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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years

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Cheating Heart

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 20.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew it! You’re cheating on me–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“--soon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes harden as reality sets in.

John.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did you care?

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

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

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

The hallway lights were doing wonders for his complexion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shut the fuck up!

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

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

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

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

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

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

John’s hands clench, jaw following suit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It b-burns, John. I…I can’t–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was your Captain. You were working under him.

You had a boyfriend. John had a valuable asset.

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

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

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

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

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

You still felt disgusting.

—

Nothing you did made sense to him.

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

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

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

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

But he knew that would only make it worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wished playing therapist with yourself was easier.

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

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

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

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

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

– John”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When had this place stopped being home for you?

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

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

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

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

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

What’s that noise?

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

But you weren’t stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John looked so sad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both spend a long time on that bathroom floor.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Copy, Sir…Apologies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bell at the front door jingles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Two.”

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

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

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

Why were you not saying anything?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had…broken up with Leon. Your boyfriend.

John’s eyes slowly widen.

Oh.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It couldn’t be helped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I might have sucker-punched him.”

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

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

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

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

“Twirled like a dancer on a string.”

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

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

…Why was his hand still on your back?

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

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

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

Leon was gone.

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

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

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

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

Stop it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Little Lady. You need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A quiet grunt carries over the space.

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

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

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

“You bet.”

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

“Yes, Sir.”

“Hey–!”

“What in the–!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Anytime, Dear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute when he’s flustered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“John,” You breathe, “I shouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hope he leaves some beard burn behind.

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

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

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

God, he felt huge, thick, and firm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annoyance swirls.

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

A moment of shocked silence at your vulgar language.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want him naked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck you were on fire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Y-yes, Captain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He trails.

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

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

“Easier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“That’s it, I'm coming in!”

“Wait!”

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

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

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

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

“Out!”

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

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

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

“Wait till the boys hear about this!”

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

Well, secret’s out.

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munson-blurbs · 2 years

Text

Thinking about Rockstar!Eddie meeting you at an autograph signing and getting off to the thought of you after his show...

“Here ya go,” Eddie says, forcing a tired smile as he hands a freshly-autographed CD to a beaming fan. Pre-show merch signings were part of the deal, and they certainly brought in the extra cash, but after five months on the road, the members of Corroded Coffin are tired. Eddie scratches at the five o’clock shadow dotting his face, glancing at his watch. Just another ten minutes until they can wrap this up and start soundcheck. Then they’ll be back on the bus, shipping off to whatever city’s up next.

The security guard lets the next two people up to the table. Eddie reaches over to the pile of CDs, giving an exasperated sigh as he asks, “Name?”

That’s when he hears your voice.

His head snaps up, and he relaxes as he takes in your shy demeanor. You’re holding the hand of your friend–girlfriend?--hey, it’s the ‘90s; anything is possible. Your eyes sparkle as you say and spell your first name, biting your lower lip and averting your gaze from the gorgeous rockstar in front of you. “Pretty name,” he murmurs, writing a short message and swirling the Sharpie over the CD cover to make his exaggerated signature. “Pretty name for a pretty girl, yeah?”

You just giggle, and the girl next to you squeezes your hand. “She’s, like, completely in love with you,” she blabbers. “Every damn day since we got these tickets, it’s been, ‘What should I wear? Do you think Eddie will notice me?’”

You free your hand to elbow her, a little harsher than you’d intended. “Dianna!” you hiss, burying your face in your palms in a feeble attempt to hide your humiliation.

But Eddie just cocks his head, checking you out from head to toe. “Oh, he definitely noticed you,” he muses, handing you the CD with two lanyards. “You ladies wanna watch backstage? ‘Course you do; Charlie will bring you where you gotta go and, uh,” he looks directly at you, sending an excited shiver down your spine, “maybe we can notice each other a bit more later.”

You and Dianna nod vigorously as the beefy security guard leads you to the backstage VIP suite. A waiter comes around and takes your drink orders. You ask for a vodka soda, and Dianna gets a Long Island iced tea.

“You sure about that?” you whisper as the waiter walks away. “Those are really strong.”

Dianna shrugs. “It’s not every day we get free drinks. Might as well drink as much as we can.”

Meanwhile, Eddie’s fumbling his way through soundcheck, thinking about the way your breasts peeked out the top of your Corroded Coffin tank top, how your denim shorts perfectly cupped your ass, the shiny gloss that emphasized your lips. God, he wants those lips wrapped around his hard, throbbing–

“Munson? You wanna get your head out of your ass so we can put on a show?” Jeff’s voice booms through his mic.

“He’s thinking about that hot chick he gave backstage passes to,” Gareth teases, and Simon makes kissy noises at their lead singer.

Eddie launches his guitar pick in Gareth’s direction, narrowly missing his head. “Shut the fuck up, all of you,” he grumbles, but he knows that they’re right. Just get through the show and she’s all yours. He palms himself over his pants discreetly. He’s never been more grateful for his guitar, since his tight leather pants do nothing to hide his burgeoning erection.

Corroded Coffin puts on a hell of a show, as usual. They close with “Rock Hard,” their hit single about hooking up with a groupie after a concert, and Eddie thanks every celestial being that it’s the last song of the night. As soon as the band thanks the audience and says their goodbyes, Eddie dashes offstage. He bolts into your suite, all sweat and smiles. “How’d you like the–” He stops, frowning when he sees an empty room, save for Charlie, who’s smoking a cigarette in a lounge chair. “Where is she?”

“Sorry, Casanova,” Charlie drawls. “Her little friend drank too much, got sick all over the bathroom. Had to get them outta here before she ruined anything else.”

Eddie groans, throwing his head back as his bandmates laugh at his misfortune. “Goddammit,” he hisses, pushing his perspiration-soaked hair from his eyes.

“C’mon, man,” Simon claps a hand on Eddie’s back. “There’s a bar down the street; plenty of the girls from the show will be there…” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Nah, I’m just gonna head back to the bus. ‘M pretty beat.”

“Oh, something’s getting beat tonight,” Gareth jokes. Eddie flips him off, but once again, he’s right.

He’s barely closed the curtain to his makeshift bedroom before he’s hastily unbuttoning his leather pants, shoving his ringed hand into his boxer briefs. Just the sensation of his own touch has him bucking his hips. He runs his thumb over the bead of pre-cum pearling at his tip, using it to lubricate his palm. He uses his free hand to tug his pants down to his knees, sitting on the bed. He imagines you on your knees in front of him.

“S’big, isn’t it, baby?” Eddie coos. He leans over, letting a trail of saliva drip from his mouth to his shaft. “Thas’ right, spit on it. Such a dirty fuckin’ girl.” He grips the bedsheet with his left hand, dragging his right from base to tip.

“What’s that? You want it in your mouth? Oh, pretty girl; you don’t have to ask twice.”

He fucks into his fist harder, feeling himself grow in his own grasp. “Mmm, let me make a mess of that face. Ruin that fuckin’ makeup you worked so hard on. Wanted me to notice you; well, I sure fuckin’ did. Knew I had to have you, sweet thing.” If you were actually here, you’d be gagging on his dick as your nose grazes the thatch of curls on his pevlis, tears reflexively gathering at the corners of your eyes. Your mascara would start to run; the telltale sign of a good blowjob.

He loosens his hold on the sheet, cupping his balls. “If you do that, ‘m gonna bust in that sinful mouth of yours, fuckin’ swear.” A harsh chuckle escapes his throat. “Bet you’d like that. Bet you’d take my whole load down your throat, swallow it all, yeah?”

Eddie brings himself right to the edge before forcing himself to slow down. “I know, baby. I know you wanna keep sucking me off. But I wanna–no, I gotta be in that perfect little pussy. Now, come sit on my cock. Nice and slow–thassit.” He tightens his grip on his length, keeping a slow rhythm to mimic the feeling of gradually filling you up. “You can take it, don’t worry. I’ve got you, baby girl.”

He bites his lower lip so hard that he swears it might bleed. “Oh, angel. Y’feel even better than I ever imagined, holy fuck.” He increases his pace, choking out a pathetic moan. “What’s that? You want me to come inside you? So desperate f’me, aren’t you?” He whimpers at the mental image of you bouncing on his cock, tits pressed up against the dusting of hair on his chest. “Come with me, fuck, wanna make you come. Want you to cream my cock while I fuckin’ fill you up.” Eddie lets out one last pornographic moan as thick, hot ropes of cum spurt out onto his thick fingers. He pants, trying to catch his breath as he comes down from the high of his orgasm.

Cleaning himself up, Eddie grumbles to himself about your stupid drunk friend and how he’s so tired of fucking his own hand. He falls asleep quickly, worn out from the combination of the concert and his own post-show escapades.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up and wipes the sleep from his eyes. The bus driver has already set out for their next destination, somewhere in Bumblefuck. Eddie doesn’t care, he just wants you. Real you, not the fantasy he’d conjured up last night.

“Hey, boss,” Charlie says when Eddie pads out to the bus’s common space. “Forgot to give this to you after the show.” He hands him a folded piece of paper, which reads:

Eddie:

Had to get Dianna home before she puked on the carpet. I was not paying for that to be replaced–the tickets for your autograph already bankrupted me…

But if you wanna stop by my hotel room later, just give me a call. I don’t think you were done noticing me. I certainly wasn’t done noticing you.

You signed your name with a glossy lip print and your hotel room extension.

“Charlie,” Eddie starts through gritted teeth, “if you can convince the driver to turn this bus around, I won’t fire you.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson stranger things

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angelfoxx · 1 year

Note

I just know Keegan looks so god damn hot in his casual clothing, going to bed in loose grey boxers and an old band shirt that rides up his stomach when he lies down, AND GOOD GOD his happy traillll😫I feel like he’s one of those guys with really bushy happy trails, doesn’t even know how sexy you find it. He’s lying in bed, one of his big arms around your shoulders while reading an old book. Raises an eyebrow when your hand starts wandering up his thigh, fingertips dipping under the waistband of his boxers..

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ❝ NEED SOMETHING? ❞

…in which keegan entertains your perversions.

FEATURING: keegan p russ.

WARNINGS: keegan being a sexy motherfucker. also me giving him a tatted sleeve because it’s sexy and who the hell is gonna tell me no. also me drooling over his happy trail bc HAPPY TRAILS HAPPY TRAILS LOOOOOOOORD

NOTE/S: oh my god

It’s not your fault, really. Feeling like this. It’s not your fault.

It’s his.

He’s not ignoring you. His arm, slung up on your shoulders, is just a heavy, toned reminder that he’s with you. His attention is just elsewhere.

You aren’t totally sure what book he’s reading. Probably something of Stephen King’s. Last week, it had been Christine. The week prior, It. You hadn’t bothered checking; if it was a low-stress week, he’d tell you all about it once he finished it, true book-critic style. In any case, he’s got the thing casually in his lap, spread open by a splayed hand. He’s got a simple silver band on his middle finger, gnarled and twisted like barbed wire — every now and then, he taps it, just an occasional beat of sound as if to remind you that he’s right there.

You’re ogling his hand, now. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Your eyes travel upward. He’s got a pretty sleeve of black-and-white tattoos; churning ocean waves, storm-battered whitecaps, tossing ships. He’d explained it the first time you’d seen it; something about how he found peace in the chaos of an ocean storm. Just standing in a place where there was no resistance that he could give. Surrendering to the fury of nature. Something like that. It’s…um, attractive. Yeah. You swallow and resist the sudden urge to squeeze your legs together.

The top of that sleeve — thick, billowing clouds — vanishes under the edge of his tee. Charcoal-gray, emblazoned with the title of an old rock band that you’d never really heard of prior to meeting him. He’s still wearing his dog-tag, hanging on a silver chain around his neck and rising on his chest every time he breathes.

Christ, you should stop staring.

His shirt’s ridden up on his stomach, and god, you really shouldn’t look because then you won’t be able to look away. But you do look, because what are you if not a swooning idiot for the sniper sitting beside you?

Every time he breathes, his stomach sinks in and you can see the outline of his abs. God. Fucking Christ. You can see the outline of his abs but not really the middle, because along the middle he’s proudly sporting a long line of short black curls.

You’re basically salivating.

He’s just got some loose gray boxers on, sitting dangerously low on his hips. He’s left the v-line of his hips exposed; your senses are on high alert, eyes catching on every little mole spotting his waist, every little white scar, the edge of the paw-print tattoos he has just below his stomach (it’s where Riley’s front feet go when the dog stands up on his hind legs, tail wagging and tongue lolling), and it’s such a cute little tattoo but your thoughts are anything but and—

“Don’t forget to blink.”

You flinch like you’ve been shot. Your mind goes blank, and your gaze shoots upward.

Tiny smirk caught in the corner of his mouth, Keegan looks down at you with lidded, quietly humored eyes. They seem brilliantly blue, moreso than usual — though maybe that’s just the lighting in here. His hair’s a mess; short and still damp from his earlier shower, undercut scrubbing against your arm as he turns his head, just a little, one eyebrow raised. There’s a little scar through his left one; the hair splits unevenly there. You’ve told him several times that you find it sexy.

He agrees.

“What?” Your mouth feels like it’s filled with a fat wad of cotton. You feel like your thoughts are visible in your eyes.

“Don’t play stupid.” His response is honey-smooth. “I’m not dumb.”

“I didn’t say y…you were.” You swallow. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Mm.” Keegan narrows his eyes. “Mhm.”

And then he goes back to that book.

It’s kind of ridiculous, how hard you stare at his hand holding that book open. It’s almost pathetic, actually. You’re sure he’d say the same if he knew exactly what thoughts were running through your head right now. Pinkie finger on one page, index on the other, middle and ring both resting so lightly along the inseam of the spine.

Christ.

