#see the thing op blows on to make a fire?

[buried-in-stardust]

Making a mamianqun (馬面裙; lit. horse face skirt). Mamianqun can be traced back to the Song Dynasty and was in vogue from the Ming and Qing Dynasties until the Republican era. The skirt consists of two overlapping sections of fabric sewn together, each with a pleated section and skirt panels on either side. The skirt panels are overlapped to create the front and back of the skirt. This design allowed greater freedom of movement.

A note: Mamianqun are women's wear, but with the hanfu revival movement, men nowadays wear it too.

[eng by me]

[hihhasotherfixations]

Kinktober Day 12: Hate/Angry sex - Price x Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

CW: fem!reader, rough sex, oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, angry Price - though not at you

So, the reason these fics of the last few days are late are cause ‘twas my birthday! So I’m catching up now but I figured for my birthday day fic I’d go a little more out than usual, hehe. Enjoy Price using you to blow off some steam ;3

Word Count: 3468

Walking in through the door, John slammed it shut, an anger and vitriol radiating off of him that had you wide-eyed and silent in a second, sitting on the couch and watching him.

“John?” You asked, but it was like he didn’t even hear you as he kicked off his boots, dropping his bag with only a little too heavy a thunk before he stalked into the house, an angry frown on his face.

Immediately, he walked over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a scotch and pouring himself a hefty glass, not even bothering with the ice he usually so meticulously put in whenever he poured himself a drink.

Leaning back on the couch, you looked at him, a worried look on your face. “John. Big bear.” You finally got his attention with the horrible nickname you only ever used to tease him, though this time, there was not a hint of teasing or mischief on your face, your brows pulled up in worry. “What’s wrong?”

Taking in the deepest breath you’d seen him take in a long time, it almost seemed as if he was trying to reel in his anger before he sighed out deeply, rounding the couch and crashing down into it right next to you, nearly sitting down on you and spilling his drink; though it was clear his mind was somewhere else as his face twisted up in frustration. “Fucking Norris thinks he can ground my team because he’s ‘higher rank’.” He spat, making air quotes at the end as he took off his hat and slammed it onto the coffee table.

“Whoa, hey, what happened?” You ask, placing your hand on his thigh, to which John started tapping his fingers into his knee.

“Colonel Norris – bastard that he is – decided to ground my team because of a mistake his men made while we worked together a month back. An op went wrong because of it and now he’s making it a whole case, trying to spin it on my team.” John seethed, his fingers stopping their tapping as he instead started bouncing his right leg, frustrated. “Because it’s being investigated, we’re not allowed to go out until it’s solved. But we had a fucking target right in our grasp-!” John sat up, his hand wringing an imaginary neck before he huffed out a frustrated breath, falling back into the couch as he covered his eyes with his hand.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.” You frowned and John sighed deep, sitting straight to throw back half of his drink in one go, barely even reacting to the burn as it glid down his throat.

“We’re not getting this guy in our sights again. It took me three months to track him down and right as we were planning a mission to get him, Norris comes with this shit!” He hissed, partially turned to you now, just ranting to you. “And I’ve had problems with Norris in the past in Urzikstan but back then it could be excused by him simply following orders from higherup, but this time it’s completely him and I’m bloody done with this bastard!” He growled to you, a fire in his eyes that didn’t seem to want to die out anytime soon.

“Is there anything you can do?” You asked, hoping to diffuse the situation a bit though it had the complete opposite effect, firing John up even further.

“I already tried everything! I sent e-mails, told Norris in person to just hold it off for a week, spoke in meetings about it but this molded muppet used his rank to override any of my requests!”

Seeing he was not going to be stopping, you knew you had to do something.

“How the fuck am I supposed to do my job when he is coming in here during one of the most vital times happening in the last half a year?! For a thing we didn’t even do?! It’s ridiculous and I’m gonna-!” “John- John?” You stopped him mid-ramble, turning his face towards you. “You’re getting too worked up. You need to blow off some steam.” You spoke softly, watching him huff out a breath as he tried to reel himself in, realizing himself he was just throwing everything on you now.

“I know, but I really can’t be bothered. I’m not going to the gym and I’m through my cigars this month. I’m not doing anything else today, sorry Y/N but-“ “That’s not what I meant.” You interrupted him again.

At that, his brows furrowed in confusion and you shifted on the couch, leaning towards him and placing your free hand directly on his crotch, your lips centimeters away from his, causing his breath to hitch.

“Plenty of ways to blow off steam without leaving the house.” You whispered and John groaned, shifting as just your touch – palming him – had him turning hard ridiculously fast.

“Darling, it won’t be pretty.” He gasped softly, trying to keep his composure as he closed his eyes, his lips pressed in a tight line while he leaned forward to slowly place his partially drank scotch on the coffee table.

You however, leaned in and started peppering kisses down his neck while he moved back to lean properly into the couch, having deposited his drink. “I don’t need pretty. Seeing you so worked up is just doing things to me.” You admitted, continuing to palm his crotch, feeling his erection straining against the fabric of his uniform.

Groaning, John just threw caution to the wind, grabbing your hips and yanking you onto his lap, his mouth slamming into yours.

You barely had any time to squeak before it was a mess of teeth clacking and tongue, John wasting not a single moment to claim your mouth for himself while his hands went down and tightly grabbed your ass, squeezing.

Pulling your hips into his, he practically forced you to straddle him as he began to thrust up, rocking his bulge against your crotch desperately.

It rubbed straight against your clit, making your eyes flutter shut as you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing back with fervour.

His hands wouldn’t stop groping your ass, running up and down the expanse of it before he released his right hand, using it to smack the flesh hard. “Take it off.” He commanded, barely breaking the kiss to say it, his teeth nipping at your lower lip.

“O-Okay.” You whispered, trying to catch your breath from the intensity and suddenness of the situation, only to get a firm squeeze to your rear again - you better hurry up.

Getting off his lap, you took off your pants, pushing them down and stepping out of them before looking at your husband.

His eyes were roving your thighs, his pupils blown out before he reached out and held you by the back of the thigh, right under your ass as he pulled you in. “Be good for me and take it all off.” He rumbled as he slid forward on the couch, leaning in to place his lips to the front of your panties, grazing his teeth across it and making you shudder.

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, getting an approving squeeze to your thighs as you then pulled your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra as well.

While you did that, John’s hands roamed up your ass, slipping under the fabric of your undies and up until he turned his hands around and gripped the fabric, bunching it up before tearing it off your ass, leaving you completely naked as he simply dropped it to the floor.

Gasping as he ruined your panties and threw them, you didn’t even have time to protest as John locked his arms under your ass and lifted you as he got to his feet, starting to carry you to the bedroom.

“God, you’re exactly what I need right now.” He murmured against your stomach, his beard rubbing across your skin, making you close your eyes.

“Use me however you want.” You whispered, one of your hands tangling in his hair, making the man groan softly.

“Are you sure, love?” He asked, kissing your stomach while he kicked open the bedroom door, only half an eye used to navigate his way around the house.

“Positive.” You smiled and a little growl left the man.

Before you knew it, you were dropped onto the bed, your husband crawling over you with intent. Yet before he could fully eclipse you, you placed your hand against his chest, stopping him.

“What?” He grumbled, clearly unhappy by being stopped but you just smiled.

Seeing the sly look in your eye, John narrowed his own, trying to deduce what you were planning as you slowly moved out from under him, sitting up while he followed until you lowered yourself off the bed and down onto the floor.

“Thought I could do what I wanted.” He challenged, his chest deeply moving up and down, betraying how worked up he actually was.

“I’m just here to help you along.” You grinned, moving between his legs as you then reached for his belt, starting to unbuckle it, never breaking eye contact as you opened his pants.

As you moved to pull the clothing down his hips, he gripped your wrists. “No, darling. If you want to suck it, you can. But I’m in control. Understood?” He asked, dropping your wrists to instead fish himself out of his underwear, hard and leaking a drop of precum.

Swallowing softly, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his cock, a low chuckle leaving the man when he noticed. Reaching out, he placed his left hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer while his right hand gripped the base of his shaft, angling it towards your lips.

Without complaint, you parted your lips and took him into your mouth, immediately starting to suck.

Feeling that, John let his head fall back as he groaned, slightly rocking his hips. “Fucking hell-“ He hissed and you smirked around him, making the brunet snap his head down to you. “Don’t get cocky.” He warned and you innocently looked up at him, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked, taking him a little deeper into your mouth.

Groaning, his brown furrowed in irritation as he clenched his jaw, his hand tightening in your hair as he then pulled your head down, making you take him even deeper.

Getting the reaction you were hoping for, you moaned around him, sucking as you bob your head, John helping you by beginning to move your head up and down, clicking his tongue to try and stay quiet when he felt your tongue swirling around him.

“God, keep that up.” He grunted, starting to lightly buck his hips up into your mouth while he pulled your head up and down.

Closing your eyes, you just relaxed your throat, letting John begin to fuck your mouth as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, his hips beginning to speed up.

Almost as if a switch flipped, John groaned as he began to lose himself, leaning forward over you as he thrusted into your mouth, moving deeper and deeper until you gagged, spit gathering at your lips as he continued to move, pleasure curling through him.

Reaching out, you placed your hands on his thighs, doing your best to stay put, tears in your eyes as he became more and more vocal, pushing past your gag reflex.

