You don’t want anyone to know what you were doing here any more than we wanted it to happen, so you won’t push this matter. Get back in that car and go away. And if you ever set foot on my property again without a warrant, or an actual legitimate police reason, I won’t be so welcoming.”

“Listen to them!” Jacques snarled. “As if they have the right of w-”

“And if you ever come here again, you will meet your death, future Mayor,” she snarled, and Weiss felt her blood run cold at the level of fury she had reached - especially considering she was smiling, fierce and vicious. “I told you that you shouldn’t thank me. But I doubt you even remember that now.”

His white eyebrows twitched together. “Remember what?”

“GO.”

“What about my hat?” the officer asked.

“You’ll get a new one.”

That seemed to be that. However, Jacques couldn’t seem to resist a parting comment. “You’ll regret this, Willow. Mark my words. You’ll rue the day you ever crossed me. I made you, and I can unmake you. Watch your back.” Then he sneered at Weiss. “That goes for you, too, Junior Hooker.”

Yang pounded one fist into her open palm to emphasise that they were wearing out their welcome yet further. They sped away.

“I can’t believe that,” Willow breathed in shock. “What he called my Weiss… his daughter…”

But Weiss could barely spare any thought for that. She was still shaking from having heard a gun go off so close to her ears, and aimed in the general direction of a family member - no matter how terrible he turned out to be. It had taken a lot of concentration to keep from wetting herself again. Maybe she had some kind of bladder problem. Passing a hand over her eyes, she turned to blink at the others, seeing her shock only truly reflected in her mother’s face.

“You’re not a hooker,” Blake provided instantly, and Yang nodded firmly. Kali merely looked drained from the confrontation, but satisfied with the results.

“I… I know I’m not.”

“Yang,” Kali finally said with a sigh, “would you… be a dear and fetch that hat for us? We’ll need to burn the evidence that they were ever here, and I fired at an officer of the law. Then we need to hide Blake’s piece again; just because my gun is licensed doesn’t mean the other one is.”

They got to work. As they went about trying to erase all indication that their pleasant evening had been interrupted, Weiss reflected that her father had accomplished exactly what he meant to do: he had brought a family closer together. Now, all five of them acted and moved as one, making sure to occasionally touch each other on the shoulders or flash a smile of reassurance.

Her real family was stronger than any illusion of one.

[blackssuunn-mandoandyodito]

Big dreams, expensive taste

Part one: How does it feel, to treat me like you do?

A Maxwell Lord x f!reader fanfic

Pairing:Maxwell Lord x f!reader

Rating: PG-13? Say the ratings again?

Words: 2.1 K

A/N: This is the first chapter of a series I'm working on (it's more like an introduction though). I hope you like it!

Warnings: swearing, talk of unwanted flirting, embarrassment?

Summary: you meet Mr. Lord in a very odd way.

Is working for such a big company supposed to be this tiring?

The phones keep ringing and ringing. Powerful, arrogant men enter and leave the building without so much as looking at you, and the ones who do, are just stares filled with lewd. It makes your skin itch.

The vase that decorates the counter stands tall over your head, full with some kind of white flowers that, even after four years of working in the three thousand eight hundred million dollars worth business, you fail to recognize. One would think that such an obscenely rich enterprise could easily afford to have even orchids as a way of impressing all the investors that come every day. 

The amount of time you've spent working there still amazes you. It was supposed to only be temporary until you had enough money to rent your own apartment and not obliged to rent with someone you have to pretend to like for the sake of reaching the amount of money the landlord asked for. And then the pay had been great, it wasn't such a bad schedule and four years passed in the blink of an eye. The sight over New York City in your apartment was worth every day.

Another phone at your left rings in such a noisy way that it's as if it was a person screaming at you to pay attention. Might as well be, with all the condescending assholes you have to deal with daily.

Taking a deep breath, you pick up the receiver and put on a fake smile, instinctively making your voice sweeter and falsely warm.

"Lord Enterprises, how can I help you?"

A nasal, petty voice of a woman asks you to communicate her with the head of the advertising area. Must be the girl from accountancy. "Yes, I'll put you through"

Diane's laughter comes from your right just as you hang up the phone and sigh, exasperated. It puts a smile on your face. Her fierce, genuine personality never fails to feel like a blow of fresh air in this suffocating world built on mountains of money.