Trying to shake yourself out of your own head, you turn yourself inwards. Keegan needs no words; his arm tightens around you, hand sliding down to your hip and tugging it over so that you’re fully facing his side, head resting against his chest and body slung down along his leg. It’s comfortable like this; it goes without saying that he’s built like a motherfucker and so his pec is a comfortable resting-place for your head. He’s warm, too, deliciously so; his body heat seeps up through his tee, prickling against your skin. He’s comfy, so comfy; on other nights, you’d fallen asleep like this, cuddled up to his side with one of his arms wrapped around you. Those nights were sweet; when time started to slow and all of your senses started to bleed together, you always heard him call your name, so quiet you wouldn’t catch it if you were awake. When you didn’t answer, he’d laugh — and then you’d hear the rustle of sheets as he stooped over and pressed a little kiss to the top of your head.

You weren’t totally sure if he knew that you knew he did that.

Tonight, though, you can’t do that. You can’t fathom it, because your hand is just itching to move. It’s just casually resting against his thigh — god, his fucking thighs, hard and thick and oh, you have to stop ogling him. You have to stop thinking about how that muscle feels, flexing so slightly under your hand as it moves up.

Moves up?

Oh.

Oops.

Keegan doesn’t say anything when your hand cups the warm spot between his legs. He lets out a short breath — it almost sounds like a laugh. There’s a curve taking shape on his lips, and his eyes glint with humor as he shifts, purposefully pushing his pelvis so slightly up into your palm.

The weight of his dick pushes between your fingers and your legs instinctively snap together. Above you, Keegan’s breath cracks into a nearly-silent laugh.

He’s onto you.

You bite your lip, risking a glance up at him as you do. He isn’t looking at you; he’s still reading, hawkish blue eyes scanning from left to right, over and over again. The hand on your hip lightly squeezes a handful of your thigh.

His hips roll so slightly up again. He’s daring you to continue.

Cocky sonofabitch. You swallow as you move your hand up, up, over the slight angular swell of his abdomen and up past the elastic of his boxers. For a moment, you rake your fingers up his abs and you shudder in response to the way his stomach flexes and his breathing oh-so-slightly breaks.

No words. Just the sound of him turning the page.

Bitch. You bite your tongue as you shift your head around. You can hear his heart thumping beneath your ear, and — god fucking dammit — it’s not beating quicker at all. It’s like you can’t disturb him. Get under his skin like he gets under yours.

You pick at the elastic of his waistband. On one hand? You’re rubbing your legs together, biting your tongue, and there’s a million and one dirty images in your head. You can practically hear Keegan’s growl in your ear: too needy to sit still, princess?

But on the other hand, he’s being mean. He’s ignoring you and all of your signs. And you kind of want to just roll over and go to sleep and maybe, just maybe, he’d been hoping for you to go further.

But you won’t. So he’ll get frustrated, and then it’ll be him slowly reaching his hand under the elastic of your waistband, fingers curving over the shape of your body and feeling for wet warmth. He’ll breathe in your ear with that stupid rasp of his and he’ll ask, voice raw, if you were really planning on hanging me out to dry like that? and you’ll say maybe I was.

Or he’ll get frustrated, but he’ll reach into his own pants. He’ll leave you alone, but you’ll wake up to the quiet sound of his muted groans and his hand stroking back and forth under the thin material of his boxers and then maybe he’ll do that thing where he tips his head back, swallows, and his eyes flutter shut and he cursed, quiet and hoarse.

Or maybe—

“Cold feet?” There he is again, short phrases and little questions. He’s not looking at you; he’s looking at his book, tilting his head as he turns the page. He raises an eyebrow to you, tongue clasped between his teeth.

“What?”

No response this time. Keegan’s eyes shift over to you; he cocks his head in your direction, and under that messy black mop of hair and those thick black lashes that you’ve always been envious of, Keegan silently asks if you’re really going to play this fucking dumb.

You’ve arrived at a stalemate. You don’t move. He doesn’t speak. You two just stare at each other, blinking back-and-forth like a tennis volley until Keegan finally sighs and looks away. His eyes return to the book.

You’re about to snap, ready to rip the godforsaken thing out of his lap, when the hand on your hip shifts. His arm lifts off of your back; it pulls around your shoulders instead, crushing you into his armpit.

His fingers clasp around your wrist, and you catch the undeniable edge of a smirk on his face before he takes your hand and pulls it into his pants.

get fucking cliffhanger’d bitches

#cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #keegan x reader #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan smut #cod keegan #LORDDDD

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year

Text

the first time you tell opla!zoro that you love him, you're not sober either. (part one here!)

"i just-i just don't know what to do," you sniffle, another wave of emotions leaking through your tired eyes and onto your tear-stained shirt. "i'm so in love with him it makes me physically ill, nami."

"mhmm, i can tell," she replies absentmindedly, taking another sip from her drink in the musty light of the bar.

"nami," you plead, wasted out of your mind with your cheek pressed against the dirty table.

"sweetheart," she replies with the same melodrama, unable to hide the amusement in her voice.

"i'm so sad." your voice breaks on the last word and you make a loud hiccup-like noise that has the other guests of the bar eyeing you warily. you couldn't guess how long it'd been since you dragged nami from her hammock to go drink your sorrows away. to her credit, she stayed with you until her patience was thinner than a paper cut.

"i know you are," she says slowly after you'd gone over the same topic about four times in the last five minutes. "look, i feel like you should just tell him. he already told you his feelings."

"see, but that's the thing." she shoots you a skeptical look and you sigh back at her. "what if he's lying? or if he didn't actually mean it?"

"why would he lie about something so significant as that?"

"i don't know, maybe he thought i was someone else-"

"from what you've very thoroughly informed me, he expressed his feelings for you, and only you," she reminds you, tilting her glass toward you for emphasis. her gaze flicks up behind you and she raises her eyebrows briefly, like whoever was approaching was another tool for her entertainment. "tell him. it's now or never."

"what the hell do you-"

"you're out of your mind if you think it's okay to get them drunk before a mission." his voice immediately sobers you, white-hot shame coursing through your veins as you sit up and try to make yourself look presentable. thankfully, he's glaring daggers into nami, who merely shrugs and offers something about being here for a good time, not a long time. "c'mon, i'm taking you back to the ship," he mutters, lifting you from your seat and letting you grab his unfairly strong bicep for stability.

"why'd you come get me?" your steps wobble slightly on the cobblestone, but zoro's determination to keep you upright is unwavering. "i could have gone home with nami."

"i got worried about where you were. thought something happened."

"nothing happened except alcohol and feelings," you drawl absentmindedly, the airy feeling in your mind becoming fuzzier the longer you're with him.

"ah, two of my favorite things."

"liar, you only talk about your feelings when you're drunk." blinking slowly to recenter yourself, you cut him off before he can counter your accusation. "like, the other night. when you told me you loved me." the words slip out unplanned and his body becomes deathly still next to you, his arm so tense you could mine it with a pickaxe.

"i said...what?"

"that you loved me and that it was a secret," you say plainly, glancing at him to find his face a nearly imperceptible shade of pink. "what's with the blush?"

"it's nothing," he says quietly. sober you would have left the conversation at that, respecting his need for privacy and security about his private feelings.

drunk you, however, has no such manners.

"look at you, all red and shit." his ears become an even deeper shade of pink and you can't help laughing at his poor attempt to hide his embarrassment. "you wouldn't be so flushed if it was actually nothing, so what is it?"

"it's nothing," he restates. "it doesn't matter."

"it matters to me. you matter to me." his face feels like it's been set on fire and every place your body is making contact with his feels like an electric current. did you have any idea what your words were doing to him, he wondered. sure, what you said made his brain go foggy like the island coastline in the morning, but what you made him feel was so much worse. you made him feel so lovesick, it pained him.

"the sentiment is reciprocated," he murmurs low enough that you can barely hear him. even while you're dancing around in the streetlights, you've never looked so beautiful to him.

"can i tell you a secret?" he swallows thickly, unsure of how to continue navigating this situation. he settles for nodding, every movement restrained to keep from kissing you until the only oxygen in his lungs has gone through yours first. "you can't tell anyone, though."

"i'm a great secret keeper."

"no, you're not," you reply instantly and his mouth gapes indignantly. "you told me your biggest secret and you don't even remember it."

"fine. i won't tell anyone what you tell me, then. i don't know about anyone else," he promises. after what seemed like an eternity, he finally helps you into your hammock, taking great care to make sure you don't fall out. "if i do tell someone, you can kick me in the balls."

"enticing offer," you laugh and his mouth quirks in a half-smile that you only saw once in a blue moon.

"so, the secret?"

"oh, right," you whisper sleepily. "the secret is that i love you too. i love you so much that i want to throw up."

"i think that might be the alcohol, doll," he murmurs, his fingers gently brushing your cheek. "sober you and sober me need to have a long talk in the morning."

"we said that last time but didn't do shit about it."

"well, i think it's time i did something about it." your eyebrows furrow, completely forgetting anything you'd just talked about. it's okay, he figures. he'll show you how much you mean to him when you're both ready.

"did something about what?"

"how much i love you, too."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece fluff #zoro fluff #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa #roronoa zoro #opla!zoro x you #opla!zoro x reader #opla!zoro x y/n

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aenokiawrld · 4 months

Text

𝓓𝓲𝓿𝓮 ᯓᡣ𐭩

kiss below the line…

a/n: i hate him but at the same i ain’t mind letting him tap 😋 also using colored panels for now cause it’s cuter tee hee

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

18+ !! MINORS DNI

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

cw: p in v sex, oral sex, afab!reader, reader lowk a top here but sanji gets a tad bit of confidence towards the end, sanji know how to eat that kitty 🙏, reader a FREAK, call this man sanji freaksmoke ong 💀🙏, reader wears a bikini, no set arc, risky public sex, they fuck in a secluded area but still open to public, porn WITH plot

tags ✮⋆˙ smut, afab!reader x sanji, beach date, p in v bby, no set arc - no spoilers

now playing: dive - victoria monét

After a long strenuous journey of hopping from island to island, you suggested the crew stop at a tropical resort for a few days to rest and gather supplies for the Sunny. Liberating islands from tyrannical rule and going against from oppressive government is tiring…Well guess what? It’s time the Strawhats get a well deserved break!

“Hmm, yea sure,” your rubber captain shrugged.

“Wow, you didn’t really think that through did ya, Luffy?”

“No, you’re right. After a long battle, I’m pretty beat plus…”

“Plus?”

“A seafood boil sounds nice,” he laughed as he rubbed his rumbling belly.

Robin chuckled at Luffy’s expression, “Well, since us devil fruit power users can’t swim in the water, I wouldn’t mind indulging in a nice seafood feast cooked by our skillful chef.”

You suddenly see the pervy chef’s nose start to heave heavily, a few drops of blood trickling down his chin, “OF COURSE, ANYTHING FOR THE BEAUTIFUL LADIES OF OUR SHIP!”

His stance takes a 180 as he faces the men of the crew, “The men have to hunt for their own food.”

Zoro looks at him with annoyance, “Hey! Can I at least get some sake?!”

Luffy pouts, “No fair! I want to relax like the girls too!”

“Well, real men hunt for their own food!”

You sighed, “Sanji, relax, the guys worked hard at the last island. Cut ‘em some slack will ya?”

His demeanor changed as soon as you spoke, “OH MY DEAR, [NAME], YOU ARE SO RIGHT.”

“Alright, fine, since we’re going to have a seafood boil, I gotta gather some ingredients.”

“A spectacular feast created by our lovely cook, my mouth is watering just thinking about it, if I had any saliva…YOHOHOHO!”

“Then, it’s settled! Nami, set course for [insert cool island here]!”

“Right away, captain!” The beautiful tangerine-haired girl yelled back.

————

The summer sun shone upon the golden sand, the crystal blue water crashing upon the shore as the coconut trees swayed to the calming wind. The resort is occupied by many beach goers as children ran along the hot sand with beach balls, men clinked their beers, and ladies were served fancy mojitos. The smell of grilled meat lingered the air as barbecue parties took place nearby.

You reveled in the moment until hearing your captain’s booming voice destroy your peace of mind.

“WOOHOO!”

“LUFFY, DON’T GO IN THE WATER, YOU CAN’T-”

The rubber boy struggled to keep afloat in the water has he gargled for help, “HELP! HELP!”

“swim…” You facepalmed.

“I got it…” The green haired swordsman immediately dived into the water before rescuing your struggling captain.

“Captain, be more careful, will ya?”

He coughed up seawater, “Bleghhh, Zoro, I might throw up on you…”

“LIKE HELL YOU WILL!”

You decided to sit with the girls when the blonde cook approached all of you. He sported black swimtrunks, along with a half-opened tropical shirt while holding a tray full of orange cocktails, “Well, ladies, can I interest ya’ll in some ‘Sex on the Beach’ drinks to quench your thirst?”

The black-haired vixen smiled, “Thanks, Sanji. You really know how to read our minds.”

“Wow, these look refreshing, as expected from our cook!” Nami took a sip of the alcoholic drink.

“No kidding, I was starting to feel a bit parched myself,” you smiled.

Sanji covered his nose to prevent a nose bleed from coming out, “Ladies, Ladies, no need to thank me. Just doing my job.” He smiled to himself as he replayed the compliments in his head.

You looked at him with concern, “Hey, Sanji. How’s ingredient gathering going for ya?”

“Huh? Oh, I’ve been trying to catch some fish and crab for the last 30 minutes but I think the amount of people here are scaring them away.”

“Hmm, hey! I can help you look for a secluded spot for fishing!” You cheerfully suggested to him.

“Oh, I can’t let a lovely lady like you get up and help me out like this!”

You chuckled, “No worries, I’d rather walk around then sit down doing nothing.”

“Well…I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have extra help.”

————

You sealed the bucket full of prawns before setting it aside and sitting down on the dampening sand, “Wow, we caught a lot today! We’re gonna be eating tonight, aren’t we?” You looked at the remaining gold rays of light slowly disappear in beyond the horizon.

He laughed at your amusement, “I should start cooking soon if we’re gonna serve this on time for the crew to start feasting.”

You attempted to carry the heavy bucket of freshly caught prawns, but it proved to be difficult with the sandy environment preventing better movement in your legs.

He noticed your struggle with the filled container, “Need any help?” He walked towards your sinking figure in the moist sand, lantern in hand to illuminate the darkened atmosphere.

“Ah, no, no! It’s ok!”