His hips eagerly pumped into your throat, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you drooled around him, both of his hands cradling your head, pulling you down onto his cock in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-“ John choked out, abruptly pulling out of your mouth, making you gasp for breath while he panted, his left hand holding the base of his cock, almost as if he was stopping himself from climaxing.

“J-John-“ You whispered but his right hand moved from holding onto your hair, down to your chin.

“Get on the bed.” He ordered through his pants.

Wiping the spit away from your mouth, you nodded and slowly got up, climbing onto the bed while still trying to catch your breath.

Grunting softly, John shifted onto the bed again, spreading your legs as he then spit onto his fingers, reaching down to rub through your folds, only to find you absolutely dripping.

“God, you love me being rough, don’t you?” John huffed, spreading your slick onto his fingers as he then pushed two fingers into you, making you whine.

“Y-Yes.” You mumbled, blushing. Though he always held an air of dominance in the bedroom, John never truly lost himself, always being just a little too careful for your liking whenever he went onto the rougher side.

Pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, John growled softly, his eyes dark and intense. “You want me to fuck you then? Blow off steam?”

“Properly, yeah.” You whispered, taking in a sharp inhale when he scissored his fingers in response, a slight burn appearing as he stretched you out just a little too fast, needing to be inside you but wanting to prepare you at least a bit. “Leave it.” You gasped, John tilting his head, still scissoring his fingers.

“It’ll hurt, darling.” He growled softly, leaning down to bite at the sweet spot on your neck he knew by heart.

“I want it to.” You mumbled, grabbing his hips and pulling him down, making John huff.

“So you’re working against my command now too? Not even letting me prepare you.” He grunted, still moving along with you as he rubbed his cockhead through your folds, spreading your arousal on it as he clenched his jaw. At his words, you nodded as you bit your lip and the brunet growled. “Very well.”

With that, he pushed into you, not waiting or letting you adjust like normal as he instead shoved in to the hilt, groaning as he felt your heat envelop all of him, his eyes closing as he paused.

Opening his eyes, he then looked at you. “You asked for it.” He spoke lowly, the gravel in his voice twice as prominent as he began to move, his hands shooting down to your hips to hold you down; no easing into it as he began to rapidly pump into you.

Gasping at the burning stretch, you threw your head back, whimpering out a moan as your husband began to fuck you, his hips slapping into yours as he took you with short and quick thrusts.

“My team disobeys me, my superiors sabotage my mission, and now my own wife won’t even let me take care of her properly.” John hissed, a fire burning in his eyes as his thrusts intensified, strokes long and deep.

Your walls clenched around him as you moaned, a flush to your face from the anger and irritation radiating from him as he pounded into you, keeping you pinned down to the bed as you tried to buck away from him and into him at the same time. 

“Stay still.” He growled, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room as he kept you down on the bed, his tip pushing into your g-spot with every thrust.

“Fuck-“ You gasped, making John groan as he moved, his eyes half-lidded as he could feel every ridge of your cunt, wrapped so tightly around his shaft, rubbing into him as he pushed in and out of you.

“That’s right, take it.” He hissed, his left hand moving up to squeeze your breast while the fingers on his right dug into the side of your ass. “Just like that.” He praised, his voice still rough as he leaned his face back into the crook of your neck.

“John-“ You gasped, only for him to sink his teeth into your skin. “Shut it.” He grunted, bucking his hips into yours in a frantic pace, his cock hitting deeper because of the new angle, rutting into your cervix and making you cry out.

Feeling the entrance of your womb, a loud groan escaped the brunet, his tip bashing into it repeatedly, sending waves of pleasure and slight pain through you, making you moan out more.

“Fuck, you feel good.” The man grunted directly into your ear, making you whimper.

Huffing, he couldn’t take it anymore, pulling back from your neck to tear his shirt from his body, throwing it off the bed and allowing you to see the hair dotting his torso, leaning down into the v-line and happy trail connected to his cock currently thrusting deep inside you.

Groaning, John pushed his pants and underwear down his thighs, not willing to stop fucking you just to take it off, simply accepting it as he felt relief washing over his sweaty body, no longer completely cooking in his clothes.

Seeing his chest bare before you, you whined and reached out, running your hands down his pecs, feeling the coarse hair on his chest, hiding the scarred, warm, soft skin underneath. As you trailed further down, your lip between your teeth, John suddenly grabbed your wrists, swiftly pushing them down above your head.

“Did I say you could?” He growled, punctuating his words with a hard thrust, making you moan out. “Stay put.” He huffed, holding your wrists down with one hand while his other moved to your waist, holding you down while he slammed his mouth to yours, his chest pushed into you.

Whimpering into the rough kiss, your eyes rolled back as heat grew in your abdomen, feeling him fuck into you, your toes curling as he bottomed out with every thrust.

Pounding roughly, John was huffing against your lips with every thrust now, sweat gathering on his brow and running down his back, causing a sheen on his skin mirrored on your own, the exertion and pleasure coming to a head.

“John, please-“ You moaned, your legs weak and trembling, feeling your head start to go light as the heat spread, your walls clenching slightly around his shaft.

“I know, shit-“ John groaned, rutting into you with fervour as his cock began to twitch, feeling you clench around him.

Whining out a moan, you clenched your eyes shut as you arched your back, John moving his lips from your lips down the center of your throat, his teeth nipping and biting as he groaned out a moan of his own, trying to stave off his orgasm as he slowed down his thrusts, getting rougher.

“Fuck, please!” You cried out for him, only for his thumb to descend onto your clit, making you moan loudly as your back fully arched, your cunt tightly clenching down on him.

Feeling that, John moaned, his cock twitching while you came around him, your walls spasming and squeezing tightly, making him groan out low and desperate, his hips bucking as he continued to rub your clit, stretching out your orgasm.

“Good girl, good girl-“ He panted like a mantra, his hips bucking quick and sharp into you, your pussy so greedily taking him in, your arousal coating his entire shaft and leaking down your thighs.

Whimpering out as you came down from your high, John thrusted just a few more time before moaning low in his throat, shoving deep into you, filling you up completely before he released himself inside your walls.

His cum, thick and plentiful, spurted into you, making you whine out at the feeling of it splashing against your walls, your entire body flushed as you panted, exhausted and spent, your throat and voice raw.

“Bloody hell.” John panted, staying inside you as he lowered himself onto you, his arms on either side of your face holding him up while he tried to catch his breath. “Are you okay?” He mumbled after a moment, pressing kisses to the apples of your cheek.

“Never better.” You panted out, letting out a short and light chuckle before you reached an arm up and placed it onto his cheek. “Are you?”

Leaning into your palm, his eyes finally seemed to have calmed the storm, instead holding a loving look towards you. “Definitely a lot better.” He smiled.

Carefully, he rolled onto his side, taking you with him, refusing to pull out as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you too.” You replied, closing your eyes as you snuggled into him. “If you’re ever angry, you know where to find me.” You teased and John let out a rumbling laugh, kissing the top of your head again.

But then again, he was definitely considering on taking you up on that offer.

[ivymarquis]

Homecoming

Pairing| John Price x Wife!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 2.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Mentions of concerns of cheating (No actual infidelity with the main couple), sex toys, reader gives John a show, mild D/s dynamic (kinda), PiV sex, squirting

The lines in John Price's face testify to the worry that nags him every day. 

He’s paid to worry. His men rely on it to stay safe- it’s the fear of failure -of one of them not coming home- that drives John to account for every possible course of action during an op, and come up with three additional back up plans for each initial potential course. 

He accounts for everything. No detail goes unnoticed, no stone goes unturned. He doesn’t have the option of making a mistake. If a clerk files a paper wrong, worse case scenario John resubmits a report. If he does his job wrong? Someone very likely will die. 

There’s many, many things in the day that worry John but his wife is not one of them. 

Not usually, anyway. And the slight nagging sensation as he pulls down the street that the two of them live on is easily accounted for by him projecting and empathizing with the plight of a young soldier John came across while getting ready to leave base. 

One of the corporals under Soap had flown out of the base like his hair had been lit on fire, eager to tell anyone who’d listen that he was thrilled to go home to his girlfriend. 

That same corporal was back on base in the morning, his disposition substantially more subdued than it had been 12 hours prior. 

John hadn’t commented on the corporal's red, puffy eyes. The man’s ego already suffered a terrible blow, and his crying being acknowledged by his captain would not have helped matters. 

The poor sod had walked in on his girlfriend in the act with another man. Not so much as a Dear John letter or a “get fucked” text, rather finding out in the worst way possible.

And so John brushes off the nagging in the back of his brain. He’s a worrier, and apparently his brain feels like torturing him with thoughts of how absolutely wrecked he would be if he found himself in the same position as the corporal. 

He leaves his bags in the car as he parks, too eager to see her to bother with them. He can unpack later. 

The house is quiet when he first steps in. “Darling? I’m home.”

He expects to hear an excitable “John!” and her scrambling to him from whatever room she’s in. Her usual routine ending with her flinging herself into his arms. 

He’s greeted with more silence. Maybe she’s in the shower? John sent a text to her on base that he was coming back. But the house isn’t all that far from base. Maybe she hasn’t seen the message. 

He makes his way up the stairs, grinning slightly at the thought of catching her in the shower- practically skips up the steps in anticipation. He’ll need to be careful- that he doesn’t spook her thinking she’s alone in the house only to be found naked and wet. He would feel terrible if she slipped from fright.

No sooner does John reach the top of the stairs does his stomach drop clear to the floor. 

He can hear the mattress squeaking. 