"Accountancy again?" she asks, grinning. The black uniform that she never fails to look marvelous in makes her stand out in a way that even you understand why every guy and some girls drool at her sight. No one's stupid enough to flirt with her though. After that one time she sent a guy to ER for an obscene comment aimed at her, everybody understood that if she wanted something, she'd search for it. Otherwise, better stay away.

"Yes," you answer, "they seem to be going crazy with the new campaign"

Her hair moves in waves as she shakes her head, giggling. It sounds like bells.

She's better than you at handling the lines. You still can't understand how Diane can make her voice like dripping honey, convince everyone to be nice and want to kneel at her feet. And it wasn't even with malice, she was just that great. 

Another phone rings, this time one of her lines.

"Lord Enterprises, how can I help you?"

Shouting comes from the speaker as she picks up, making your blood boil as someone on the other side of the line screams at her.

She just grins and rolls her eyes.

"Sir, I can't understand a word from what you're saying. Breathe and I may be able to help you." she winks at you, leaning over the counter with a pen held between her fingers.

The shouting stops as her pen scribbles down something on her notepad, nodding. "Yes sir, will do"

She hangs up, manicured nails contrasting beautifully with the black plastic of the telephone. She looks up to find you with an arched eyebrow and an amused smile.

"It never fails," you say, amazed by how easy she can handle everything.

"It never fails"

Her skirt raises over her thigh as she bends down to pick one stack of papers that have been collecting dust all week, waiting to be taken to Human Resources. 

"I have to take this to the girls at HR," Diane mutters as she walks outside the confined space of the reception. 

You nod as her heels click away to the staff elevator, turning your attention to the phones again.

Before you take the new call, a deep voice reaches your ears as a blonde man enters the building. It sounds weirdly familiar.

"You have to schedule both reunions the same day," he orders to one of the three men walking behind him. "I can't be taking a flight every week to London when the shareholders feel like it"

His stance lets you know he's angry about something, and the men that follow him seem completely intimidated by the strong tone of his voice. It makes something hot settle on your stomach.

But not one of them bothers to show you their IDs, ignoring completely the fact that registration is needed.

You walk to them with a frown. Did they really think they could get through one of the most important buildings in the city without identifying themselves? They watch too much Tv.

"Excuse me, sir," you walk to stand in front of the blonde man. "who are you coming to see?"

His eyes burn holes through your skull as he stops talking to the man carrying his suitcase to turn towards you. "Pardon me?"

He sounds so offended that it makes you recoil slightly, but you're not getting fired over some stupid, conceited man. You look at him and he holds your gaze, impassive.

"You have to register with us before you walk in", you say, "if you're not wearing a badge, you have no access"

For some reason, the incredulous laugh he gives settles a void in your stomach and anger lights in your veins.

"Do you know who I am?"

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull. You've heard that phrase at least a hundred times in the last three months by far more intimidating men than him.

"You could be the president and there would still be rules to follow, with no badge you don't have access"

He crosses his arms right at his chest, fury shining in his brown eyes. A shiver runs down your spine but you refuse to budge, holding his stare with conviction. His upper lip twitches.

His arm points to the picture of Maxwell Lord at the back of the room behind you.

 And you turn.

That's when you realize you've really fucked up.

"Oh my God", your heart goes wild as you take in the picture of the millionaire.

You just stopped Maxwell fucking Lord from entering his own building. You're gonna get fired because you just denied access to the boss of your boss of your boss, the fucking founder of the company you work for. 

Fuck.

 "I-I'm so sorry sir," the apology leaves your lips as you stumble over your words. Your face gets hotter when he grins, amused by your embarrassment. Your chest begins to feel tight and breathing becomes harder the more you realize the mistake you've made.

And then, as if the situation wasn't bad enough already, he throws back his head and laughs. He laughs like you just told him the best joke in history, holding his stomach and covering his mouth, with shrieks of laughter that make everyone turn to look at him.

It leaves you speechless. The blood drains from your face and your hands start to feel sweaty and cold. His gaze never leaves your face once he calms down again.