“Come on, [Name]. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“No, really, I can manage-”

“I’ll just grab this part-”

“Sanji! It’s gonna-“

Splash

“…fall,” your once dried figures now soaked with sea water as both of you guys fell backwards into the incoming waves — his trembling body loomed over yours, salty droplets falling onto your face.

The sound of your increasing heart beat pounding in your ears from the closed distances between your bodies. Your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to his toned abs up close to your face, despite the evening darkness sweeping in to mask the dimming sunset.

You were embarrassed to admit it, but you always had a slight interest in the blonde cook. Sure, you were a little annoyed by his flirtatious attempts and his slightly pervy behavior — yet, in his times of seriousness that complimented his cool, stoic character, it was…quite attractive.

The amount of times you caught yourself staring at him as he cooked the crew’s meals with rolled-up sleeves, or chilling on the ship while lighting the butt of his cigarette. You had to resist the urge to bite your lip then and there.

But, seeing him on top of you while half naked and wet took the final slice of the cake.

“O-oh my god, I’m so sorry! I should’ve listened to you-” The blood rushed to his cheeks and ears to form an embarrassed blush before lifting himself off you.

“Hot damn….” You muttered to yourself.

“Uh…what?”

“Um- Uh, nothing,” you shot him a sheepish smile before lifting yourself up. “It’s all good, I should’ve just accepted your help,” you laugh awkwardly as you drag the fallen bucket.

“Ahem, that would’ve been awkward if anyone in the crew saw us,” he brushed his hand through his blonde locks before searching his pockets for his cigarette box.

You suddenly halt your process of dragging the prawn bucket, an invisible lightbulb lighting upon your head. You turn to the chef before smirking at him,“I wouldn’t mind giving them a show.”

You could practically see his eyes bulging out of his sockets at your flirtatious manner. Who knew the pervy cook would get nervous by one of the only girls in the Strawhats? You wanted to take advantage of this sudden burst of confidence…

You walked up to him, his face producing a red hue on his cheeks as he watched your figure close the proximity between you two. His heartbeat increased at the sight of your practically bikini-clad body swaying in the moonlight. He clutched the cigarette between his teeth…

You look up at his flustered face before stealing the lit cigarette from his lips, a seductive tone poisoned your words, “Can we stay here for a bit?”

The nervous cook gulped, “U-Uh um…why?”

He watched as you took a drag out of his own cigarette before putting it out — He never found anything so sexy in his life; not even when he saw a naked Nami back in Alabasta before.

You harshly pushed his toned figure onto the dry sand before noticing the now obvious bulge in his pants. You were quite pleased by the outcome of this situation as you watched the cook fall to his knees for you — he relished in the sight of you using him. It was kind of different from the way you seen him with other girls. Slowly, you hovered over his body; his eyes glued onto your bikini-covered chest as he felt his mouth become dry.

“I think you know the answer, Sanji…”

————

A needy moan escaped from the cook’s mouth as you caught his lips in a sloppy kiss, your tongue ravaging with his as you grinded your clothed heat on his crotch. His body had become so turned-on from your sudden dominant nature, your touches like a tempting devil.

“[Name]…fuck,” his hands moved to your hips as you continued dry humping his erection.

You caught his lower lip between your teeth, “You’re so fucking sexy when you say my name like that, wanna scream it more for me?” You watched his body shutter as you exchanged the movement of your hips with your rubbing over his hardened bulge.

“A-ah shit, mon chérie, quit teasing me…”

You bit your lip as you continued your edge on his clothed cock, ignoring his pleas for your pussy. You relished in the sight of the blonde begging for your attention. You rubbed his erection in a faster pace, grabbing the outline of his size — he groaned at your intense touch.

A sly smirk creeped onto your face as you guided his hand under your skimpy bikini top, his hand instinctively squeezing the soft mound of flesh, brushing over your now hardened nipple. A soft moan left your mouth as you felt his rough hand roll the pearl between his fingers. You slapped his hand away with a smirk on your face.

You slowly shoved two fingers into his mouth, feeling the warmth of his tongue sucking and licking them, “Wanna show me what that mouth can do?”

You remove your bikini bottom, revealing the transparent slick trail of your arousal connecting from your pussy to the dampened cloth. You toss it to the side before hovering your crotch over his flustered face.

You harshly grabbed his face, “Make me cum and maybe I’ll give ya a reward.”

“…Yes, ma’am…”

You cautiously lowered your hips onto his face before you felt strong hands hastily grab your hips and slam you down. A yelp came out of you at the sudden pressure of your crotch rubbing on his face.

The warmness of his tongue desperately overlapping over your needy hole as you bit your lip to conceal the sounds of your impending pleasure. The sound of the crashing salt water colliding with the sand had become quieter as the sun died down and the moonlight became brighter.

The sound of sloppy wetness overtaking your hearing as he fucked his tongue inside you. You face twisting from the overbearing sensation of pleasure took over your body as you grinded your cunt further into his face, the feeling of his nose rubbing against your sensitive clit, the smell of your arousal radiating off your warm body.

He lapped his tongue over your erected bud as sucked you off like a starved man. He groaned as he pulled your hips harder onto his face with need, his grip tightening around you. — He became obsessed with the taste of you and he was wanting more.

He slid his hands over the fleshy mounds of your ass before spreading them apart for better access. The speed of his tongue fastening had jolted the nerves of your body, your back arching from the overstimulation on your abused clit.

“S-Sanji! Oh god, keep going!” You cried out in pleasure. The moist sounds of his mouth connected with your saliva-coated cunt.

“Mmm’ Mon chérie, cum on my face,” he groaned as he swiped his tongue over your pulsating hole.

Your core tightened as you felt your approaching climax form into a pit in your stomach, “Then, you better savor it while you can, Blondie.”

He swore he could’ve felt his cock twitch in his swim trunks at the sound of his nickname slipping from your lips. God, the things you do to him…

You swayed your hips to the movement of his hungry tongue as the muscles of your increasingly tightening before you felt the imaginary coil unravel and relax. Your milky liquid leaking out your pulsating hole, smothering over the cook’s face.

He released the suction of mouth over your erected bud with the sound of a pop. His chin had been covered in his own saliva and your arousal. He huffed and puffed as he caught his breath. The taste of your cum lingered as on his lips as he licked them without shame.

“Good boy, I think it’s time I give you your reward,”you shifted your body off his face, the feeling of the cold grainy sand resting below your knees as you lowered your face over his crotch.

A surprised moan escaped the cook’s tainted lips as you pressed light kissed over his erection, the taste of ocean salt overtaking your taste buds. You could practically feel his wanting cock straining along the restraints of his wet as it ached for your touch.

You grabbed the hem of his trunks, peeling the fabric to reveal his touch-starved cock — it had a slight curve to it, the circumcised tip supporting a swollen redness as it leaked precum, his shaft with a few veins trailing down to his nicely-groomed happy trail of blonde hair surrounding it, his balls desperately awaiting to be emptied from all the edging you did to him.

“Nice cock, dude.”

“Haha, very funny, [Name],” he sarcastically rolled his eyes.

“I’m being serious, Sanji,” you swipe your index finger over the dripping slit of his tip.

A grunt escaped his lips as you flicked his sensitive cock in a teasing manner; Your hand running down his shaft before slowly fisting his cock in your hand. That fucking smug smirk painted on your face that drove him insane the entire time.

Your hand moved up and down faster as you watched his face twist from pleasure, his body jerking from the sudden jolts of electricity running in his body from your touch — You swiped your tongue over the flushed head, savoring the taste of the transparent liquid as you continued your pace on his shaft. A sharp hiss escaped through his teeth as you rubbed and squeezed his sensitive balls in the process; god, he was about to burst then and there.

He gripped the sand below him as you brought him to the edge of his orgasm, you enjoyed the amount of overstimulation you brought to his cute face as his curly brows scrunched together in pleasure. You bit your lip as you felt his cock twitch in your hand before-

“Sanjiiiii! [Name]! Where are you?? I’m hungry!!” You hear Luffy’s voice in the distance.

The cook looked back at you in horror, in fear that both of you guys were about to get caught by your captain. Luckily, you were out of sight from your rubber captain due to the steep rock wall that separated you and Sanji from him. You shot him a devious look as you continued your movement on his needy cock, “Gonna answer?”

Oh, fuck you.

“W-We’re still busy fishing so g-go away!” He yelled back with nervousness.

He bit the inside of his cheek as you engorged his cock into your mouth, the salty taste of his precum filling your taste buds as you slobbered over the tip and shaft.

“Well, hurry up already!!” the hurried tone of your captain’s voice echoing in the distance.

The cook groaned in annoyance, “SH- SHUT UP AND BE PATIENT OR ELSE ITS VEGETARIAN FROM NOW O-ON!!!”

“AGHH FINEEEE…”

A small snort escaped through your nose as you heard their short banter. Sanji was such a cutie patootie when he got mad at the crew you thought to yourself.

That’s probably why you enjoy seeing the cook moaned and whimpered as he submitted to your touch, wanting more of your attention from you. <3

He felt as if he could cum to the vibrations of your gagging alone as you struggled to swallow his cock whole, hitting the gag reflex that sat in the back of your throat. What didn’t help was when you caressed his swollen balls, squeezing them as if they were putty in your hands. They tensed at your touch as they added onto the ongoing stimulation on his messy cock.

He bit his lip while grabbing tufts of your hair as he felt the euphoric climax slowly creep towards his tip as you continued sucking him like a summertime popsicle.

Just when he was about to release his seed, you halted your action; releasing his cock with a pop as it bounced towards his abdomen. His cock twitched with impatience as it awaited more of your stimulation. The tip redder than before as it begged to release its seed.

He huffed, “Mon chérie…wha… what are you doing?”

You hovered over him before whispering in his ear, “I’m gonna ride you, that’s what i’m gonna do.” You bit his ear before aligning yourself over his cock.

You slammed on his cock, causing both of ya’ll to gasp in pleasure as you felt the gumminess of your walls swallow his size. He grabbed the fat of your ass as you bucked your hips up and down.

“Oh god! Oh yes!” You cried out as you felt him match his hip movements with yours.

Your pussy was practically a perfect mold for him as you sought to reach that euphoric feeling of edging to your arrival. You became obsessed with the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix as each thrust became deeper and rougher. You swore you saw a tear well up in his ducts as you watched his face become a moaning mess.

“Hah, oh fuck! K-Keep going at this speed, I might cum inside you…” He squeezed your ass harder as he kissed and sucked the skin on your collar bone.

“S-Sanji- hah!” You felt his lips lick the soft flesh of your chest as he moved his hands towards the underside of the fabric triangles, pushing them upwards to reveal the dark pearls of your cherries.

“Sanji!” You screamed his name as you felt the warm sensation of his tongue lap over your erected nipples. Now you’re the one being a victim to overstimulation.

He groaned as he made out with your right nipple while pinching your left one, the friction leaving you speechless as you were left in a moaning mess. He clenched your the soft mound as he felt your moist walls squeeze around his cock.

“You’ve been teasing me this whole time, I couldn’t help but retaliate…” He left your right boob with purple marks around your now tender nipples. He shifted his attention towards your left boob as he sucked and bit your dark pearl, enough to send electricity towards your pussy.

“Mmm’ you taste so divine, Mon chérie…This is way better than some seafood boil.” He loved the way you clenched on his cock as he sucked your sensitive nipple.

No amount of crashing ocean waves nor the sound of seagulls squawking under the illuminated night sky could muffle out the sounds of sloppy slaps and moans of the heated moment you both shared. You cried out his name in hiccups as he continued the movement of his hips guiding his cock towards your cervix, increasing his speed.

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji…i’m gonna cum!” You were going dizzy at his hypnotizing movements.

“Fuck, me too…Can I cum on that pretty face of yours, Mon chérie?”

You nodded as you felt that familiar tightening feeling in your abdomen of your impending orgasm had . The thought of releasing on his cock was racing in your mind as you wanted to savor the sensation the next time you had the “urge.”

You gripped his shoulders as you arched your back to the ripping feeling of your toe-curling release, a cry for pleasure escaped your lips as you felt your abused walls clench around him. — thick, white…it poured from your used hole as it coated on his twitching member, waiting to come as well.

He groaned at the sight of his cock being covered in your slick, like a used sex toy. He fisted his cock, your cum serving as lubrication to relieve himself.

He chanted your name in mutters as he took in the sight of your fucked-out face, sporting a tomato red and a trail of saliva dripping down your chin as you huffed and puffed for air. His hand instinctively stroked faster as the aftermath of your face around him even more. He let out a groan as he felt the nerves in his shaft jolt as ropes of hot cum spurt from his reddened tip.

You smirked as you watched the white fluid land on your face along with your hickey-covered chest. You didn’t want to lie when you felt surprised by how much spilled out of him—embarrassing amount continued to drip onto the sand from his now sensitive cock.

You bit your lip, “Didn’t tell me you had that much in ya.”

His face became flushed, “It’s not my fault, I was pent up from how much you edged me today!”

“You’re really hot when you’re hard at work, I couldn’t help seeing you in such a submissive state,” you stuck your tongue at him.

His heart skipped a beat at your embarrassing words, “MY LOVE, I’LL LET YOU DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO ME IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPY.”

And…he’s back to his usual self.

The chef’s ears perk up as he hears rustling from the nearby coconut trees. You noticed his reaction before your attention redirected towards the origin of the sound.

“What the hell, where am I?

The mosshead looked towards your direction as he noticed the two figures in the distance, immediately recognizing the both of you.

Both you and Sanjj’s mouth dropped open before you guys scrambled on the sandy floor, readjusting your swimsuits and jumping in the cold salty waters to wash off the evidence. In the back of your mind, you wanted to cry of embarrassment; the thrill of almost getting caught was exhilarating itself. However, getting caught a a different story.

“Go away, moss head! We’re trying to fish in peace over here!” The blonde cook yelled at the swordsman.

Zoro smirked, “You sure this is fishing, cause last time I checked, you’re supposed to have your clothes on.”

Both you and Sanji looked at each other with an embarrassed blush on your face before quickly diverting your faces knowing the opposite direction.