There is a part of John trying desperately to convince himself that he’s just being paranoid. That it always takes time for him to adjust back into civilian life when on leave. That he’s spinning out in the most bizarre way possible and needs to get a grip.

But he knows what the bedsprings in his mattress sound like when his wife is bouncing up and down in his lap.

He would know that sound anywhere.

John has a decision to make. 

There’s no strange car in the driveway. No strange shoes at the door. Everything is in order as it should be- no trail of clothing leading to the bedroom. 

Everything John sees tells him that all is well. 

Everything John hears tells him that his heart is about to shatter in a million pieces. 

He must well and truly be a masochist. An unapologetic glutton for punishment.

He doesn’t even know what he’ll say if there’s another man in his bed. What does he do? 

His heart is thrumming in his chest with each step he takes towards the bedroom that is mostly shut but slightly ajar. Somehow, despite the fact that he is assuredly physically safe, he is more stressed in this moment than he has been on certain high stakes ops. 

John knows exactly where to put his feet so as not to make the floorboards creak. He feels like he can’t fucking breathe. There’s a boulder pressing on his chest.

Everything rushes out all at once as he pushes the door open. 

Her back is to the door, oblivious to the audience behind her. His eyes roam her figure, naked save for a pair of socks- for whatever reason she never could finish with cold feet. He’s always found it an endearing quirk of hers. 

And there is no one underneath her. The soft bounce of her ass as she raises and lowers herself is almost enough to distract him from the whiplash of emotions whirling around in his head. 

Under normal circumstances, all it takes is a glance from his wife to get John at attention and ready to perform. Walking in on her pleasuring herself? On any other day John would simply grab a hold of her and pin her to the mattress until she squeals with little preamble. 

His mind is presently too busy sorting reality from fiction to focus on the fact that his incredibly hot wife is using a toy and getting herself off. 

The sheer relief that floods him is staggering. The weight crushing his ribcage dissipates immediately although is shortly followed by a deep seated shame. 

Of course she’s riding her toy. She would never betray him like that and he’s embarrassed he even entertained the thought. He decides then and there that the prior 2 minutes will be another one of the secrets he takes to his grave. There is absolutely no possible good that can from ever verbalizing this to her. 

Taking another breath to dissipate the last lingering tendrils he’s shaking off, John’s got himself sorted enough to enjoy the view in front of him for what it is.

He knows she has a few toys, but admittedly has always been a bit more on the traditional side of things. There’s a pride that swells in his chest every time he gets his pretty bride crying and gushing around him.

John is more than capable of achieving the goal at hand himself, and the toys were there for when he was on deployment. He’s never particularly felt the need to bring them in, content with the fact he can satisfy her when he’s here and the toys keep her situated while he’s gone. 

He’s half hard and stiffening by the second, watching her pretty ass bounce on the bed as her moans pitch. She’s getting close- John knows all her tells. But she’s also frustrated, evident from the effort she’s putting in. 

He also can’t help but notice she’s situated herself on his side of the bed, a surge of affection washing over him as strongly as the relief and lust he’s feeling. 

In a rare lapse of control he lets out a groan at the sight, palming himself through his pants. 

Her moans turn into a yelp of fright, jumping in the air and wheeling around in terror. 

“It’s just me, darling. Was going to surprise you with an early homecoming.” Turns out they both get a surprise- Although he does feel badly for startling her. 

Her ribcage is still raising and no doubt her heart is thrumming in her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t realize I was,” his voice is a low rumbling timber as he eyes her up and down “interrupting.” he eventually settles on.

Despite knowing that she uses her toys, John’s never quite put too much thought into it. And yet now that the situation has presented itself he finds he is very interested in watching how she keeps herself occupied while he’s deployed. 

In the flurry of movement, the vibrator ends up lying next to her on the bed.

“By all means, don’t stop on my account,” his words scandalize her and he fights back the urge to bark out a laugh. The expression on her face is equal parts stunned and intrigued- he can practically hear the Oh? as her mind plays catch up. 

“You want me to…?” The question trails off as she considers the idea. 

“Continue.” He supplies helpfully for her, using softer language than a crass ‘keep fucking yourself with your rabbit’.

“Okay,” her tone remains soft and dreamy, like she’s not entirely convinced John is really here, with her in their bedroom. 

She stays leaning back, one arm props underneath herself for support as her knees draw up and fall to either side of her, giving John an unobstructed view of a sight he’s missed dearly. Those pretty eyes train on him, never wavering even as her other arm extends towards the rabbit, fingers wrapping around it before pulling it closer to her so she can reposition it.

John can feel his throat dry at the sight of the toy penetrating her. 

Were he a less disciplined man, she’d be face down and ass up with a fistful of her hair in his hand while he has his way with her. 

John loves his wife and misses her terribly when he’s gone- and not just for the carnal pleasures he knows that her sinful body can provide. But now that the situation has presented itself, he feels like a dog being teased with the promise of its favorite treat. 

Initially palming himself over the stiff material of his jeans, he wastes little time undoing his belt and freeing himself from his pants.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how you play with yourself while I’m gone.”

His voice is low and measured, knowing full well how much it riles her up when he sweet talks her.

It’s cute the way she stares up at him with wide eyes as she moves the toy in and out of herself. While this is a new situation, he’s seen every part of her and worships every inch of her. The blushing bride look on her face makes him want to devour her. 

And he will. 

Eventually.

He’s already stiff and standing at attention, absolutely enraptured by the sight before him. It takes no time at all for his hand to wrap around his cock, timing his movements to match hers.

That seems to be enough to make his pretty wife reach the threshold of her tolerance for his teasing, wanting the real thing in favor of the silicone that she’d been struggling with earlier. 

“Jo-John! Please? Baby, please- I- I can’t,” there’s something that curls low and pleased in his chest with her begging.

“You didn’t know I was heading back, love. You must have had some plan in that pretty little head of yours to get yourself off. I want to see it.” His words are gentle despite the overall figure it out intention. 

“Come on, darling- show me,” he goads her as she falls flat on her back, knees still drawn up and whimpering as she continues to pleasure herself. The hand that was supporting her moves in favor of playing with one of her nipples, plucking the sensitive flesh to push herself closer to orgasm. 

Those pretty thighs start twitching just in time as her moans take a certain pitch.

Despite the urge to tighten his grip and continue matching her pace until he finishes, Price forces himself to let go. Give him some time to calm down. He’s already got a plan forming in mind, ready to put it to work the second she-

“John, I can’t,” she starts again, voice pitching in desperation.

It’s sweet, how desperate his sweet wife is for the real thing- how she pleads for him to take over.

It’s not often that John drags any sort of authoritarian tone into the bedroom. He tries to leave work at work as much as he can, and has never held any interest in intimidating his partners in bed. Playfully throwing his weight around? Sure. Outright frightening? Not his thing.

But over the years he’s learned his wife and her preferences. He’s not oblivious to the way she’ll get wide eyed, rubbing her thighs together and shifting in her seat the few times she’s observed quietly as he’s put someone back in their place.

She’s not scared of him- nor would he ever want her to be- but he’s not oblivious to how her interest is always piqued when he controls a situation. She doesn’t sleep beside a CPA or a store manager at night and seems to enjoy the little reminders of that fact.

“You can,” he informs her as he slowly strides closer to the bed, “and you will,” his tone leaves no room for discussion. He leans forward, hovering over her without touching- depriving her of what she wants, in the interest of coaxing her to do what he wants. “Now be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

His goal with the command is to amp her up enough to help her reach her orgasm without directly intervening- knows that she’s so close to the edge and just can’t quite tip herself over it- and mission fucking accomplished.

She’s enthralling to watch as her orgasm washes over her but John is too impatient to even let her fully come down from her climax.

No sooner than she’s past the strongest part of it, John is dragging her to the edge of the bed and parting those pretty legs. The toy is turned off and withdrawn with a twitchy gasp before being forgotten about on another part of the bed. 

John gives little preamble- she’s wet and ready, taking him easily despite the sheer girth of him. 

She squirms and cries in pleasure- struggles to lay quiet and still like a good girl.

“That’s it, lovely. Just like that,” he praises while one hand smooths over her hip.

He buries himself in her, much like how his face buries in the crook of her neck. 

Her pretty thighs are trembling in his grip while he pries them apart and back. There’s no room for shyness between them- not after everything they’ve been through together.

The room is filled with the wet clap of his hips knocking into her plush ass with each thrust as she babbles her pleasure. 

John relishes in how her nails dig into his back for purchase, groaning low in his throat at the sensation. She’s desperate and clinging to him, eyes screwed shut in bliss as she reflexively strains in his hold and tries to lock her legs around his waist.

“John,” she pleads shamelessly as he works her closer. “Please- fuck! Oh my God, please don’t stop.”

Pleasure blooms warm and low in his gut at his pretty wife begging. “‘m not going to stop,” he assures her. Not until he sees those eyes roll as she finishes a second time. 

Fuck he’s been missing her. So soft and willing and warm, waiting for him all alone to come back home.

“Lo-love you, Joh-Oh!” He releases her thighs in favor of one hand cupping behind her head to pull her to him as the other dips between their bodies and rubs at her clit. 

He is a sucker for how noisy she is, whimpering in need even as he kisses her breathless as his other hand circles her clit in firm measured motions. 

“Fuck I love you so much,” he grunts out when they part breifly for air.

Those plush thighs are clinging to him for dear life, trembling as he pushes her closer to her second orgasm.

“Gonna cum, darling? Show me.” He teases, relishing in the way her eyes have that dazed, far away look in them as she whimpers underneath him- “John, please!”