 "Well," he smiles, tucking his hands inside his pockets, "it's been a while since I last met someone so efficient in their work."

You grimace. "I'm just doing my job the best I can sir"

He laughs, extending his hand towards you. "Maxwell Lord, nice to meet you"

What are you supposed to do? Take it?

You find it hard to look at him after what you just did, but he doesn't even seem to think about walking off and firing you. That would be less painful.

He raises his eyebrows, cold eyes looking at you. He doesn't look very happy now.

Despite every instinct that tells you not to do it, you grab his hand, tell him your name and give him his so desired handshake, trying not to let your whole body combust or evaporate like it wants to. 

You scold yourself when the first thing that comes to you is how warm his hand is, how soft his skin feels. His rings feel cold to the scorching heat that your whole body seems to be enveloped in. His grip is strong as he holds your hand, an entirely different kind of fire lighting his pupils as he looks at you. A bolt of electricity runs from the tip of your fingers and all the way up your arm, settling something hot and overwhelming right at the center of your stomach. His head tilts slightly to one side, studying you.

When he lets you go, all the air you hadn't realized you were holding goes out of your lungs. If he realizes, he doesn't comment. 

"Go register," he orders his men, with a much stronger tone than the one he used with you. All three of them give him incredulous looks but are smart enough to shut up and do as he says. 

With a weird sense of being in a dream, you walk to the counter and take their IDs, ignoring the glares that they're giving you. You quickly register their names in the computer and give them a card that identifies them as workers, and each takes them and pins them to their clothes.

Maxwell walks to you again and squeezes your arm, smiling.

"Keep up the good work," he winks as he turns around, grazing your arm with his gold ring. It leaves that patch of your skin burning. Now, watching as he walks away, you realize how much power he carries with every step he takes, how everyone seems to leave the way free no matter what direction he goes to. 

You wonder briefly what would it take to bend that power, to break that sense of superiority he owns in such an exquisite way.

Someone calls you from behind as you stand there, stunned at what you just lived through. One of the most powerful men in the country gave you a handshake.

You just talked with the owner of one of the most lucrative companies worldwide and he complimented you for your job. And not only that, he made his men follow the rules per your request.

When Diane calls your name again from the counter, you turn around to see her with her jaw on the floor. You feel numb as your legs take you back inside reception.

"What the fuck did I miss?" she hisses, pulling you closer to her by your arms when your legs feel close to giving out. She pulls one of the chairs to you and pushes you down, making you sit. Then, she bends down at your level and looks you straight in the eye. It feels close to what you imagine would feel if someone could search through your soul.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. She shakes you by your shoulders.

"Tell me what happened!"

With trembling hands, you grab her fingers and squeeze until yours start to hurt. She lets you, not showing signs of pain.

'I…." You hesitate for a moment, "I stopped him when he came in because he wasn't wearing a badge"

"You what!?" She says, close to shouting. "And you didn't recognize him!?"

Your head snaps up to look at her, defensive.

"Well, I don't spend every hour of my shift looking at him!"

She laughs, pulling her chair in front of you to sit down. Her fingers start to draw circles in the back of your hand, trying to calm you down.

"But you're keeping your job, right?"

If you had met her back when you had to rent and made her your roommate, you'd probably still be living together.

"Yeah," you smile, squeezing her hand "you're not getting rid of me that easy"

She opens her mouth to say something else when one of your phones rings. She picks it up.

"Lord Enterprises, how can I help you?"

For a moment, she listens to the person on the other side of the line. An incredulous chuckle leaves her mouth as she turns to look at you, handing you the speaker.

"They're asking for you," she says, astonished about something you're not sure you want to find out.

"From where?" You ask, scared.

"From Lord's direct office"

All air leaves your lungs. She shakes the phone in her hand, urging you to take it. With a deep breath, you grip the phone and hold it at your ear.

"Yes?"

An old lady speaks to you.

"Miss, I've been told by Mister Lord to call you so you come up to his office at the end of your working hours please"

Diane's eyes look like they're about to pop out of her head as the lady speaks.

"Y-yes, I will," you stutter, "thank you for letting me know"

When you hang up and let your head fall in your hands, Diane covers his mouth with both hands and gasps, laughing.

Calls keep coming in from every line.

You let the phones ring.