“Zoro, you can’t tell anyone…” You softly pleaded.

The swordsman yawned, “I don’t really care, I was tryna find curly brow since Luffy was getting antsy about the food.”

“Oh and I was wondering where you kept the sake.”

The cook facepalmed himself, “You fucking drunk…it’s in the wine cabinet now go away.”

The swordsman yawned again, “Wow, thanks I guess. I’ll let yall do your thing but hurry up cause the captain looks like he’s about to munch on our emergency food (chopper).”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll get started once [Name] and I bring our shellfish catch back to the ship.”

You sighed in annoyance, “Let’s just get out of here.”

As the three of you walked back, the little devil on your shoulder caused you to land a nice smack on Sanji’s ass. He turned around with surprised look on his face while rubbing the impacted area. You shot a smug smirk at the cook before doing the “p in v” gesture with your fingers.

He smirked before giving you a wink. You quietly giggled before whispering in his ear, “Let’s do this again, but more private.

#one piece #fanfic #smut #one piece smut #oneshot #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #sanji smut #one piece fanfiction

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captainwinterrsoldierr · 2 months

Text

Title: Trauma

Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

Syn: reader and Percy comfort each other after experiencing Tartarus

You limped through the Argo ii. You desperately wanted to rest and shower. Percy paced behind you with a hand on your shoulder. With an unspoken agreement you two went to his cabin on the ship. “Do you mind if I shower in here Perc? I’m not ready to be alone yet?” You urged. Percy looked at you with a worry glint in his eyes. You knew he wasn’t ok. But he always put on a such a strong act for you.

“Of course I’ll wait right here,” he gestured towards his bed. He flopped onto his cabin’s bed and closed his eyes. You grabbed fresh, clean clothes from your room quickly and made your way back to his restroom. You closed the door and looked at yourself in the mirror. Your face was scarily thin. You had soot everywhere. Your lips were incredibly chapped and damaged. Your arms were scattered with scrapes and bruises from the horrors of Tartarus.

You turned on the water to a nice temperature and removed the garments you had gained from hell. Aching is all you felt. You stepped into the shower and instant relief washed over you. You closed your eyes and breathed in. Flashes of Tartarus raced through your head. Mansion of the Night. Drinking fiery red hot river water. Almost losing Percy to the Arai. You cried. You couldn’t tell the difference between your tears and the water from the shower. As you sobbed you slid down onto the floor. You were safe now but all the images kept recycling through your head.

*knock knock*

“Hey love are you done now?” You heard Percy asked. He must’ve cracked the door open.

You wiped your tears and stood, “Yes sorry Percy I’ll be out in a sec.”

You didn’t hear the door closed. “Babe are you ok?” He questioned.

“Yes- I’ll be out now,” You choked out. You heard the door reluctantly close. You quickly swung the curtain open and changed. You propped open the door and found Percy showered and dressed, sat on the edge of his bed.

“Frank let me shower quickly in his room, I really needed that stench off of me,” He said. He studied you. You sat next to him.

“They’re replaying in my head too,” He muttered.

Your lip quivered. Without even saying out loud what was wrong. He knew. He knew exactly what was wrong with you.

“Percy- I,” You sobbed. “I’m so sorry I dragged you down there, I’m so sorry you almost died multiple times cause of-”. Percy pulled you into his chest. His hands cradled the back of your head. You sobbed into his chest. “I was so scared Percy I thought I was going to lose you.”

“It was never your fault, it was that damned earth goddess.” He kissed the top of your head gently. His warmth. His sea salt scent brought peace to you. You pulled away gently and his hands grasped your face. His sea green eyes seeped into yours.

“I was scared I was going to lose you sweetheart, I don’t… I can’t live my life without you,” He breathed.

You hadn’t realized how scared he was from Tartarus. How much did he actually put up a brave wall for you.

“We’re going to be ok,” You assured.

“As long as we’re together,” He confirmed.

Your thumb grazed his cheek. You pulled him closer. Your lips touched softly. He kissed you. His other hand pushed your head for a deeper kiss. A mew escaped your lips. You were safe with Percy now. The war wasn’t over yet. But for now you two were safe. The kiss went on for long. His embrace was all you ever needed to feel ok.

He pulled away and kissed your temple, “Now let’s get some proper rest.” You nodded and you got cozy in his bed. He wrapped his arms around you and you sighed contently. “I love you seaweed brain,” You murmured as you drifted into a peaceful sleep with your soulmate by your side.

#pjo fandom #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson headcanon

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sourmiguel · 4 months

Note

Hi there!

Biggest sterek fan here, could you recommend any Alive Hale family fics where they love Stiles and want Sterek to happen.

Bonus point if Peter plays the matchmaker and tell Derek to stop being uptight

Pretty please 🙏.

Also thank you for the amazing work you’re doing with your blog, much appreciated 🫶🏻

Hey! I have so many Alive Hale Fam fics bookmarked it's crazy! I love them so much. I'm not coming up with any Peter ships Sterek specifically, but here is a wide variety of some fun Alive/Meddling Hale Fam fics:

Blind Date With a Book by thepsychicclam (wc30361, mature)

Summary: Stiles thought the Blind Date With a Book trend was a great way to drum up business for his small bookshop. He definitely thought it was a great idea after the hot guy kept returning and buying more blind dates with books. Derek didn’t know how he kept getting set up on blind dates by his family, or why he kept going on them. The highlight of his night was when the date was over and he could go to the little bookshop in town and buy something to read for the rest of the night. He wanted to read, not date.

I’m totally obsessed with this fic. So cute. I love Derek and his aversion to his blind dates. I love Stiles and how cute and eager he is. I love their game nights. I just love this.

Follow the Jelly Beans by @afailureandamasterpiece (wc5793, teen)

Summary: Derek waves hello to everyone else who is gathered around a bare tree and hops up the stairs to his childhood bedroom to put on his soft flannel bottoms. Gracie had picked them out especially for him last Christmas and he made sure to pack them for the traditional pajama decorating party. Only his pants aren’t in the bag. In fact, none of his belongings are in the bag. It’s not his bag at all. “Oh no,” he mutters, sifting through the contents. “Who the fuck packed this?”

I love: meet cutes, Hale family love, single father!Stiles, fluff. This has all of that.

Just a Hobby by kaistrex (wc3009, teen)

Summary: Five times Deputy Derek shelters his partner from the world of the supernatural and the one time he discovers he’s just been making a fool of himself.

Silly Derek, trying to shelter Stiles from the big bad world of the supernatural.

When You’re Close I Feel The Sparks by Leslie_Knope (wc39671, mature)

Summary: The guy is hot as hell, sure—leather jacket and glasses, Jesus, be still Stiles’ poor, bisexual, beating heart—but more importantly, it must really suck being new on the first day of senior year. “We’re adopting him,” he decides, tugging Scott and Kira by the elbow in that direction. “Let’s go.”

This is the best kind of HSAU - still in the ‘verse, just everyone lives. I love the progression of their relationship and the twists and turns of this fic!

Hale’s Modern Encyclopedia of Playing Cards (and Dating Humans) by thepsychicclam (wc49698, mature)

Summary: Wolves don’t date humans. And Derek’s okay with that. He’s got his Pack, his friends in the Pack network, and lacrosse. Plus, he plays cards with his grandma all the time. Stiles Stilinski definitely doesn’t factor into his life - no matter how much of a crush Derek has on him. But when bird creatures attack Derek, Stiles, and their friends in the Preserve, Stiles finds out about werewolves and things get pretty complicated. For Derek at least. And he thought school was his only problem, but now he’s grounded and Stiles is hanging around way too much for Derek to ignore him any longer.

I adore Derek and Stiles’s relationship and the growth it goes through in this fic. I think Derek with an uncontrollable crush that makes him wolf out in Stiles’s presence is so cute. I also love the Hale fam and the way Stiles (and Scott and the Sheriff) just get folded in after the crazy. So good.

Children’s Tales by @artemis69 (wc4690, general)

Summary: Be careful, little girl. Don’t go causing troubles in Beacon Hills, little girl, because the Hales live there. Keep away from Beacon Hills, little girl, or the Hales will destroy you. – Or: In a world where the Hales are alive and the protectors of the town of Beacon Hills, the humans politely fake ignorance of their not-really-human status, and they all live happily ever after. Then Kate comes in. Well. Tries to.

There are so many things about this fic that I love - the Sterek friendship, the Hales protecting the town, and the town protecting the Hales right back. So great.

Followers, let us know if you have any Peter ships Sterek / Alive Hale Fam fics for us!

#sterek #fic search

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anystalker707 · 1 year

Text

Denial

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x [gender neutral] Reader Summary: Reader likes Sanji, but they're in denial. Tags: Bitter sweet / Sanji is very loving / Boyfriend material a/n: sloppy ass writing

MASTERLIST

There was something about the waiter— Or better, cook. All the entertainment you had on the ship while you guys were about seven days away from another island—according to Nami—was watching Sanji cook. In the whole time you’d spent around, you’d never watched an actual cook doing their job, since it usually happened in the back of fancy restaurants, which you wouldn’t usually attend.

Sanji was skillful and did it so naturally that made you kind of mesmerized, clearing your mind as you sat at the dining table with an elbow over the surface and cheek against your palm.

You didn’t notice how lost you were until there was a loud slamming sound from outside. It was followed by giggles that sounded to be Luffy’s, and then Zoro’s complaining. Sanji was also startled, looking over his shoulder at the door’s direction, but then glanced back again.

“Oh, (y/n),” Sanji said with a hum as he continued doing whatever with that bowl hugged to his torso. “I didn’t notice you there, my bad. This is becoming a habit, hm? Would you like something?”

“Ah, no,” you mumbled and cleared your throat. The times you’d happened to talk to Sanji weren’t many, only occasional chats ever since you guys met at the Baratie, so you didn’t exactly know what to say. Most of the time, you were just watching Sanji interact with the others, sometimes even trying to flirt with Nami. The few times you were with him were for taste-testing or stealing bits of whatever he was preparing. He would complain before you two just settled for comfortable silence whenever you were around. “I just got nothing to do, and it’s too hot to sit outside on the deck. Am I bothering you, though? I can leave.”

Despite the fact he had his back to you, it was still possible to know Sanji was smiling. You followed him with your eyes, watching Sanji put the bowl on the table and take the cloth from over his shoulder to dry his hands. His sleeves were rolled up his forearms, and it was one of the few times you’d seen him without the blazer. It was fine, honestly. The fabric stretched over his wide shoulders, then tight around his upper arm, also stretched over his chest, and… Shit, he was looking at you now.

“It’s okay,” he said as he grabbed something from the far side of the table and a glass from the cabinet, falling silent for a couple of minutes. “I’m used to cooking in an agitated kitchen, so it can be lonely when it’s just me in here.”

Sanji eventually walked over to you and placed a glass in front of you; the drink had a bright color, a salt-coated rim with a slice of strawberry on it, and a clear red straw in it. The ice clinked against the glass until it settled down. How the hell did he do that so fast?

“To help cool down.” He winked before he walked back to his previous spot to carry on cooking.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at the drink, furrowing your eyebrows. Why was Sanji so nice? What was up with him? You sighed as you took the glass and sipped on it, and fuck, it was so good. How could he actually be this good? Maybe you were the one used to a crappy outlaw life before actually joining a crew.

You quietly sipped on the drink, unable to even look Sanji’s way this time. The glass hit the surface of the table with a little more strength than needed once you finished the drink, catching Sanji’s attention.

“Did you like it?” He paused what he was doing to look at you. “I could prepare another…” The words just trailed off as he gave up on talking the moment he saw you stand up and walk out of the kitchen.

Despite knowing something was wrong, Sanji couldn’t do much more than watch everything happen. He could not define what was going on, but he surely missed the companion he had during cooking, even if you were just sitting there in silence for most of the time, sometimes napping over the table.

Sanji also sort of felt like he didn’t have a say in this either. If he decided to question you, and you hit him with a ‘you do not know me’, he wouldn’t have much to do other than agree and just go with it.

A sigh escaped his lips as he paused his cooking. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, but it did. He looked at the ingredients displayed before him for a long moment to gather his thoughts and remember what he was supposed to do now.

“Sanji,” Luffy’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, making Sanji look up. “Got any snack? My stomach’s aching.” He twisted his mouth as he stepped closer, looking over Sanji’s shoulder to see what he was doing.

A small chuckle came from Sanji as he shook his head to himself and pointed off to a plate he’d left on the corner. “There are some sandwiches, if you’d like to take it to the others I’d be… Okay, never mind.” He just opted not to argue when he saw Luffy walk away—he’d bitten one of the sandwiches, widening his eyes and humming about how good it was before walking away with three or more of them in hand. “No, wait, Luffy!”

Luffy hummed, muffled by the food, as he stopped and looked at Sanji.

“Would you perhaps know what (y/n)’s favorite dish is?” Sanji raised an eyebrow.

Luffy furrowed his eyebrows and thought for a moment, shrugging a little before he took the sandwich out of his mouth. “I don’t know, but they mentioned they really liked what you prepared for dinner last Thursday.”

It took Sanji a moment to remember Thursday’s menu, and he nodded. “Thank you.”

Another sandwich was already in Luffy’s mouth as he hummed, giving Sanji a thumbs up before he left.

Okay, Sanji could try to do what he did best now. Once he finished making dinner, he would prepare the dish. He didn’t mind preparing a little extra food just for you if it meant having a chance of making amends, even if he didn’t know what was wrong, exactly. He wasn’t even sure why he was putting so much effort into it. Maybe it was just to make sure he was on good terms with everyone.

Sanji nodded to himself. “You got this,” he whispered, “for the crew.”

The idea had anxiety drumming under Sanji’s skin, constantly wondering what you would think of the dish and maybe make things better than they were before. He kept looking at the galley’s door while the crew walked in—or at least Nami and Zoro finally walked in because Luffy and Usopp had been at the table ever since the smell of dinner started filling the deck. Sanji’s breath hitched in his throat when he saw you walk in and take a seat. He quickly took the plate, and before you could start serving yourself, he slipped it in front of you.