It only takes two more circles to have her clamping down on him- arms, legs, and that velvet soft cunt- her climax loud and wet, dripping between her spread thighs onto the sheets. 

At that point it’s John’s turn to roll his eyes in pleasure, hips thrusting to chase his own end now that he’s satisfied she got hers. 

For a moment it’s silent aside from their labored breathing as the couple recover and reorient. 

He knows they’ll need to get up and clean up soon- hell, he’s still fully dressed aside from the fact that his cock is out- but for now as they shuffle so he can settle on the bed with her he just wants to enjoy her body tucked up next to his.

“Welcome home,” she giggles breathlessly in a delayed greeting. John certainly feels properly welcomed, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“Happy to be back home.”

[ronearoundblindly]

Pirate & Pin Cushion (3)

Jake Jensen x gn! ops!Reader

Painful...But In A Good Way (see previous or JJ Masterlist)

The last thing you remember is the awkward kiss Jake planted on you during a screaming match. Now, awake and healed, your friend and teammate is acting more awkward than usual around you.

Warnings for foul language, *super skimmed over action,* canon-level betrayal (Roque), completely vague mentions of injuries, suspicions, doubts, misunderstandings,--GO FIGURE--an argument, and I just wanted this done honestly. Not that I don't love them, but I need a win in the COMPLETED department. WC ~1.5k

You’re a Loser through and through now.

Months have gone by since you were stabbed and unceremoniously, sorta-kinda-maybe-not kissed by Jake Jensen. You woke up six days later with Pooch by your side, disappointed it wasn’t your Banter Bro.

The last thing you remember is turning away from Jake to hide your face. After that, nothing. You suppose he feels awkward about it. Maybe he regrets it, even if the ‘kiss’ was just part of a gag to him.

The most frustrating part is everything is exactly the same. Jake keeps you at arm’s length, a holding pattern to get no closer as teammates but no farther as friends.

Is this…are you in the friend zone???

It blows.

You’d still prefer this over being a pariah, so on you quip from interaction to interaction.

For all Jake’s hype about loving Halloween, he shuts down when you ask him what costume you should choose. Then he goes home to his sister and niece for the holiday.

...Okay…

You console yourself knowing this is for the best. You’d promised yourself no attachments, and nature clearly pushes for you to keep that promise.

You’ve almost—almost—resigned yourself to actual pin-cushion-status, jabbed repeatedly by his indifference. You are PC: perpetually crushing on Jake Jensen. It sucks.

You can be professional though. You can keep up with the jokes and take the hits to your heart and body that come with the job.

Until you can’t.

Los Angeles. The port. The shitshow.

While scrambling to get out of the line of fire in a showdown gone wrong, Jake cuts his leg vaulting over a concrete barrier, and you get him to a nook between shipping crates.

You squat down to change the mag on your MP7 and suddenly hear Roque’s voice behind you. He’s not on the comms.

“Should’ve told ‘em, Jensen."

The look on Jake’s face is shocked and bitter.

Roque clicks his tongue. "At least then they’d know…”

Before you can so much as turn to look, Jake’s raised his own weapon, firing right over your shoulder and within inches of your ear.

The pain is sharp and hot, sending you stumbling into the warped metal wall of the nearest container.

Jake wraps a thick arm around your waist and yanks you away.

You catch sight of Roque dead on the asphalt.

It’s complete chaos, pure survival mode for the next twenty minutes, deaf and deftly tying a bandage around Jake’s leg in an open, empty crate while he’s on comms and frantically hand-signaling you the plan.

But you make it. Everyone but Roque makes it.

Eventually, when the ringing subsides in your non-ruptured ear, Clay lays outRoque betrayed the team. Aisha teaches you a way to cup your occipital and tap to reduce the tinnitis. Pooch leaves to see the birth of his first child.

You’re left to ponder if Jake is a traitor, too.

Did he kill Roque to keep his own cover? Was he supposed to recruit you into his and Roque’s plan? Is that what he ‘should have told you’ so Roque wouldn’t need to kill you?

The possibilities haunt you. Is this why he’s kept you distant for months? Was Jake worried you’d catch on?

You blame your stupid crush for stopping you from telling Cougar your concerns. You trust Jake—or you want to trust him, so badly—so you confront him alone.

Dinner. At your place. Away from the team so he can feel safe to admit it. Away from the team so you can pretend your forgiveness isn’t already secured. You’ll deal with the consequences once you know the truth.

Jake seems an odd mix of totally psyched and forcefully reserved when you invite him and a nervous wreck when he arrives at your door.

It’s just pizza. You were too distracted to do more.

He doesn’t pick up his slice because you don’t either, running your hands up and down your thighs compulsively, then quietly asking, “about what Roque said…”

Jake leans back in his chair, leg bouncing frantically, rubbing at his neck. “Yeah,” he replies, eyes on the floor.

“Was he…were you his partner in that? Were you suppose to take me out, too?

Jake’s head snaps up, his mouth askew and brow pinched. “WHAT?”

“Just tell me the truth. I swear, we can work it out with the rest—“

“Is this what—what the fuck—“ he shoves the chair back and steps away “—that’s the reason I’m here right now? I thought you were finally gonna say it!”

Jake rips his glasses off his face and harshly runs his fingers through his frosted tips.

“Say…what? What am I supposed to say? I’m not the one Roque had a damn secret with.”

He’s visibly upset but with bugged-out eyes like he has no idea what to do.

“Well, I’m not a fucking traitor,” he mumbles.

Jake replaces his glasses and takes his phone from the pocket of his low-slung jeans, hitting a few buttons and tossing it onto the table. It slides until it knocks your plate.

His own recorded laugh cuts off quickly. “Okay, PC, what were you saying about Halloween? One more time,” and then comes another slow voice, “I should have told you before I died.

“I love you.”

Your whole body freezes, brain turning the words over and over until it occurs to you…that is your voice.

“I didn’t say that.” Your knee-jerk reaction comes swiftly. “I don’t remember that.”

Jake snorts without humor. “Got that part.”

You’re too stunned to speak. You can’t even imagine when you would have…oh god.

Jake rushes to fill the silence as you die inside, again, maybe more realistically because what.

“Did you at least think I was a badass, like, ya know, a sexy traitor or whatever? Or…were you gonna wrestle me to the ground after I ate a whole pie?”

You keep sitting with your mouth agape.

“You didn’t poison the pizza, did you? Right? Say 'no.' That’s overkill, or just, kill—were gonna kill me?!”

“I’D KNOWN YOU FOR TWO WEEKS,” you explode, bolting out of your own chair.

“Yeah,” Jake squeaks, “I know.”

“Two weeks, and then you taped me saying ‘I love you?’”

“But, like—“ his usually deep timbre pitches super high “…did you?”

“Why would you just sit on that, Jake?!”

He shrugs. “You weren’t exactly sober.”

Too much, too many feelings, all at once. You try to get away, to make a break for the bathroom, but Jake grabs your wrist and swings your momentum to the wall.

Your back hits with a soft thud, pinned in place by Jake’s chest. He’s not breathing heavily, but you are, pushing you against him repeatedly.

That just makes it harder.

Yes, you said it (you guess), and yes, you meant it. Jake, however, hasn’t said word one about if he feels some sort of way for you. Your brain can’t intuit his romantic inclinations two minutes after accusing him of treachery.

He’s…there, not moving, not speaking, lips slightly parted while he stares at you.

You clear your throat.

“You’re…you’re touching me,” you say softly.

Jake doesn’t skip a beat, gently tightening his hold on your arms. “That’s what I do, PC. Finger keyboards.”

You gag as he quickly shakes his head.

“What the fuck?”

“Sounds sooooo bad," Jake moans. "I’m so sorry.” He let’s go of you, steps back, and slaps his hands in the air frantically. “Wait, okay? That was not the joke. I can do it.”

“You’re sick, man.”

Jake rubs at his temples, muttering something about keys, computers, and Halloween. “Hold on...so dumb. This is why I was trying to record it! It’s your joke. You were laying on the bed and--”

“I would never say you fin—“

“He was standing right there,” Jake bursts, scaring you to silence. “Roque. When you said that into the phone, I mean, he was standing at the door and he heard.”

Jensen sighs. Defeated and deflated, he rests his hands on his hips, inhaling sharply.

“So at the port when… He aimed a gun at you and I just—“ he makes a finger gun to point over your shoulder, adding a soft pow sound-effect “—Roque was saying I should have told you before he tried to kill you.”

“About the recording?”

“No.” Jake rocks on his heels.

“About the joke?” Your voice is so small.

His stupid, beautiful blue eyes lift to meet yours.

“No, pin cushion, not about the joke.”

There's a horridly long pause of nothingness.

"Fuck it."

Jake lunges forward with startling intensity, fingers lace behind your head to draw you to him.

You don’t turn away this time.

His lips are soft yet determined, slowly pulsing to transform one kiss into dozens, and he adjusts everything—his height, his stance, his proximity to get even more of you in a single embrace.

“I love you,” Jake whispers, shifting to tilt you left while he goes right. “I should have told you ‘I love you,’ too.”

You promised yourself no attachments, but who are you kidding? You're such a loser, and you found your match.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

😵‍💫

[outrunningthedark]

just that the fandom is proving how they are only in it for Buck and Eddie/Ryan and Oliver when they're complaining about a deleted scene on social media or claiming "queerbait" instead of asking (not demanding, that was poor word choice by me) to hear from someone else a little more often.

I don't think it's a secret that most of the fandom is only in it for Buddie though?

Not that people don't enjoy the show otherwise or wouldn't be watching without the ship, but online fandom specifically? I don't think there'd be a fandom without Buddie. It would be a show like Station 19 or Chicago Fire maybe, good ratings, a couple of people live tweet it, and a gifset would get maybe 100-500 notes on it.

Most of the online fandom is absolutely in it for Buddie, but also Buck and Eddie as individual characters, which is why the reaction to Buck/Tommy from Eddie stans is solely due to the knowledge that Eddie could have had the arc first, and if Eddie actually did come out this season the Buck stans would be letting people know how upset they are - Buddie is preferred because both sides get what they want out of it. The issue is that many in online fandom pretends to care about the other characters to the same degree to appear "better" than the folks only here for Buddie, yet their actions prove time and time again that it's not the case. Take the disrespect towards Hen as a lesbian who's been there from the very beginning. Henren gifs aren't popping up five minutes after a scene airs just so the op can (hopefully) get the most notes. People ask for Ryan to be released from "PR jail", but where are the requests to hear from Aisha? Why don't people get routinely upset when an episode *looks like* it won't focus too heavily on Hen the way they do when they feel like Eddie is being ignored? "There are more Buck/Tommy fics than Henren fics" Okay...and the Buddie tag has always outdone Henren, so....why is a different pairing a problem now? It's their friends writing the fics anyway? And they support them when it's the endgame they like? Similarly, people claimed to care about/look forward to the Madney wedding, and somehow the discussion was never about the actual event until it happened. it was about how karaoke night could lead to a secret hookup or feelings realization or TOMMY helping fandom's faves get their shit together by "noticing" something between them. In an episode about someone else's wedding. They're here for Henren and Madney and Bathena, but what's the thing everyone's blowing up social media pages about? Buddie. Whether it's complaints over being baited with the promo (something being encouraged on this very site) or sending a barrage of Buddie tweets or comments to drown out any Buck/Tommy support...people sure aren't acting like they know how to enjoy anything that isn't Buddie. I have no problem with anybody who is only/mostly in the fandom for Buddie (I myself will always feel the most connected to the Buckley-Diaz dynamic in any form for personal reasons), or anybody who might be new to us because of Bi Buck and Buck/Tommy. Just don't lie about it to make yourself look better when all it does is highlight your hypocrisy. (I mean, unless they want us to see through them that easily. Lol.)

[healix17]

Saw your announcement and willing to take the risk.

MegOP but Megatron is a Femme, OP stays the same. That's it, cuz for the love of me I cannot find any Femme!Megs fanfic out there. Like everyone is the same (or not) just that Megs is a femme.

I'm so, so sorry for the late reply. Like who knew collage was so hard? But here's you fic and tell me if you had any specific thoughts or scenes and don't be shy.

P.S. I've been reading too much Twilight.

P.P. S I changed her name to Megantron

Edges Of War

Humorous Rivalry Moments

The battlefield was shrouded in smoke, the acrid scent of energon mingling with the distant roars of engines and the crackling of blaster fire.

In the midst of the chaos, Optimus stood his ground, gaze fixed on the silver and crimson figure stalking toward him with deliberate grace.

"Megantron," he called out, voice low but carrying over the din of battle.

She paused, helm tilting as she regarded him, crimson optics blazing with amusement. "Prime," she purred, the name rolling off her tongue like a caress—a stark contrast to the sneer curling her red lips. "I see you’ve finally decided to show up."

He shifted his stance, raising his blade in a defensive posture. “I could say the same. Though, I must admit, I’m curious. Did you arrive late because you had trouble fitting through the door again?”

Her optics narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing her faceplates before she chuckled—a low, dangerous sound that sent a shiver down his spinal struts. “So you do have a sense of humor. I was beginning to worry.”

“Merely making an observation.” He allowed himself the smallest smirk, the edge of his mouthplate twitching up as he met her gaze evenly. “After all, it’s not every day I see a Decepticon leader struggle with—what was it—‘her dreadfully inconvenient proportions’?”

Megantron’s optics flared, and she took a step closer, the air around her thrumming with restrained power. “You dare mock me?”

“I’d call it… friendly banter.” The smirk widened just a fraction, and he saw her optics flicker, a subtle shift that only someone who knew her well would notice.

It was a dangerous game, taunting her like this, but something inside him—some spark of long-buried defiance—wanted to see how far he could push.

And then she laughed—softly, almost under her breath, before shaking her helm. “Oh, Prime,” she murmured, voice dipping into something almost intimate. “You’re lucky I find you… amusing.”

The words should have been a threat, but there was something else there, hidden beneath the layers of animosity. Something that made his spark stutter, just for a moment.

But before he could reply, she lunged, blades flashing as she brought them down toward him with a snarl. He blocked the strike, their frames inches apart, and he could feel her energy field crackling against his own, hot and electric.

“Shall we?” she whispered, optics blazing.

And with that, they were back in motion—dancing through the chaos, trading blows and taunts with a familiarity that bordered on unsettling.

Casual Meeting

The truce was uneasy at best.

A fragile, brittle thing held together by mutual necessity and the unspoken agreement that neither faction could afford to lose more soldiers to this endless war.

And so, for the first time in vorns, Optimus Prime found himself in the heart of neutral territory, standing alone in the echoing, empty corridors of a long-abandoned Cybertronian outpost.

The space was vast and hollow, the only sounds the soft hum of energon lines beneath his plating and the faint creak of metal settling into silence.

He was early, as always.

He wasn’t surprised when she arrived with a soft click of heels against metal, her presence a sudden, tangible weight in the stillness.

Megantron stepped into view, optics gleaming crimson in the dim light, her frame sleek and deadly even without the trappings of battle armor.

“Prime,” she greeted coolly, her voice a low, velvety murmur that sent a ripple through his systems. “So punctual. I’d almost think you were eager to see me.”

“I take our negotiations seriously,” he replied, tone carefully neutral as he turned to face her fully. “It’s a matter of respect.”

“Respect,” she echoed, the word dripping with a sarcasm that made his sensors twitch. “Is that what this is?” She moved closer, her optics sweeping over him with a calculating gaze, as though searching for something. “Funny. I would have thought it was stubbornness.”

He straightened, meeting her gaze evenly. “If I’m stubborn, then so are you.”

“Touché,” she murmured, a smirk playing at the corner of her lipplates. “But then, we’ve always been alike in that regard, haven’t we?”

The words were a knife to his spark, a reminder of the history that lay between them—of battles fought and words exchanged, of betrayals that still lingered like ghosts in the space between them.

But he refused to look away, refused to let her see the way her presence unsettled him.

“We are not alike, Megantron.”

“Mm.” She tilted her helm, her optics dark and searching. “No, I suppose we aren’t. You’re far too sentimental.”

The jab was half-hearted, almost gentle, and it threw him off balance. Before he could respond, she stepped closer, her field brushing against his—a subtle, fleeting contact that made his plating buzz.

“But perhaps,” she murmured, voice softening, “that’s not such a bad thing.”

He stared at her, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in her tone, by the way her optics seemed… sad, almost.

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the moment was gone. She straightened, stepping back with a small, self-satisfied smile.

“Shall we get started?” she asked lightly, as though they hadn’t just shared something almost—almost—intimate.

“Yes,” he managed, voice steadier than he felt. “Let’s.”

Shy Romantic Tension

It was raining on the Nemesis, the steady patter of water against the hull a soft, almost soothing backdrop to the tension thrumming between them.

Optimus stood alone in the darkened control room, the faint hum of machinery the only sound besides the rain.

He wasn’t sure why he’d come—why he’d agreed to her request for a private meeting. But when Megantron called, he answered. Always.

“Optimus,” she murmured softly, stepping into the room like a shadow, her frame lithe and graceful as she moved to stand beside him. “You came.”

“You requested a parley,” he replied, voice low, careful. “I’m here to listen.”

“And nothing more?” Her optics were half-lidded, her tone light and playful, but there was something beneath it—something raw and aching that he couldn’t quite place.

“Megantron,” he began, and she flinched—an almost imperceptible motion, but he caught it.

“Stop,” she whispered, stepping closer, too close. “Just… stop.”

And before he could react, she reached up, the sharp lines of her clawed digits brushing lightly against his faceplate, a touch so gentle it made his spark clench.

“Why do you always have to be so…” She trailed off, optics shuttering closed as if the sight of him was too much to bear. “So good?”

“Because I have to be,” he murmured, helpless, his own hand lifting—hovering inches from her frame, afraid to touch but unable to pull away. “Because someone has to be.”

Her optics snapped open, blazing crimson as she glared at him. “And what about what I need?”

The words hung between them, a plea wrapped in anger, and he felt something inside him twist and fracture.

But before he could reply, before he could think of anything to say, she turned away, shoulders tense, frame trembling with the force of her own suppressed emotions.

“Forget it,” she spat, voice hard again. “Forget I said anything.”

And then she was gone, the rain and the dark swallowing her whole, leaving him alone with the sound of his own shattering spark.

Again I'm so sorry but if you need any more ideas or want a change of genera, then inform me.

[collecting-stories]

I have a TWD request if your up for it! I just started the series again and was thinking of a Daryl or Glenn x reader where the reader was a senior microbiology student in college at the time of the outbreak and was doing an internship at the CDC. That's where she meets them and ends up joining their team when they leave

CDC - Glenn Rhee

Summary: Glenn reassuring the reader as they drive away from the CDC.