You blinked a couple of times, observing the exact meal from a few days ago that you’d loved so much, and looked around to check if someone else had that meal. They didn’t. You looked up at Sanji, seeking an explanation, but all he did was flash you a smile before he moved on.

“Oh, why’s yours different?” Luffy gasped as he looked at your plate. “Let me—” He clicked his tongue and glared when Sanji swatted his hand away before it reached your plate.

Okay. Not bad. You quietly started eating, making a mental note of what was going on. None of the others commented on it, so you didn’t either, continuing to eat. The only open seat was by the other end of the table, making it easier since you didn’t have to face Sanji now. Would you be able to hold yourself back from snapping if he opened his mouth?

Something shifted in your chest at the thought of that meal. How did he know you liked it so much since you’d not told him a word about it? Only Luffy and Zoro were there with you when you had dinner out on the deck, and the probability the two dumbasses were even listening to anything you said was very low. Did Sanji want to talk with you after the meal? Just the thought of facing him again made your stomach churn, so you quickly finished eating and, as soon as Luffy caught everyone’s attention by trying to eat it all by himself again, you left the galley.

That kind of stuck in your mind for a while, unfortunately. You couldn’t even hold yourself back—you were looking over the window on the door to the galley, watching Sanji cook the next morning. He woke up so early in the morning to make sure he cooked the best meals for the crew. Everyone had bonded so quickly, and you all already felt so comfortable with each other. It made you think sometimes.

Part of you still wanted to walk in there and watch Sanji cook as you used to, but another part still cursed Sanji. Why was he trying so hard to make it up with you? As long as you and him fought and worked together as a crew, that’d be enough, right?

“Oi,” the sudden voice pulled you away from your thoughts, and you saw Zoro standing there. “What are you doing? Did the waiter burn the water?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Can you help me with something?” Zoro said without much emotion, but that was to be expected. Formulating his thoughts wasn’t exactly his strong point. Maybe thinking itself wasn’t one of his strong points in general.

“Depends.”

“Look, I can’t find any weight in here, but I gotta train,” Zoro sighed, “would you sit on my back while I do push-ups?”

You thought for a moment, humming. “And the others?”

Zoro pressed his lips together and sighed. “Luffy and Usopp won’t sit quiet, and Nami doesn’t want to do it.”

With a sigh similar to his, you nodded. “Okay, fine.”

It was a little awkward at first, but you quickly got used to it, finding a point of balance on his back. He was quite more resistant than you’d judged at first. You observed the sea—the weather was quite pleasing in the morning like this, with the sun shining weakly over the sea and the main deck, making a nice contrast with the cold breeze. Watching the waves got you a little dizzy, hence you averted your eyes away and tried to think about something else.

“Y’know,” you mumbled, patting Zoro’s head a little. “What are you doing regarding your swords?” Sometimes, you’d think back to how easily Mihawk had reduced them to bits, and it made you want to do anything not to get in his way, at least not yet.

“Finding new ones once we reach an island,” Zoro said through the huffs.

You thought for a moment. “Buying it? You don’t seem like you’d use just any sword, and I don’t think we have money for something like the Ō Wazamono.” Was his hair naturally green like that? You had to lean forward and inspect his roots a little, running a hand through the strands.

Zoro didn’t answer for a while, only the sound of his heavy huffs coming from him for a few reps. “You think too much.”

“I’m afraid of you,” you mumbled and patted his head a little, but not lightly.

“Stop doing that!” He grumbled without stopping his push-ups. It made you laugh, so you did it again, resulting in more complaints and laughter.

Spending a while with Zoro had been good, honestly. Well, you didn’t know if he could say the same about it, but you’d enjoyed getting your mind off the Sanji matter, even if not for long. You’d not even noticed how deeply you’d been thinking about it until now. It was easier to think about Sanji, and the idea of going back to your routine of watching him cook was very tempting.

You headed over to the galley after Zoro said he didn’t need your help anymore, and Sanji was there when you walked in, cooking as usual. Ah, fuck, why did he have to look like that?

“San—” You’d barely said his name when he stepped out of the way. Okay. Maybe he was too busy to help you right now, so you just stepped ahead and grabbed a glass of water yourself. You were about to say something to Sanji when Zoro stepped into the doorway.

“(Y/n),” Zoro said, still a little out of breath, “need something again. Also, bring some water, please. Or sake, if you can.” And he was gone just as that. You huffed.

Helping Zoro had you busy with Zoro for a long while, so you were a bit late for lunch, even if you’d been dying to leave already.

“You two are getting stronger?” Luffy said with a grin, watching you and Zoro sit down, with wide eyes.

“Something like that,” Zoro muttered, so you said nothing as you started serving yourself.

Though you couldn’t place what, this feeling in the back of your mind alerted you something was missing. You kept eating your food, just listening to their conversation, still a little too tired to talk. When you reached for your glass, however, you noticed it was empty. Sanji hadn’t filled it as he usually did. He hadn’t greeted you, either. Okay.

Luffy was eyeing you weirdly during lunch, so it was no surprise that he pulled you with him to the deck the moment you were done eating.

“What’s going on?” Luffy raised an eyebrow. “I’m sensing some kind of tension. Is it the food? You’re always in a mood during the meals.”

It made you want to chuckle a little, honestly. “No. There’s nothing wrong.”

“I’m the captain,” Luffy said as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “You can trust me with anything.”

Such a captain, huh? Not like you could complain about it a lot.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The answer didn’t please Luffy completely, but his lips curled in a reassuring smile before he let go of your shoulder.

Right when you thought you could solve things, it seemed to get a little worse. You’d tried to step into the galley, but the same welcoming feeling it always had wasn’t there. Staring at Sanji’s back felt intimidating instead of pleasant, so found yourself leaving the galley without even actually doing anything. Your muscles would lock before you could even say anything, mind screaming at you. The light mood from the morning felt long gone now, like a dream in the back of your mind or something that’d happened days before. How was it eating you from the inside out?

That kept you up at night. You kept rolling on the bunk, sometimes sleeping for a few minutes before waking up again. That fucking sucked. The same subject came roaming over and over your mind, and you thought about how nice Sanji always was. What was that for? What did you ever do for him? Nothing. Okay, nothing… Maybe the problem was there. Your chest heaved a bit the more you thought about it.

Eventually, you felt your bladder complain, and the very faint sleepiness you felt just faded away completely when you were heading back to the quarters. A glass of water wouldn’t hurt, right?

A faint slice of light cut through the darkness, coming from the small and round window in the galley’s door. Was Sanji on the night watch for today? Since overthinking had fucked you up so many times, you decided to just go with it this time, trying to keep your mind clean as you walked into the galley.

A glass of wine rested on the table as Sanji sat on one of the stools, with a cigarette and a cookbook. Why did he have to look like that? Your breath stopped in your throat, but you moved before your muscles locked again.

Sanji did acknowledge your presence, of course, but why didn’t he say anything? He kept his eyes on the book, even when you stood in front of him for a couple of minutes.

“Sanji,” you whispered. Why did your voice sound so weak?

There was silence, but Sanji did react this time. He blinked before his eyes finally met yours. “Are you hungry? I can prepare you something in no time.” His lips stretched into a smile, a tired one.

“Can we talk?”

Sanji furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, looking away, before he looked at you again. “Sure,” he said, though it sounded like a question.

“No, like—” You clicked your tongue. It was so hard, for some reason. “Are you alright?”

His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, that air of confusion remaining on his face as he thought about what to say.

“Okay, let me say something else,” you mumbled. You couldn’t lose that spur of courage. “I love your cooking. That day when you made the meal that I love just for me… That was very nice of you. And you were always letting me try whatever you were cooking, making me some treats. Sorry, okay? I wasn’t very fair with you.”

Sanji’s expression softened as he observed you. He glanced at the book before he closed it and put the cigarette out against the table. He shook his head a little. “It’s okay. I know those aren’t always welcome, and all.”

“Well, I welcome it,” you whispered. “I just— I don’t know. I actually enjoyed all of those so much, I just—” It was hard to even organize your thoughts about it. Why were you so reluctant about accepting it when Sanji was nice? “I’m sorry, okay? I was an asshole, but I didn’t mean to.”

A sigh came from Sanji as he shook his head a little to get his bangs off his eyes before he stood up. “Okay, I accept your apology. However, I’m also sorry for being a little too pushy.”

“Don’t think about it like that,” you sighed. “It was all so nice, I just didn’t know how to appreciate it. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t really think too much about it until today.” Exactly because he stopped doing it today, but you didn’t know how to address it directly.

Sanji hummed, tilting his head and running his tongue between his lips. “Ah, yes. I also meant to apologize for that. It’s not new that my relationship with mosshead isn’t the best, but I wouldn’t contribute to major conflicts within the crew.”

It made your mind shortcut for a second. “What?”

“I don’t want to get in the way of your relationship with him.”

Your relationship with Zoro? Maybe you were still too sleepy because it took you a while to understand it, looking blankly at Sanji until you breathed a chuckle, shaking your head. “Sanji, are you going crazy or something?”

Sanji furrowed his eyebrows lightly. He really didn’t know what to say. He just shook his head a little. “Um, just to make sure, we’re good for now, yeah? Will I still have the pleasure of your company while I cook again?” The way those words made your heart flutter was fucking shameful, even more with that smile of his.

“Yeah,” you finally mumbled with a nod. The tension that once clung to your muscles was now gone, thankfully, and the sleepiness that you longed for so much now clung heavily to your eyelids.

The bowl that Sanji handed you still had some cake filling in it, enough to fill a couple of spoonfuls if you were determined enough, and thankfully, you were. You licked the spoon before starting to scrape the bits off the bowl, humming at how good the flavor was. You’d really missed that.

“How’s that?” Sanji asked as he carefully set the second layer of cake over the carefully spread filling.

“Good,” you said while still eating. It was hard to criticize Sanji’s cooking, and you were not an expert in most of the dishes he prepared, so it was hard to even know what they were supposed to be like.

Sanji smiled and nodded, grabbing the icing this time. He was spreading it over the cake when you stood up and dipped your finger into the icing, taking a bit of it with a hum.

“This is good!”

After eyeing you for a solid minute, Sanji scoffed, shaking his head with that smile of his. “Of course it is. Now, don’t go around eating before I’m done, yeah? What are you doing if I end up needing more than expected?”

You raised an eyebrow, putting aside the bowl that once contained filling, now truly empty. “Well, then make more. That’s not stopping you. I know you’re a good cook. Like, the best I know.”

A chuckle came from him as he glanced at you. “How many cooks do you know?”

Your lips twisted a little. “Blow below the belt,” you mumbled while he chuckled more, making you smile lightly. Sighing, you observed him still decorating the cake, and it was hard not holding yourself back from trying to get some icing again, just that he caught your wrist before you could do anything. “Hey!”

“What did I tell you?” Sanji raised an eyebrow. He grabbed a little of the icing with his finger and wiped it on your nose before he let your hand go, his hip bumping against yours to push you away lightly.

“You’re no fun,” you mumbled while wiping the icing away with your finger and then licking it.

“Am I supposed to be fun?” He asked, and you seriously cogitated jumping on him; he sensed it, of course, chuckling. “I’ll stop bothering you. I just can’t help how adorable you look when frustrated.” Something played in his eyes as he looked at you, making you look away immediately. Ugh, he was so difficult. He chuckled again. “Come on, look at me, let me see your face.”

“No,” you groaned. “Just finish cooking, Sanji.”

Sanji hummed softly. He walked around you, and showed up by your other side, putting his face in front of yours. “I told you not to look away!” He placed a hand on the counter by your other side, hence you couldn’t walk away or anything, just trapped in there.

“I hate you!” You glared, but the way he didn’t even react just had you so angry. You turned around and groaned, holding onto his lapel to shake him a little, which did nothing but make Sanji chuckle more. “Why are you like this to me? All you do is mistreat me!” The little dramatic rant didn’t do a lot more than amuse Sanji, never wiping that grin away from his face.

“Oh, poor (y/n)! I’m so evil!” Sanji rolled his eyes as you stopped. “Maybe if you weren’t so annoying….” He kept that smug tone as he held your chin between his fingers, keeping your face towards him.

“What are you doing?” You clicked your tongue. “You’re the annoying one!”

“Stop moving!” Sanji glared without stopping smiling, and you felt his thumb wiping the corners of your lips. You raised an eyebrow before biting down on his thumb. “Ow!”

“That’s what you get!”