A/N: I couldn't remember everything that happens at the CDC and didn't wanna rewatch the episode/s so this just a short blurb that takes place directly after the place blows up. Also I killed Andrea to further my "Emily hates Andrea" personality trait.

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“I delivered pizza,” Glenn mentioned, the RV hitting a pot hole as it pulled off the curb. It rattled your whole body, shaking you left to right and knocking you against Glenn. He steadied you with an arm around your shoulders over the back of the booth seat.  

The fire that was raging behind you was bright in the middle of the day and you were almost convinced that you could still feel the warmth of it inside the RV with the windows up. You could definitely hear the sound of the walkers that were attracted to the fire, moaning and dragging themselves into combustion.  

“What?” You turned your head away from the window for the first time since you sat down in the booth seat of the RV and looked at Glenn.  

It had been Rick that had offered you the chance to leave with them when Jenner locked all the doors. It’d seemed silly to agree to the notion of leaving when you knew the steel doors were impenetrable once they came down. But you agreed anyway because dying wasn’t on your list of things to do. And now you were here, in the RV with Dale driving and Glenn sitting next to you, following the other cars of the other survivors in the ragtag group that had broken into the CDC the night before.  

More had happened in 12 hours than had happened in the last two months.  

“Before, you know...dead people started roaming around.” Glenn explained, moving his arm from off your shoulder and leaning his elbows on the table. His arm was still pressed against yours in the small space.  

“You delivered pizzas?” You clarified.  

“Yeah. Yup.” He replied, “I know that, whatever that was, was way more important than delivering pizza, just figured...it might make you feel better?” Glenn scrunched his face up to show his confusion as he ran a hand through his hair. When he’d started talking he was sure he had an actual point to make but now he was struggling to remember what it was.  

When you’d agreed to come with them he’d offered a spot in the RV right away. With Jackie and Andrea gone it seemed somehow like he’d jinxed the situation and he was trying desperately to say something to make up for the silence that lingered in the two women’s absence. You hadn’t said much in the CDC and you’d said even less since they got outside but Glenn had spent the entire dinner the night before unable to stop stealing glances at you. Not in a creepy way, he’d assured Dale when the older man inquired, he just thought you were beautiful and he hadn’t exactly been in the position to see too many attractive people lately.  

“I was doing my co-op at the CDC...it’s like an internship while I was in school...I was working on my senior thesis when the outbreak happened and, didn’t know what else to do so I went to work. Which I guess was better than staying at my dorm, in hindsight, but maybe also worse cause I got stuck with Jenner.” Being away from most of civilization for even the short period of time that you had found yourself had clearly given you a knack for oversharing.  

That and a cute guy was currently giving you all of his attention, which was also a bonus.  

“You all seem pretty familiar with what exactly is going on out here.” You mentioned, looking back out the window as the RV continued down the freeway, back toward Atlanta. “I’ve studied some postmortem samples up close but haven’t actually seen anyone like...be undead?”  

“Oh man, you should’ve seen Rick and I. A couple weeks back, I think, got stuck in the city on a run...it was gross...” Glenn launched into the harrowing story of his survival through a crowd of the very undead that you’d referenced, adding a few embellishments for the sake of keeping you interested in the story. 

As he spoke you looked up toward the front of the RV, catching Dale’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He turned and smiled at you before looking back at the road ahead. In the back, T Dog was sleeping, though you were completely bewildered as to how someone could sleep after what you had just witnessed.  

“If that’s what I have to look forward to,” you finally said as Glenn’s story came to an end. You had missed bits and pieces of it but could put together all you needed to know, you were far in over your head. Alive, but over your head.  

“It’ll be okay,” Glenn promised. He laid a hand over yours and squeezed, the reassuring look back on his face again, “we’re together and we take care of each other. I promise.” 

You nodded, “I’ll just stick close by you, how’s that?”  

“Yeah, yeah, that works. Stay by me, I won’t let anything happen to you.” Glenn replied. It wasn’t exactly a promise that he could make, especially when he had no idea where they were going to end up now that the CDC was out of question, but he fully intended to do everything in his power to keep it. He couldn’t let anything happen to you, he felt far too much hope when he looked at you to let go of that.  

[carionto]

A Proper Welcoming Party - Epilogue

Always Rig to Blow

Parts 1 2 3 and extra context

Jumping short distances with an emergency activation is generally safe due to the simple fact that the universe is so vast that 99.9999% of the time you'll end up in empty space.

This group of Big Thrashers raiders - Gobsmack's Gobbers (Big Thrasher named everyone and objections meant death) - found themselves in a nightmarish cluster of icy planetesimals, heavily illuminated for some reason, and criss-crossed with makeshift installations and contraptions whose purpose one could only guess at.

Alarms rang out of imminent collision as one of the ice rocks was hurtling towards their general direction. Barely composing themselves, the crew managed to fire up the engines and perform evasive maneuvers, but only just. And only for a brief moment - they were in a navigational nightmare, the likes of which even the most hardcore simulations only ever run as an example for places you never, ever, EVER fly into.

To add to their distress and confusion, the raiders were hailed by a lone Human vessel, which was darting with unbelievable agility through the impossible and ever changing field.

"Howdy there, names Abigail, you boys are lost I'm guessin'. Keep moving for a bit more, I'll turn off the Intermediate track config."

The Gobbers were stunned and blinded by a sudden outburst of hundreds of massive jets streaming immense propulsion force from all of the moving icy objects. Viewed from afar, a magnificent sight to behold - cascading lights, reflections, fiery cones, and sparkly clouds from escaping ice particles. Viewed from within, pure terror, a torturous miasma of fire, ice, dust, and raw force of power emanating from whatever is powering all these massive engines.

Merely a few seconds later though, complete silence. Peaceful even.

"So... bad jump, eh? It happens. Real poor luck ending up here though, gotta say. You should buy lottery tickets beating the odds like this!"

Abigail snort-laughs.

"If ya want, hook up to any of the track-layer movers, those things you just saw that, well, move the track pieces around. I hear our generators can fill up your wee batteries or whatever you got in minutes. Sorry I ain't got much else to offer, still working out the logistics for food and drink stalls here. Hard to get any sponsors so far out, you know?"

The raiders did not.

The more quick witted of the crew had already scanned the whole... mess of whatever this was, as well as Abigail's vessel, and realized something - all these engines mounted on some useless rocks, and her craft in particular, were extraordinarily powerful and tough, and most importantly - not attached to things with giant rail cannons. Big Thrasher wasn't here, so they were allowed to speak up and convince the others using evidence based facts and to make decisions as a group.

The pack of about a dozen ships had made a decision - they would plunder this area, take the Human as a trophy, and form a new Pirate Fleet with their soon-to-be enhanced ships. Abigail did not respond how they expected her to when they made their statement.

"Ooh, so like, you wanna have a competition, eh? See who's gonna be on top of the food chain. Alright."

An excited grin forming on her lips with that last word. A second later, every engine fired a searing jet of energy to once again engage the race track. This time on Expert difficulty.

Two of the Gobbers' ships were instantly crushed between colliding ice rocks, sending a shower of dust and debris all over the place, the rocks bouncing around (with the aid of the engines) to create a true chaos field of death.

It was a struggle to find any valid escape vectors in this ever changing vortex, but a few of the crew were working on a plan. The pilots just needed to keep the ships alive long enough. Meanwhile, Abigail was practically dancing around the field in her customized vessel, named Victor in bold neon lettering on its left flank. Whenever she spotted an opportunity, she manually fired off certain engines to make life for these pirates just a tad more unsurvivable than it already was.

Just as she had split three more ships in half with a particularly slim and sharpened icicle (the size of a small container ship) Victor came to a halt. All systems fried - it was a targeted EMP. Due to the prevalence of shielding technology, electromagnetic pulses were generally not that useful, unless you could generate one powerful enough to overwhelm the entire shield system, but that would be the equivalent of a star shooting one off, so they were rarely fielded. But as ramshackle pirate fleets go, you mount and use whatever you can get your hands on.

One of the more tech-savvy of the crew remembered that they had yet to encounter Human craft with shields, and that one of their ships had an EMP cannon. Being able to put two and two together at a greater pace than their former "Admiral", this one cleverly found a way to quickly defeat the Human.

Another crew member, who liked to dabble in the digital realm, initially dismissed their surprisingly easy access to the engine systems, thinking only a poorly set trap would use "Password" as the passcode for full system access. Once the excitement was slightly lesser from Abigail no longer making it worse every second, did they think to give it a try anyway.

And it worked. The UI was comically simple, again, most would dismiss a screen that just had five buttons on it labeled - [Beginner] [Novice] [Intermediate] [Expert] [Reset] - as a trap, but getting the sense this Human liked things simple, they pressed the Reset button, and once more the fireworks of engines and particles illuminated the area before halting the movements of the race track entirely.

Relieved beyond belief that the nightmare was over, the pirates, formerly know as Gobsmack's Gobbers (they'll come up with a new name soon, they just wanna get rid of Big Thrashers legacy as quickly as possible) set about to strip the place for all it was worth.

All of the pirate ships had indeed taken Abigail up on her previous offer and one of them was the first to finish recharging their hyperdrive, and was about to set out to go and retrieve Abigail's craft, when it suddenly burst back to life and a modified looking escape pod shot off to a fair distance from the track and the pirates who had all latched themselves to it. She opened a comm-link to the pack of raiders:

"Ehmps are annoying, but we got redundancies for a reason fellas. Also, you didn't think this place wasn't set to blow if I couldn't deal with ya'll in a bit more controlled way, did ya?

Well, cuz it is.

Rule #1, buckos - Always rig to blow."

With the flick of a switch and the brightness of a star, Abby's Action Asteroids (trademark never made it through), alongside a half-dozen of the remaining Raider ships, was no more.

Victor, or what's left of him, a shabby escape pod. Hector, sound asleep, she'd just given him a can of wet food before the whole... excitement started. And Abigail - miffed, scuffed, and a little drained, was looking to see what she hadn't "modified" or outright removed from the pod for her other "ideas". Fortunately, basic life support is intact, thrusters and quantum comms though... not so much. There's enough to cobble a regular transmitter and the cryo-stasis module appears intact.

"Welp, looks like it'll just be me, Victor, and Hector, ain't that right? (Oi, at least turn one of yer ears at me). Fine, then it'll be me and Victor. A-hem:

Dear diary, I hope somebody is less than a light-month out from here, cuz I got a fair to attend. They'll be showing off the newest burst jets. Imagine - you're going 0.002C, full stop, 180 turn, then back to 0.002C in under 10 seconds! Sure, any organic'll become a puddle, but at race-track speeds - think of the cornering we can do with that! Anyway, there's food for maybe a week, so imma join Hector now. (C'mere ya bum, we're sleepin' together). The end.

P.S. If you're the popo, it was totally self defense, I got the footage right here, I am not responsible for where the debris goes."

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 4}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

MDNI: 18+!

Warnings for this chapter: Drugging, hinted non-con but just a hair

Summary: He’d been used to the small messages telling him to make you simmer down, something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you.

A/N: There are a few POV Shifts and time skips in here, denoted by the "---". Work has been kicking my butt so sorry this is late. I hope ye enjoy

A week later finds the team on the last stage of the op at a cell-tower outpost, and you’re fucking exhausted. It's horrible. Starving and beyond irritable. You’d compare it to the boys after it's been too long to have a cigarette or stiff drink, but even then some of them could be drama queens surprising to the rulers of hell.

The mission had gone tits up by the middle of the objective, a high chance of needing to evacuate and determine if it was even salvageable. Sweeping north on a downward mountain slope gave you a wide berth to the others as they moved in by the north, coordinating the ambush. Soap and Gaz sandwich you in the spread of bodies, trailing to the right of Ghost and Price. By the time the road gave way to the tower in a pit of land, the team had been spotted.

“Just get in and take the tower. Soap-”

“On it.” He's already loading his GLM, calling out at the ready with every fire. Soap may be a little shit through and through, but he certainly is a mastermind. His sense of knowing where the explosives land by the mark- he’s damn good. And he damn well manages to aim a ring of flying shrapnel rain on the hostels from the launched HE’s.

Of course, a problem always arises.

It took 30 minutes longer than expected to clear the line of fire, a constant suppression needed. Price's voice growled that the bomb needed to be planted now; Soaps rushing in and calling for Gaz to follow.

But something makes your hand snap out to grab Gaz by the bitch handle on the back of his vest, keeping him rooted for treeline suppression.

“Wait-” Gaz’s yelp is overshadowed by Price’s enraged barking in your ear.

“Saint, get your ass back to the peak!”

“Already gone, Captain. Watch that line.” You answer, panting. Sprinting down after Soap before matching his position at the base of the tall signal tower.

“Capt’ gonnae hae yer heid, bonnie.” He scoffs as he sets the charges. It's 3 minutes to be set with the detonator in hand. Your eyes steady on the horizon towards the others. “Time to blow, Princess.”

“Say less.” You laugh, letting him lead you up the hill and towards the forest; The moment his arm snags around your waist you know its time to leave. Fast.

“Say the line, love.”

“Fire!” The detonator clicks just before the resonating sound of the explosion makes you both stagger.

His grip is solid around your waist, ignoring the sound of metal creaking from the force.

Call it natural curiosity, you can't help but look back to watch it fall.

It’s a good thing you did.

The steel creaks as it crumples down, the metal falling in sharp and jutting angles as its bones bend and break. The heavy drums atop the fixture force the beams down faster- practically above you already.

You yank Soap to the right to get away. You pull just enough to roll twice before stopping, laying on his chest. The tower makes impact where you just were, the sharp screech of metal overbearing on your senses as the steel splits apart.

“Johnny! Do you copy?” Ghost’s concern bleeds through your earpiece, wincing as the high-pitched grating is contrasted with the deep timber yelling in your ear.

“Good, L.T. See yae’s soon.” Soap’s already hauling you up, wasting no time preparing you to run.

You know you're injured when you make it to the rally point.

You smelt it far earlier than you felt it; A deep gash lacing your side. It could have been a chunk of metal that managed to scrape by, but you have a good feeling it came from rolling on the ground with who knows what laying on the ground.

It’s still warm, the dark metallic scent making your clothes hang heavier on your left side. Now that you’ve slowed, the stinging bite of cold and pain laces your nerves. Teeth chattering, you haven't spoken in minutes. It’s unnatural.

The dark conceals you, just as you always let it. Their human senses are dulled significantly compared to yours but it won’t be long until someone notices. You bank on the fact you can tend to yourself before then.

The armored vehicle is hidden among high bushes and dense trees. The back doors swing open when you’re a pace away, no words mentioned as Soap slings himself in first by the pull of Ghost’s arm.

You’re queued to enter, mind racing with how not to make it obvious you’re as badly cut up as a cheater’s tires. Ghost makes you freeze.

“Johnny? You hurt?”

You can only watch the pair stare at each other before looking between their hands. A tense silence fabricates the moment as you’re lifted in by both Gaz and Price, biting your tongue you think you sever the muscle from having to hold back a shout of pain.

“-’s nae mah blood.” The Scotsman spills out, the vehicle already moving as the driver begins to speed out of the woods.

Four sets of eyes turn to you. Heavy with how deep they rake their eyes over you, inch by inch and then again for each limb. It’s Price who finds it first.

“Fuck…” His curse is a taut hiss, his palm pulling away from your hip, under the slash. Stained red.

“Shit- We gotta go.” Pulling you closer, trying to get your gear sorted off. Gaz is already rattling off an alert for possible Medevac, the feeling of your tac vest making your lungs expand with a deep breath.

Human. You feel entirely too human from the feeling of the pain, the touch of hands that want to care for you, and the weight of the irises focused on you. It’s been so long since you felt this way.

Meanwhile, Price kneels on the vehicle's floor, between your legs, as he lies you down. “When the hell did this happen?” He hisses sharply, eyeing Soap with a sharp glare briefly.

As the vehicle rolls, you can only make sense of Price’s hands touching all over your body, stilling when he feels the cooling warmth of your blood. Ghost hands the Captain your small med-pack from your vest, readying to grab his own and offer the gauze.

“Not too long ago.” You breathe.

“How bad?” Comes Gaz’s voice. You catch the sight of his eyes looking at you with his hand on his earpiece. You can’t lock onto his eyes, the vehicle swaying too much. Looking around, you realize you can’t catch anyone's gaze and hold it. Oh.

“Halfway to back the way she came. Fuckin bleedin all over.”

“Saint, hey- Kin ye bade awake for us, love?” Soap’s voice does just the opposite, finding it comforting in the accent you find so fun. “Shit- Shouid we gi’ ‘er a stim?”

Their brains wrack collectively, judging the blood loss based on your colored clothes and stained skin. It gets a bit darker, and you wonder why the driver turned off the headlights- did he find a road? Are you out of the woods?

“It’s cold…” Your voice breaks them from their first aid on you.

You don’t see the panic in your eyes as yours close.

Waking up, you almost bit a medic’s hand off.

Wild and afraid. It was sudden and the place was seemingly so new that it triggered your fight or flight. You did not want them anywhere close and for far too long than you deemed necessary. Insistent on them leaving you to heal on your own even if you’re sucked dry of any magic at this point. Snapping your teeth like a wild animal when one medic tried taking your shirt off to get to the gouge on your side, before snarling as two were tag teaming you to keep you down.

Something about their hands not feeling warm enough, not having the smell of tobacco leaves stained into their skin to leave a trail of smoke. Yet there was something lurking in the air. Something different; You knew the scent was familiar, it felt like it belonged in the medical ward yet it shouldn’t be here near you. It screamed danger, something clawing and scratching at your mind to remember.

The scent trails around the room like the smell of burnt clover, making your stomach want to recoil and throw up its acid with the lack of any substance in it.

The lab.

Neurons fire off, and your hackles are raised. Literally. Hissing and ignoring the medics around you, yowling like a damned animal in pain when you realize what you’re smelling. Stuck in fear, now grappling with the sheets as your hands grab onto the bed rails, shaking the bed as you shift in short and shaky bursts.

---

Sometimes Price’s office felt like a sanctuary, while others felt like his jail cell.

Head down, furiously scribbling the series of events onto paper to work on this bible-long after action report. A sheet of blank paper sits to the side, your full name atop it.

God, he has it in his head to be so fucking pissed at you. For the dream, for disobeying orders, for getting hurt. He knows it’s irrational to be upset about your injuries, but it’s something he’s never been able to squash with the others.

His head’s in his ass and he’s acting like a fucking boy.

Even Soap had earned a scolding from Price, taking it in stride and breaking the berating with a smirk. He knew. Johnny knew, Ghost knew, and even fucking Gaz knew that you were getting underneath Price’s skin. Something no woman had ever done besides his mother long ago.