“That’s what I get?” He scoffed and chuckled. “Well, I’ll show you what you get!” His hand easily squeezed both of your cheeks together, ignoring the way you kept complaining as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. You couldn’t do a lot more than blush and fall silent, observing Sanji with your cheeks burning red. “Oh, so that managed to calm you down? Maybe you deserve a little more,” he chuckled.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #opla #one piece live action #sanji vinsmoke #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #sanji x reader #oneshot #scenario #imagine

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johnnyutah · 4 months

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average adam faulkner stanheight fan: if adam isn’t in saw xi we riot! @lionsgate @kevingruetert @jameswan #adamlives #justiceforadam #corpseinconsistencies

average john kramer fan: What people don’t realize about John, is he’s such a genius that even when he makes mistakes, he planned on making the mistakes. He is the greatest villain of all time

average jill tuck fan: Appreciation post for the Women of Saw 🩷 [the same ten photos that get posted once a week]

average lawrence gordon fan: last night i watched a 2004 tv movie about serial killers called ‘the riverman’, followed by the cheesy family rom-com ‘a castle for christmas’. today my friends and i are going to binge the entire third season of netflix’s ‘stranger things’. none of us have seen a single episode of the rest of the show and we don’t plan on it. then we might rewatch ‘another country’ together

average amanda young fan: sorry i haven’t been online in 4 weeks i’ve been too busy trying to get the new pig cosmetic in the rift [posted 7 weeks ago]

average mark hoffman fan: [underneath a gifset of costas mandylor in a republican christian propaganda ‘sci-fi’ movie] #hes so fucking hot #i would give anything to put him in a sports bra and make him do jumping jacks in front pf me i would literally do #ANYTHING #i need to make him into a marionett and fist him lol

average daniel rigg fan: Here’s a quick low effort doodle I did of Daniel! I just love him so much ❤️ [a literal masterpiece, the best art you’ve ever seen in your entire life] [3 notes]

average allison kerry fan: i am hardcore attached to ONE ship which is probably either allison/amanda or allison/lindsey and my whole blog is devoted to them. there are dozens of us DOZENS

average lynn denlon fan: okay so i know bahar is a realtor now but in her last instagram post where she’s congratulating her son on some new achievement, both the first and last words in the post have 11 letters, AND there’s an X and an I visible in the background of her post 👀?? is this a reach???

average jeff denlon fan: No seriously let me finish seriously when you compare him to the other shitty men in Saw he’s NOT that b

average david tapp fan: i’m 39k away from publishing my 40k tappsing Everybody Lives AU <3 this is going to be epic [account has been deactivated for an indeterminate amount of time]

average brit stevenson and mallick scott fan: Hey I stayed up making this instead of writing my thesis paper for grad school. Here’s a 30,000 word document about the implications of Brit’s promotion within the Marshford group and how it would lead to her eventual demise and also how she rose to the top in her group. It also delves into her relationship with Mallick, whose existence, I believe, is an obvious literary reference to an ancient Roman play read by only me and three other people currently alive. I translated relevant passages and included them in my work. I got understimulated around page 8 so I did take a break to pierce myself in the same spot that I believe Mallick would have a piercing. If you read my fics on AO3 you will already be familiar with the location.

average peter strahm fan: haha peter does CRACK cocoaine haha i think he sniffeds some drugs! why else would he be so MANIC HYPER CRAZY!!! i love my crazy JUNKIE man LOL get him some andderall STAT!! if hoffman didn’t kill him the SPEED certianly would of! LOL!

average lindsey perez fan: i love lindsey perez i’m such a big fan of the character lindsey perez

average matt gibson fan: i literally would eat garbage out of a dumpster

average ezekiel banks fan: holy shit i just finished spiral what a good movie what the hell!!! what a cool addition to the saw universe! i bet everybody else loves this as much as i do! let me take a big drink of water as i check tumblr dot com to see all the nice things people will have to say about darren lynn bousman’s Spiral

average william schenk fan: my hobbies include: being a fujoshi,

average cecelia pederson fan: [pic of cecelia yanking on the metal loop around her neck and smirking] https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vT3f5IIzt5PG-M7G9_Z-gjY4gZaiUneTdMlYrFAcdBGcJo0-N-RDQcj2JfxOaBTxKa6J_DiDQNgqVpg/pub

average logan jigsaw fan: What people don’t realize about John, is he’s such a genius that even when he makes mistakes, he planned on making the mistakes. He is the greatest villain of all time

#logan jumpscare #saw #this took me maybe too long to write #tag yourself !

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caffedrine · 5 months

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Character vs. Event – The Beast wants to Lure the Rabbit Silvio Ricci vs Azel Radwan - Summary

If you trust me to know what I'm doing, then we have both made a huge mistake. I cannot guarantee accuracy for this summary, or even grammatical correctness.

Please support Cybird and pick up this event when it makes it to the English Server

Also - Silvio is super hot in this one. Don't get distracted by the sexy new princes, Silvio brings it.

This is set without Silvio or Azel being romanced.

What if Emma had gone on to purchase books in Benitoite on Akatsuki’s behalf?

After completing Akatsuki’s errand, Emma briefly stopped by the main port before heading back to the inn. The port seemed unusually busy, and Emma overhears some of the crowd talk about the living god, also mentioning that Silvio had personally come to welcome him.

Emma is also curious by the talk of the living god, and wonders if this means Silvio is just ahead.

She had briefly met Silvio a short while ago when she had played the role of ‘Belle’ in Rhodolite. Silvio, First Prince of Benitoite, had tormented her many times, and possibly because he was suspicious of her secret role, had made her his caretaker. Thankfully Rio had protected her, but unfortunately, he was not around to shield her now.

It would have been smart for Emma to turn away and go to the inn, but she was curious about how her former acquaintance was doing. Curiosity drew her into the crowd, and with some luck, she was in a prime position to see Silvio.

Benitoite knights had formed an empty zone, in which Silvio stood looking at a large ship bearing the emblem of Tanzanite. Following his gaze, Emma saw a single figure move down the ship’s gangway.

At first glance, he was an otherworldly man with features she has never seen before. His hair was silver, and his eyes were a mysterious color that she couldn’t quite place but was striking even from a distance.

Around her, the crowd confirms that this new person is the living god, and Emma recalls hearing that there was a real god in human form in Tanzanite. From the looks of him, she could believe it.

As he came closer to them, Emma could see that the Living God’s expression was full of compassion and love that surrounded everyone, starkly contrasted to Silvio’s tyrannical expression.

(something wicked this way comes)

With a politeness that took Emma by surprise, Silvio welcomed Azel, the Living God, to Benitoite. Azel kindly thanked Silvio for his gracious hospitality and prayed that all the people of Benitoite would be blessed.

Emma is surprised, she didn’t think Silvio was capable of being so polite and gracious. At least, he had never appeared that way in front of the Princes of Rhodolite. The Living God must be something if he could draw this personality out of Silvio. It gives her goosebumps.

Just as Azel begins to accompany Silvio to a nearby carriage, a man behind Emma shouts that Azel is a fraud and has bankrupted him. He demands his money back and starts lashing out, pushing hard at the crowd and Emma.

Benitoite knights rush over to the man, and the combined commotion of the rampaging man, and the knights trying to restrain him send Emma landing on the ground hard. Just as she realizes that she’s technically in the open space, Silvio recognizes her.

Silvio rushes towards her, demanding to know what the hell she’s doing here. He swears at her, and Emma is almost relieved to see the normal Silvio. Emma begins to apologize, assuming he’s upset because of how close she is, but Silvio shushes her, examining her leg, which she only begins to notice is badly scraped up and bleeding through her skirt.

Before Emma can react, Silvio bends down and scoops her up into his arms. Emma demands to know what he’s doing, but Silvio shushes her, threatening to toss her into the sea if she doesn’t calm down. Emma ignores the threat and tells him that she’s not so injured that she can't walk. She points out that he’ll attract undue rumors if they see him right now.

Emma flails more, but Silvio shrugs off her movements. He tells her that he isn’t going to follow any orders from her, and besides, no one cares about them right now. Emma stops and looks at the crowd, and sees that indeed, everyone is focused on Azel.

Azel is telling the crowd that if anyone has a grievance to air with him, to please follow the formal procedures to request a meeting. He promises that as long as time permits, he will listen to all the people of Benitoite. But he would hate for his beloved people to be injured further by this outburst, and to be patient with him.

Like a miracle, the crowd quieted down like the receding of the tide. Even Emma feels like her heart quiet down, and she wonders if this is a miracle from god. Silvio tells Emma that they’ll take this opportunity to leave quickly. Emma asks where he’s taking her, and Silvio responds that he’s sure as hell not going to stand here holding her forever, so they’ll just go back to the castle.

Emma tells Silvio to think things through and put her down. Silvio tells her to stop ruining his mood and takes a threatening step towards the sea. Emma doesn’t say anything, and Silvio looks satisfied.

In the carriage, Emma tells Silvio that she’s grateful for his kindness, but she absolutely hates this. Silvio tells her that she only has herself to blame, making him get violent in front of a state guest. Azel tells Silvio that he absolutely doesn’t mind, in fact, this sounds like a profitable story.

Once he pushed her into the carriage, Silvio had one of his servants retrieve a first aid kit and hand it to him. When she saw Silvio’s wicked grin, Emma immediately understood what was going to happen next and grabbed the hem of her skirt to hold it down. Just as she expected, Silvio forcefully tried to pull up her skirt.

All in front of the Living God, sitting across from them.

The fight between Emma and Silvio was so childish, she wanted to cry. She tell Silvio that she can take care of this herself, but Silvio insists that he’s a better medic than she is, and watching a amateur fumble about will only irritate him.

Emma tells him that’s fine, she’ll just get off his carriage, go home, and take care of it herself. Silvio rejects this idea.

Emma demands to know why, and Silvio snaps back that she’s very annoying, and if she resists any further, he’ll tear off her skirt. Emma wails that Silvio is truly the worst. She wonders if this is revenge for their time together in Rhodolite where she had been avoiding being his hostess.

Finally Azel speaks up, telling them to give it up. Silvio appreciates the backup, but Emma points out that he might have been talking to Silvio.

Azel notes that he is always troubled by the worries of stupid people. But, for her, he will lend a special hand.

Emma was surprised at the words, but Azel’s serene, benevolent expression never wavered. In the shaking carriage, Azel stands and moves to sit on Emma’s other side, trapping her between him and Silvio.

Silvio complains that with all three of them on the same seat, the carriage’s balance will be off. Azel tells Silvio in that case to go ahead and move to the empty bench.

Smiling sweetly at Emma, Azel asks her name, and introduces himself as Silvio’s personal fortuneteller, to Silvio’s displeasure. He asks since when were they that close, and Azel asks if Silvio is cheating on him with other fortunetellers. He laments that Silvio is so cruel even though Azel tries so hard for him.

Silvio protests, for one, he doesn’t even believe in fortunetelling. Azel smiles and exclaims that he is the only fortuneteller in the world that Silvio trusts. Silvio sighs in defeat.

Taking advantage of their distraction, Azel jerks the hem of Emma’s skirt up, exposing her wound.

Mockingly pitying her, Azel takes the medicine from Silvio, and begins to treat Emma as a bad feeling wells up in her. Unfortunately, she is trapped between Silvio and Azel and has no choice but to accept having her wound treated.

Azel treats her wound without the slightest show of compassion or mercy. It hurts badly enough that Emma yowls in pain, and clings to Silvio, who recoils and demands that she stop touching him. Through her tears, Emma apologizes, but cannot bring herself to let go of Silvio.

Azel is as efficient as a battle nurse and bandages her wound with gauze. By the time he finishes, the pain recedes. In a voice very different than the serenely benevolent one he’s used up to now, Azel mocks her for crying over being treated.

Then, with a very tender and compassionate gesture, Azel wipes the tears away from Emma’s eyes, and she wonders if the painful treatment was a dream. Emma thanks Azel, and he assures her that as Silvio’s precious friend, she is his sucker- wait, he meant friend, too.

Silvio breaks the moment by demanding Emma get off of him. As Emma scoots away, Silvio flings himself to the corner of the bench, but not before she notices how red his face is. When she brings it up, Silvio threatens to throw her out of the carriage, and Emma wonders if he’s embarrassed.

No, he’s a tyrant, it must be something else.

Azel takes this moment to bring up the cost of the treatment. He leans close to her ear and whispers a number so large that Emma feels herself grow faint. A light seems to shine from behind Azel as he explains that god has just used his own hands to treat her, so if anything, this is a discount.

Emma asks Silvio to save her, but he replies that this is her own fault for refusing to let him treat her. He goes on to explain that as gods go, Azel is pretty evil.

Emma realizes that Azel just scammed her.

Azel assures Emma that he’ll create a loan document so that she can pay her debt back in installments. Emma asks if there's anything other than money that can pay him back, and Azel considers this before agreeing. He’ll forgive the debt if Emma agrees to become his exclusive maid (slave) during his stay. Emma is confused, he said the word ‘maid’ but she’s pretty sure he meant ‘slave’.

Silvio cuts in, he has already hired the most skilled maid in Benitoite to serve Azel. There’s no need for Azel to put up with Emma’s amateurish attempts.

Azel disagrees, he’s grown fond of Emma. She’s not intimidated by princes or gods, so he’s certain he’ll feel very comfortable with her. Then again, if Silvio has that strong of an opinion, he doesn’t mind Silvio paying Emma’s debt on her behalf.

However, he knows Silvio is the type of person who doesn’t waste money. If Silvio is going to help this woman personally, does it mean that he’s in love with her?

Silvio immediately denies this, and Azel shrugs. It’s too bad, it sounds like Emma is going to be his new maid (slave) after all.

Emma agrees to serve Azel and have him waive the costs to treat her. Mentally she apologizes to Akatsuki, it looks like it will be a while before she is able to return to Rhodolite.

At the Benitoite Castle, Azel thanks Silvio for his hospitality, he always loves the food served to him. Silvio assures him that serving him is absolutely no trouble, and to eat as much as he likes.

Emma, now wearing a maid uniform, is their waiter and has been serving them since they first set foot in the castle. Thanks to her time as Belle, she was actually doing quite well. However, she is concerned that there are no other servants besides her, as everyone else has been dismissed. She is kept very busy, working by herself.

Azel and Silvio begin to talk seriously. Azel talks about an easy mark - er, merchant, who is still active. Silvio agrees, they’re using Azel’s name to sell expensive products. Unfortunately, while immoral, this isn’t illegal in Benitoite, and they need to get them on something else. He asks if Azel needs his help, but Azel refuses. Instead, he would like Silvio to do that favor he asked for.

Emma more or less understands the problem. She wonders if the whole point of Azel’s trip is to stop the sale of fake holy artifacts and imagines that there will be a lot of trouble ahead. She idly refills Silvio’s rose wine as Azel turns to her and explains that she’ll be helping him. Emma starts and nearly empties the wine pitcher on Silvio. She asks if she misheard, but nope, Azel is going to use her for his job tomorrow.

Silvio immediately grabs her hand and cuts in. He was actually planning on having Emma help him tomorrow. Besides, he saw her first, Azel should back down.

Azel asks how much he should sell Emma to Silvio for. He reminds them that he’s an evil god. Silvio clicks his tongue, and Azel turns to Emma. He doesn’t mind if Emma chooses between them.

Silvo End

Emma is paralyzed by the sudden choice. She decides that in the end, she has to pay back her debt to Azel, so she slowly turns to him.

Behind her, Silvio clicks his tongue and tells Azel he understands, all he has to do is buy her. Azel smiles beautifully, remarking that it’s about time that Silvio’s made up his mind, no, Lord Gold*, that is. Silvio grumbles for Azel to stop calling him that.

Magnanimously, Azel agrees to stop, after all, he is very loyal to Silvio. He then praises Silvio for saving his dear friend. And to not ruin the moment, Azel will give him the bill later. This is not included in the compensation they’ve already arranged. Silvio grumbles about how stubborn Azel is.

Silvio then smiles arrogantly at Emma, and she wishes that she had gone with Azel instead. She has moved from the frying pan into the fire.

Silvio tells Emma that just as Azel once said, he doesn’t waste his money. He intends for her to work off her debt completely, and he plans on enjoying this.

The next morning, Emma is summoned to Silvio’s bedroom, and with a wicked grin he explains that today she is his personal maid. He warns her not to run her mouth with him. Emma would love to complain, but since Silvio holds a sizeable debt over her head, she cannot oppose him. Very politely, Emma agrees and tells Silvio to go ahead and give her any orders he wants. She goes full maid mode and calls him ‘master’.

This wipes the smirk off of Silvio’s face and he complains about it being weird when she’s like this. Emma reminds him that he has just told her to be his maid, so what does he want her to do? And why does he look so frustrated when she’s obedient?

Silvio has an errand for Emma to run. He hands her a list of book titles. Azel has requested these particular books from Silvio, but they’re rare enough that no single bookstore has everything. Silvio needs someone to go to the various bookstores in Benitoite and cobble the list together.

Emma is somewhat surprised; this is pretty much her normal job. She was worried that Silvio would give her a horrible onerous task, but this lines up with her abilities perfectly. She assures Silvio that she will be back by nightfall, accepting the list. She will pay off the debt with time to spare.

So why is Silvio accompanying her on this errand? When she asks, Silvio tells her that it’s none of her business. Emma laughs and teases him, maybe he’s coming with her because he cant bear to part with her so quickly?

Silvio reaches out and grabs her head, crushing it in a painful grip. He tells her to focus less on him and more on her task.

Emma asks if this means that Silvio doesn’t want to leave her alone. Silvio is not amused by this and begins to shake her head, blurring her vision. She complains that her eyes are shaking, and Silvio warns her to stop saying weird things.

Fine, fine, Emma will let it be. She’ll pretend there’s nothing weird or unusual about Silvio following her on her errand. That he assigned her.

The first bookstore she stops by was one she had purchased books from Akatsuki the previous day. The bookstore owner recognizes her, and asks if the rumor is true, is she now dating Silvio? To Emma’s horror, the owner explains that the rumors were that when the Living God arrived in Benitoite, Silvio and Emma had an intimate moment. Publicly. And now, the rumors say that Silvio has both the Living God and his mistress as guests at the Benitoite Palace.

Anyway, here is the book Emma requested. Please, give the bookstore owner’s regards to Prince Silvio.

Immediately upon exiting the bookstore, Emma tells Silvio that they need to break up.

Silvio looks stunned as he accepts the book from Emma. He recovers enough to remind Emma that they can’t break up, they’re not dating in the first place.

Yeah, well, there are rumors going around. Rumors . . . from Silvio’s very nonchalant reaction that he already knew about.

Yep, according to public opinion, Emma is Silvio’s woman. At least in Benitoite.

Okay, then they should break up publicly.

Silvio refuses to take orders from his newest maid. Instead, they should go to the next store.

As they walk, Emma is aghast at how fast these rumors are spreading. Oh, she just knew something bad would come from Silvio picking her up at the port. And now, she has become hyper-aware of all the people they pass by, feeling their gazes slide over her. Oh, what would happen if the rumors of her being Silvio’s woman spread past the Benitoite capital?

As if reading her mind, Silvio wonders what would happen if that dog hears the rumors too. He slips an arm around Emma’s waist and bends down to whisper in Emma’s ear. It occurs to her that, from the right angle, this looks like a intimate moment.

Silvio is doing this on purpose.

The longer they stay together, the faster the rumors will spread. Now Emma has just one last resort. She points and shouts that Azel is right there across the street.

This breaks Silvio’s attention, Azel should be in a different part of the city all together, dealing with . . . And Emma is gone, sprinting off down an alley. She thinks she heard Silvio scramble after her, but she continues full speed ahead, and practically dives into the first store around a corner. Gasping for breath, she waits, but it seems like she has shaken off Silvio.

After a moment, Emma decides to look around the store. It’s a general store, full of cute accessories that make her think of Benitoite. Something on the shelf catches her attention.

After Emma makes her purchase, she leaves the store, confident in her escape skills and planning on finishing her errand. She gets as far as the main street before a voice calls out to her. Before she can even look, she is dragged into a different alley and pushed roughly against the wall.

It’s Silvio.

And he is pissed.

Maybe Emma would have been better off if just a regular kidnapper had found her instead.

Silvio hopes that Emma is prepared to face the consequences of her actions. Emma is, but she doesn’t regret trying to stop the spread of the rumors. If it gets out that she is Silvio’s mistress, her marriage prospects will plummet.

Silvio is aghast, is that what she cares about? Hasn’t it got through her head why he’s spent his entire day with her yet?

Realizing what he just said, Silvio shuts his mouth, then swears, he didn’t mean that last bit to slip.

In case Emma hasn’t realized it, Silvio is a prince. And, if that’s not enough, he’s rich. Like, really rich. The rumors have already spread, and right now, she’s the most kidnappable person on the continent.

Oh. Well, maybe if Silvio had said that from the start, Emma would have been more cooperative. But, from his expression right now, Silvio looks embarrassed. It’s not something she is used to from this arrogant tyrant.

Emma apologizes, she didn’t realize he was worried about her. Silvio quickly denies this, he was never worried. He just would be upset if something happened. Totally different emotion.

Silvio is still a tyrant, which Emma hates, but still . . . Emma thanks him.

She pulls her recent purchase out of her pocket – a trinket with a ship motif. The little ship looks like it’s about to have a grand adventure, and looking at it, all she can think of is Silvio’s face.

Emma explains that she realized that back when she got injured Silvio hadn’t hesitated before running to tend to her. In the end, he had even paid Azel for treating her. But, in retrospect, she had never thanked him, so she wanted to give him this as a token of her thanks. Also, she might have been holding on to it to soothe Silvio’s ire when he eventually caught up to her after she escaped him.

But it wasn’t a lie that she wanted to thank him.

Silvio stares at the tiny ship resting in the palm of his hand, frozen. His ocean-blue eyes are wide and he seems very surprised. As the silence continues, Emma grows embarrassed. Maybe he dislikes the trinket – it’s nothing to a millionaire like Silvio. She tells Silvio that if he doesn’t like it, she’ll just take it back.

Silvio immediately snatches the trinket away, holding it above her head. He never said that he didn’t want it. He smiles as Emma grasps at air.

It is a very silly trinket, but Silvio will accept it as his due. Emma thinks he looks surprisingly happy, and her heart skips a beat at a smile she never saw back in Rhodolite.

No, that’s stupid. What’s the point of getting excited about seeing one nice smile on a tyrant’s face? She’s being far too lenient with him.

After this little adventure, Silvio actually listened to Emma’s request, and although he still followed her, he managed to do so without being seen. She was able to finish purchasing the last of the books on the list by the time the sun began setting over the sea.

Emma returns with Silvio to the castle, then cheerfully announces that her job is over. Since she’s paid off her debt, she’ll go ahead and return to the inn she’s staying at.

Emma is somewhat sad; this is probably the last time she will ever interact with Silvio. As a bookstore clerk, she cannot easily approach him, as they practically live in different worlds. She wishes him well, and turns to leave.

Silvio abruptly grabs her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

Did Emma seriously think she could just leave like that?

Silvio Epilogue

Emma met Silvio when the King of Rhodolite died and she had been nominated as Belle to choose his replacement. Silvio had come up with many tricks to try to get her to reveal her identity, leading them to but heads more often than not. If she had to describe their relationship, Emma would say that it was not a good one.

So how exactly did she end up like this?

His arms are wrapped around her like a backward hug, and he’s asking why she thinks she can just leave like that. Emma points out that she completed his errand, and her job is over.

Silvio half-laughs, does Emma really think that all she needed to do was run a single errand to pay him back? As his exclusive maid, she hasn’t even served him dinner yet.

Silvio has a lot of maids in the castle, right? Maid who would be thrilled to serve him any meal he would like, right? Why does he want Emma? Silvio asks if this is how Emma pays back her debts, by mouthing off to the people to whom she owes money.

Silvio doesn’t need Emma to serve him dinner. Emma figures that this is just revenge for everything that happened between them in Rhodolite.

Emma thought she would be free after she served him dinner, but then Silvio’s official duties as the Prince of Benitoite began. He had her sorting documents, organizing files, and assisting with enough paperwork to make her dizzy.

By the time most of the paperwork had been conquered, Azel had returned to the castle. While Silvio listened to Azel’s report, Emma served tea, sweets, and a shocking amount of gold bullion to Azel. Honestly, there was enough gold to last a person an entire lifetime.

Silvio is pleased with Azel’s report, the business was destroyed and was untraceable back to Silvio. Azel is pleased that Silvio is pleased. If Silvio has any other problems, merely contact him and Azel will come running. And, of course, that offer is extended to Silvio’s woman.

Azel is disappointed that neither Silvio nor Emma want a divination.

After the meeting, Emma accompanies Silvio back to his room, where she can hear the sound of the ocean running over the sand. He pours a drink for both of them and tells Emma to drink up. Emma asks if he normally treats his maids to alcohol, and Silvio tells her that she is fired as a maid. She’s far too cocky for the profession.

Emma has no problem with this, it was a lot of hard work.

Silvio urges Emma to drink up, he doesn’t feel like drinking alone today.

The liquor is a light sea-blue and makes her think of Silvio. Since Silvio is personally pouring her drink, she decides to accept and try it.

Silvio explains that it’s a traditional Benitoite liquor, very rare, so Emma might not get a chance to try it again. Tasting it, Emma remarks that it makes her think of the sea, a fitting beverage for Benitoite. It was very tasty and easy to drink, so Emma would have to be careful.

Silvio knocks back a shot of the liquor and pours himself another glass. Emma wonders if she should be worried.

Silvio tells Emma that she should stay at the castle tonight. Emma isn’t certain that it’s allowed, with her being a commoner and all, but Silvio insists that she is his guest. Silvio corrects her, she’s not a guest, after all, he did buy her. Emma asks what the difference is between a guest and someone in debt to him, and Silvio muses it depends on his mood at the moment.

How strange. All while they spent time together in Rhodolite, Silvio had been unpleasant and tyrannical. But right now, it could be said that they were getting along. Now that she isn’t terrified of him discovering her true role, she can see different sides of him. Maybe this playful kindness had been there back when they first met, and Emma had been too wary to notice it. For one, she never would have guessed that he would immediately come to her aid if she was injured.

These thoughts stir confusing feelings inside her, so Emma washes it down with another drink.

When Emma laughs softly and admits to Silvio that she never would have imagined that she would be in his room this late drinking with him. Maybe she had been right when they started the book-buying errand that morning, and Silvio liked being around her. Silvio disagrees and tells her not to get so cocky.

With a shrug, Emma decides that she’s been here long enough, it’s time for her to return to her room at the inn.

But as soon as she sets her empty glass on the table, Silvio grabs her wrist.

Silvio reminds her that they already talked about this, he doesn’t want to see her get kidnapped. Emma asks if that’s the only reason he’s acting like this.

Silvio’s brows furrow, and there’s an awkward silence between them.

Huh, Emma would have thought that Silvio would swear at her and deny it or something. She wonders what Silvio is thinking about during this long silence and decides to back down. She assures Silvio that she does not doubt that he only wants her to stay out of concern for her safety. But Silvio’s grim expression doesn’t go away.

Trying to lighten the mood, Emma reaches out to poke Silvio where his brows are furrowed, but he suddenly leaps backward as if she burned him. From across the room, Silvio shouts at her to not touch him without permission.

Emma blinks owlishly at him, then recalls that time when Azel was treating her wound in the carriage how he had panicked when she clung to him. She asks if Silvio cant bear to be touched, but he denies this, looking everywhere other than her eyes.

This is a weakness.

Emma can’t help but grin wickedly. Silvio grows more upset and yells that she is getting carried away without being aware of her place. Emma shrugs, she’s probably drunk so what she says and does doesn’t count.

Silvio’s frown curls into a grin.

It doesn’t count?

Uh-oh.

With a wicked expression, Silvio stalks towards her, placing his glass on the table. Feeling wary, Emma steps backward, only to topple down on top of his bed.

Silvio pushes her down, hovering over her and caging her with his arms and legs. His face is close enough for the tips of their noses to touch, and Emma and Silvio breathe the same air. When Emma tries to move away, Silvio grabs her hand tightly. Emma can’t see anything other than Silvio, cant hear anything other than their heartbeats. Their fingers are tangled together, both of their bodies hot enough for sweat to bead along Emma’s brow.

Silvio laughs, Emma really is drunk.

Emma would like to respond to it, but every time Silvio exhales, his breath scatters her thoughts.

Silvio sighs, Emma can’t leave now, not with that expression. He roughs up her hair, tangling it with his fingers. Emma asks what he means, and Silvio tells her to stop talking, or else he’ll take a page out of Azel’s book and increase her debt to him.

Once he has tangled Emma’s hair to the point that it looks more like a bird’s nest than a hairstyle, Silvio gets off of Emma, letting her up. Emma sits up and begins righting her hair, and Silvio starts helping.

Emma tells Silvio she really should leave now.

At the very least, she can’t stay here. Her heart is doing backflips, and she cannot describe the feelings washing through her. Standing up, Emma reaches Silvio’s bedroom door, but he calls out to her, stopping her.

Silvio tells Emma that the next time she comes to Benitoite, she really should stop by the castle and say ‘hello’. Besides, he owns her loan, she can always come by and work it off.

What a tyrant.

Emma agrees that she doesn’t want to be in debt to him until she dies, so she will stop by the castle. Unless she forgets.

Silvio grumbles for her not to forget him.

Well, the debt, at least.

Silvio pours himself another drink, and Emma begins to leave for real, only for something to catch her eye. That trinket she had bought for Silvio on a whim sparkles on his desk in a prominent position.

She has no idea what her feelings for Silvio are.

Azel End

The day starts with Emma chasing after the Living God. She calls out for him to please slow down, but Azel refuses to stop his powerwalk.

Even though Azel is not running, his legs are long enough that his stride propels him farther than Emma. Even though they had left at the same time, Emma has to rush after him. Very kindly, Azel sympathizes with having stubby legs and warns Emma that if she can’t keep up with him, he’ll just have to leave her behind.

Eventually, Azel makes his way through a back alley, but there is no sign of anyone else there. Just ahead of her, Azel pulls to a stop, and Emma can make out two men guarding a door. Azel apologizes for intruding, and as both the guards start at the sight of the Living God, he opens the door and walks in.

Catching up, Emma breathlessly repeats Azel’s platitude and runs in after him.

There are many people inside, and they are all reacting in surprise to Azel’s sudden entrance. Some are shouting with joy, and others are crying as if they are experiencing a divine visitation. A very different reaction than the one Azel received at the port. Emma feels like she is watching drowning men clutch at straws.

Azel didn’t seem to even notice the crowd. Instead, without pause, he marches towards the stage.

Emma sees a large vase in the middle. She imagines that this is a fake holy item being auctioned under Azel’s name.

Standing on the stage, Azel calls for the crowd to quiet down. He is very sad, he has heard that there is the sale of holy items, and he sees that the rumors are true. Do they not understand that God’s protection isn’t bought with money?

Did Azel hit his head while outside of Emma’s eyesight? She stares at him in disbelief as he continues. Azel assures the people that God doesn’t need money, otherwise those without money would not receive any protection. God loves all and protects all despite their wealth or status.

Azel’s face and voice is full of compassion and love, if this was the first time Emma interacted with him, she would even believe him. Surprisingly, even after interacting with him, Emma can feel Azel’s voice penetrate her heart and is filled with a holy sensation. Like her, everyone around seems to be holding their breath, waiting for Azel’s next words.

Well, not everyone. The merchants selling the fake divine artifacts try to flee. This snaps the crowd out of their trance and as one they turn against the merchants and begin to form a mob, demanding their money back.

The merchants run out the back way, and the crowd rushes after them, leaving behind an empty auction area of only Emma and Azel. She asks if Azel plans on chasing after the merchants as well, but Azel refuses. He’s not stupid enough to leave behind all this money.

(Azel isn't upset that people are scamming others, he's upset that he's not getting a cut)

Emma asks what meant a few minutes earlier when he was saying that God doesn’t need money.

Well, that was then, and this is now.

Azel beckons Emma forward, her job starts now. It’s easy enough, even an idiot like her can do it. Leaping down from the stage, Azel starts pushing Emma ahead of him into a side door she missed earlier. Emma recognizes one of the merchants in the room and asks how Azel knew that he was there. Azel reminds her that he is a God and tells his slave maid to look sharp. Emma snaps back to her senses and locks the door behind them.

Emma was glared at by the merchant, but Azel moves to stand between them, blocking their line of sight. Azel greets the scammer and drapes a companionable arm around his shoulders and forces him to sit at a nearby table. He and Azel should have a fun chat together.

The scamming merchant’s face is pale.

Azel knows this person. He knows his name, his home address, his workplace, where his family lives, and so on. It seems this merchant has several gambling debts and is having trouble making ends meet. But none of this is Azel’s concern, right? He only care that he was using his name in selling these goods. The compensation should be about . . .

Emma cant hear what Azel says next, but the merchant’s face tightens like he bit into something sour. Emma feels sympathetic with the merchant, but she can only pity him so much, as he was obviously running a terrible business.

Azel is continuing, loud enough for Emma to overhear. Since the merchant has extorted a lot of money out of people using these false holy relics, and he had a recent run of luck at the gambling hall, this is an easy price to pay.

The merchant asks why Azel would ask for that much, and Azel replies that he is the Living God. And, with his divine foresight, he has prepared a loan document for the merchant. He’s a kind god, so he’ll only punish him monetarily. He smiles at the man, as sweet as if a halo was over his head.

Suddenly the merchant hurls himself off the chair, kicking it away and barreling towards Emma, who is directly in front of the door. Azel calls out to Emma that this is her time to shine.

What? Whaaat? This is impossible!

But, if Emma lets this merchant get away, she will never be released from her debt. Thinkign quickly, she grabs a nearby broom and braces herself to whack him.

And then she sees the knife in the merchant’s hand.

Oh. She’s probably going to die.

Noooo! She can’t give up now! Not after all those self-defense classes they made her take while she was Belle! Emma kills the fear in her heart, raising the broom, ready for a broom to knife fight with the merchant.

Suddenly a chair flies from behind the merchant, hitting him hard enough to knock him to the ground. Azel steps on the merchant’s head, grinding his face into the floor, asking if he’s an idiot as well as an incompetent.

Emma wonders if that last bit was directed towards her and not the merchant. At least, Azel is looking at the merchant instead of her.

The benevolent façade is gone, and the change is so complete Azel looks almost like a completely different person.

Azel asks if the merchant thought that he truly could run away from Azel. Does he think that God is that compassionate? That is a ridiculous thought, no God could be that convenient to humanity. The merchant has just made Azel his enemy, he should know the weight of that decision.

Azel is disgusted that scum like this merchant is using God’s name to exploit others. He’s now changed his mind, the loan document is not enough for the merchant to pay for his sins. Adding the crime of pointing a knife at what belongs to Azel, all the merchant’s wordly possessions will be confiscated to pay for the disrespect.

Azel then begins to dig through the merchant’s pockets, eventually pulling out a rusty key and tossing it to Emma. Azel glares at the merchant lying on the ground one last time before standing up, using the merchant as a stepstool.

They find the safe, full of an eye-watering amount of money. Emma thought Azel would keep all of the wealth for himself, but instead he instructs her to call for the knights; they’re going to return the money to the victims of this merchant’s fraud.

That said, Emma did notice Azel taking some for himself.

This was all legal, as Emma would eventually find out. The document Azel made the merchant sign proclaimed that he transferred all his wealth to Azel. Everyone, including the responding knights, bowed down in gratitude to Azel.

Everyone except Emma.

When they are finally alone in the carriage, Emma asks Azel, by chance, if he’s actually really evil. Azel laughs and admits that he was wondering what she would say. Then his smile disappears, and he warns Emma not to say anything else. She has a flash of Azel stomping on the merchant’s head and she closes her eyes, cringing as if she expects Azel to get violent.

After nothing happens, Emma opens her eyes, only to see Azel looking at her with a shocked expression. It's as if her reaction was worse than an insult.

Azel tells Emma that she should learn how to run away. Think of this as a divine prophecy from god, she is going to die if she continues to stick her nose into unnecessary things. Emma asks him not to say such ominous things, and Azel tells her he would love to, but anything else would go over her stupid head.

Azel asks what she was thinking back in the room, he didn’t bring her with him to fight. Emma explains that she was thinking about her debt. Azel is exasperated, he is certain he told her that he wanted her as a distraction. Ugh, maybe it’s on him, and he said it wrong. Next time, he’ll have to dumb his instructions down for her. A lot.

Emma apologizes for causing him to worry, but Azel assures her that he was never worried about her. Instead, he was worried about Silvio, what would happen if he inadvertently offended his beloved prince by getting his favorite killed.

Azel sighs and sulkily kicks Emma’s seat. He’s going to have to add the cost of saving her to the loan document. Emma is aghast, didn’t he just receive a lot of money?

Oh Emma, no matter how much money you have, you never have enough.

Yep, Azel is definitely an evil god.

How can she say such things? And to think she’s special, she has been personally chosen by god to serve him. If anything, she should be bowing down in gratitude.

On another note, Emma’s debt is too high now to just be Azel’s maid for the day. Congratulations, she’s now his newest slave.

Emma refuses.

Azel asks if Emma plans on selling her organs then.

Emma begs god to have mercy on her. Azel smiles benevolently, God has no mercy for humans. Congratulating Emma on her newly extended loan, Azel stands and traps her between him and the carriage seat.

It occurs to Emma that it would be better if she jumped out the window of the carriage.

Gently placing his fingers against her cheek, Azel tells Emma that he intends to have her repay the loan with her body.

Azel Epilogue

Emma covers herself and glares up at Azel. He asks how conceited can she be, but Emma just reminds him that he said to pay him back using her body.

He did. And he intends to use all of her.

There is a lot of manual labor that needs to be done, after all.

What did she think he meant? Azel laughs, he’ll just add another bit to her debt for this insult.

It wasn’t until the end of the day that Emma truly understood ‘use all of her’. She was so tired, all she wanted to do was fall face-first into bed and sleep. Instead, she limites herself to sitting down and resting her face on a nearby table.

Azel had spent the entire day performing divinations for the people of Benitoite. Since he was a god, and a foreign god at that, people outside of Tanaznite rarely had an opportunity to receive his divine guidance, making the day very busy.

Honestly, Azel would rather not do this, but he wants to keep on Silvio’s good side. As the richest man in the world, Silvio is not only Azel’s number one benefactor, he is also Azel’s friend. And, to maintain that relationship, Azel will visit and bestow God’s blessing on the citizens of Benitoite.

Unfortunately, he can only run a divination for one person at a time, he needs someone to keep everyone waiting organized. Emma will be paying back her debt by lining up supplicants, guiding them to Azel, handling complaints, and more.

All the chores that need to be done outside of divination will be handled by Emma.

Emma asks if he really intends for her to handle this by herself, and Azel does. After all, she is his only slave here in Benitoite. Of course, if she wants him to bring on another worker, they can pull out the loan document and figure out how much debt to add.

Fine. Emma will do her best, by herself.

Not only did Emma have to cater to the needs of the supplicants, but she was also in charge of Azel’s personal requests, such as bringing him food and drinks.

She can’t help but wonder about all the people waiting (impatiently) in line for hours for a chance to consult with the evil god. Maybe Azel’s divinations were really worth all the trouble.

Emma is not present for Azel’s divinations and has no idea what happens once she leads people to him. All she is aware of is how anxious the people waiting in line are, and how full of hope they are when they leave him.

At the end of the day, with her head face down on the table, Emma wonders what a divination is like.

Suddenly a breath blows into her ear, sending a shock through her. She looks up to see Azel’s face right there.

He thanks her for all of her hard work and dismisses her for the day. Emma asks after him, will he also return to his guest room?

Azel likes this room, it has a perfect view of the sunset. She watches as he leans against the window, staring out across the sea. Intrigued by the scenery God is watching, Emma joins him. She remarks that the sunset is beautiful, this room has a clear view of the horizon. Azel asks if she heard him dismiss her, but Emma insists that she likes watching the sunset.

Well, that’s fine. It’s not unpleasant watching the sunset with her.

That’s interesting, Emma thought Azel disliked her. Azel disagrees though he doesn’t like the fact that she is terrible at regulating her emotions. But think, why would he have someone he hates spend the entire day serving him? He’s not the local masochist to put up with that.

That said, Emma is staying here late. Does she want Azel to pay for her lodgings at the castle too?

Emma cuts in, she’s staying because she has a question for him. She noticed that Azel didn’t take any money for his divinations, even though he keeps on taking as much as he can from her.

Azel reminds Emma what he said earlier, God’s protection is equal. Both rich and poor have the right to seek salvation.

Well, that is the official reason, but the truth is that Azel uses divination to gather useful information. For example, he found out that Emma was the latest Belle of Rhodolite. Depending on the time and place, he could use that to extort money from her.

When Azel tells people’s fortune, people like to talk about useless things with him. And, despite his background, he can gather a lot of useful tidbits.

Azel then asks if Emma would like him to divine her fortune. He urges her to accept, for all they know, this might be the last time divine inspiration strikes him, and he might never be able to tell a fortune again.

Emma can’t believe that Azel is making this offer out of the kindness of his heart, but in the end, she is very curious. She agrees.

Azel asks what she has a question about, and Emma asks if any question is acceptable. Azel assures her that it is, after all, he is the Living God.

Okay, Emma would like to know about her future love life. It’s been on her mind to fall in love and settle down soon, and she wonders how that will go.

As soon as she asks, Azel’s benevolent smile twists into a scowl. He wonders why everyone wants to learn about their love lives, it’s really revolting to him.

He tells Emma that if she’s that concerned, go chase after Silvio. To her shock, he explains that Silvio definitely likes her, so that’s her best bet. He gives her a pitying look and says that he has lost his motivation to perform a divination for her.

Emma is upset, she was looking forward to seeing what a divination performed by the Living God would look like.

Okay, fine, if she doesn’t go after Silvio, maybe she’ll meet someone else. Whom? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care.

Emma argues that Azel’s prediction is far too vague, and Azel tells her that’s the beauty of fortunetelling. He then extends his hand towards Emma. He would like his fee for divining her fortune now.

Emma reminds him that his fortune-telling services are free. Azel assures her that she’s just that special – he charges friends and family more. Emma doesn’t want to be special to Azel, who is more of a fraud-scammer than a real god.

Azel clicks his tongue, Emma never learns, does she? He pinches her cheek, reminding her that he’ll add enduring insults to her overall debt. Emma argues that she wasn’t insulting him, she was telling the truth. Azel snorts, her sincerity takes a certain kind of courage, doesn’t it? This time, Azel’s smile is strange and his grip on her cheek is lighter.

If what Azel said was true and not a deception, Emma will be able to meet a suitable man with good taste. At this point, as long as he’s not Azel, Emma will be happy.

Azel tells her not to worry, he’s not interested in her romantically either. Honestly, their compatibility is the lowest possible, the world would end before they came together.

Besides, instead of think about love, Emma should use her brain to think of a way to repay her debt to Azel. Still teasing Emma’s cheek, Azel’s smile grows dark and evil. When Emma scowls at him, he only laughs.

Really, she would be happy to fall in love with anyone other than this dark-hearted evil god.

(You heard it here first, route is over, no chance of romance between these two)

#ikemen prince #ikepri #silvio ricci #azel radwan

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