His cell rings, not his personal but rather his flip phone used for work. The one that means business or trouble. The number’s unsaved, none of them are. But he’s been called by this one enough times to know who it is.

“Laswell.”

“Captain. I’ve got news, now a good time?”

“Of course. ’S goin’ on?” Leaning back, he takes this call as a saving grace to rest his eyes. There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, sounding like she’s standing up to walk somewhere. He presumes it’s towards a window. Dramatic woman.

“We’ve gotten word that there's some unrest back in-”

His listening stops when the phone begins buzzing against his ear. “Laswell. I’ve been expecting this call, can I catch you in a moment?”

A scoff is his answer before he answers the incoming. “This is Price.”

“Need you in Med, stat. Saint’s going-”

“On it.” Snapping his phone shut his steps already thunder out of his office. He’d been used to the comments from others, asking him to make you simmer down. Something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you.

He can hear the commotion at the end of the hall as soon as he’s in the small brick building. Opening the door in a flurry, he finds you wide-eyed, backed into the bed. A second sweep of the room makes him realize you’re not protecting yourself from the medics. No, you’re protecting yourself from something outside the room.

“Saint.” He catches your attention with a growl. “Care to tell me why the medics said you need to leave the infirmary before you make one of the staff go to inpatient?”

“It's wrong. Doesn’t smell right.” Your eyes stay wide, seemingly frozen. He’s never seen you act this way. “Don’t take me back, I don’t want to go back.”

Take you back? To the mission, to the facility? He deems it a nightmare from having been so fatigued you slept for almost a full day.

“You need to settle down, and behave.” A promised threat, entirely wrong from what you need right now.

“I have to leave. Just let me heal myself, please-” You croak, being sure to restrain your voice for only him to hear.

A hand captures your jaw as the other holds your shoulder, keeping you still as he leans in.

“You need to stay and get checked out. You were hurt, sweetheart.” He can see the submission war in your eyes from just the pet name alone. Fuck. Just from a sweet little name and he’s gotten you to sag by a fraction? He’s realizing just how much you need this medical visit.

Before he can say another word, your eyes shift to the right.

---

That’s when you see him through the door window. A man dressed in square glasses and a white coat. Dr. Deidrick.

This man knows you well, as you know him. He was a constant in the lab, overseeing all testing. Many scars on your body were because of him, always measuring your magic with pricks and prods of the knife while you were in the lab. Botched stitches just to see how your body would heal, testing against substances and powders, even marks on your wrists from tight restraints.

Locked in a stare-down, Price brings you out of it. “What’s wrong?”

He follows your stare, finding the man glaring at you. When his eyes slice to Price, he nods before entering. Price’s eyes scan over the man's form; He’s around his 40s but looks like he lives in an underground tunnel system. His eyes are unnaturally yellow, his skin beyond fair and dry. His hair is gray and flicks of white - John can’t be entirely sure if this man is either human, a hybrid, or fucking weird.

“Everything okay in here?” His tone tries to sound lighthearted, joking. “She having a little fit?” The clicks of his dress shoes tick louder than the monitors attached to you.

“And you are?” Your Captain asks, dropping his hold from your jaw.

“My apologies,” He laughs, “Dr. Deidrick. I came to visit once I heard our demon was wounded.”

The blatant possessiveness in the phrasing alone ticks off Price, bristling as he squeezes your hand by a fraction. “So, you’re from the facility?”

“I was her previous caretaker in medical for the last several years.” The doctor’s attention shifts to the chart at the end of your bed. “Hope you don’t mind that I'm in to check on her. Just a simple evaluation and report.” Deidricks eyes scan the page from top to bottom, flipping to the back as he moves closer to your side.

“How are you feeling, Devil?”

“Hello, Dr. Deidrick.” Voice soft and polite. Don’t misbehave. You’ve learned this lesson with him.

“Hello. Now, how are you feeling?” He repeats, eyes moving from the paper to you with a weighted look.

“I’m fine. Sore. Tender. I told them I could heal on my own.”

"Mm..." Dedrick as he places the clipboard down, grabbing a pair of gloves. "And you believe that you can do so right now?" His voice calm and civil. That's one thing you’ve always hated. Even in the cruelest moments when studying creatures and hybrids alike, he had the calmest voice as they cried in pain.

“I’ve dealt with worse.” You can't help but let anger flare as the answer comes with a sharp bite. “You should know that.”

Dedrick's expression changes for the first time. Eyebrows raising, his jaw tightens as he stops moving for a moment. First strike.

"It doesn't mean that you should." A first stab of anger bleeds through his voice. "Your injuries are serious. If you’re fighting the medical staff here, you’ll be treated appropriately."

“The medics already cleaned and sutured it. There’s nothing more to do.” Denial is your least favorite tactic, it never won.

Deidrick knows you haven't revealed your history, or his presence would have been eviscerated already. The facility trained you well, speaking on every bad thing that would happen if you spilled their secrets in raising you.

“I determine that for you, not you.” He retorts, gaze shifting to Price. “I’ll have to examine the wound and evaluate her. Just to be sure there are no outliers that might have been missed.” There isn't room for argument here, seeing as Price is a Captain and not a fucking doctor. Deidrick is convincing and always has been.

“Well, I can be in the room with her. That an issue?”

The most Deidrick can mask is a forced grin, narrowing his eyes at Price. “While I understand your concern, Captain, I’ll need to ensure your safety and have you step out of the room during this.”

A choked sound emits from the back of your throat. You could cry at witnessing your pain start to happen again. Right where you began to feel safe; attached to Price.

Deidrick glares at Price, challenging him. Your hand on Price’s hand squeezes again, bringing both sets of male eyes onto the action.

“Captain, please-” Your beg dies in your throat when a sharp ringtone starts.

“Shit- I have to take this.” Price digs into his pants forcibly, confirming the caller with a look. “Be right back.”

“No… No, please.” Begging now, your hands on his arm try to anchor him. “Don’t go.” The wild look in your eyes makes him stiffen, caught between two choices.

“I’ll be right back. Be good.” The faint squeeze of your hand registers in tandem with him leaning down to place a reassuring kiss on your head. Before you can beg again, he’s out the door.

---

“Laswell.” He speaks a bit more reserved in the open space. Moving into the hallway, watching a few medics idle on their computers.

“Said you were gonna call me back, John. Got worried your old mind forgot about me.” A small scoff out of courtesy for the woman's harsh humor, yet he doesn’t respond. “Anyway, got a nice vacation for your team. You’re headed out to-”

“Do you happen to know if any personnel relating to Saint can be on base?” Cutting off Laswell usually ends with a sharp reprimand, but John’s mind is elsewhere. Worried.

“Not without warning and an established confirmation of visitation. It’s the normal protocol for off-site visitors to that level. Why?”

He chews on his cheek, nodding at the validation. His eyes flit between the door to your exam room, to the window, and then settling on a whiteboard with various patient names.

“’S a doctor with her right now. Say’s he found out she was wounded and came to check on her.” He pauses, trailing back to look at the door. “She was wounded three days ago for fuck sake. How’d he get in here?”

Silence responds before paper rules and she’s typing on her keyboard. “There was no agreement or discernment of their medical staff being on base. Only the executives and her previous commander. He shouldn’t be there nor even have access.”

It only confirms Price’s simmering anxiety, eyes stuck on the scratched and worn wood of the exam room’s door.

“What did you say his name was?”

“Dr. Deidrick. Said he’d examine-” The words die in a sharp crumble on his tongue when he hears his name screamed.

“Was that-”

“Send the boys my way, I’m dealing with it.” Hanging up, his body already shoulders the door a second later. But it doesn’t budge.

Looking through the door’s window, he meets your wet and wild stare; Brows arched, your body trying to scurry off the bed yet you’re not even moving due to now glaring restraints that contrast your skin.

“Somebody get this door open, right fucking now!” His bellow echos down the hallway, sending a startling panic around the staff as he continues to try and shove the door down.

“Price hurry!” Your howling meets his ears and it could bring him to his knees, hearing an angel weep.

His thoughts rattle in his head: I should have listened, I should have stayed, I should be in there.

I should have protected her.

He can see Deidrick at the counter, holding up a small brown vial and extracting its contents into a syringe. Only after he deems it filled, pushing the air bubble out, does he look to Price. “It’s just to settle her down, all standard.”

He wants to murder this man. Rip each artery from his body to hang up as vines growing onto the wall. He wants nothing more than to soothe your crying face in his arms away from the torture that's happening in front of him.

“Where the fuck is the key!” He shouts again, sparing a glance towards the staff as five of them look in drawers around the main pod of their stations.

Movement from the room demands his attention, watching every step as a second he can’t prevent the needle from meeting your skin.

---

“They already know, just fucking run while you can.” Your guttural voice is almost unrecognizable, an unworldly timbre deepening it. Eyes only set on Deidrick, you shake your restraints with violent shakes.

“This is your exam. There’s no harm in that.” He chastises. “Look at how weak you are. Have they not been taking care of you?” His croon makes your stomach flip. “I’ll give you what you need, little demon.” the coldness of his hand dawns upon your face, grabbing roughly on your jaw to pull you towards him.

“You’ll settle down and be a good girl for me, yeah? Just like old times.”

“I’m going to mutilate you over and over again in hell.”

He laughs, a genuine smile lighting his face. “The sweetest promise of eternity, devil.”

Moving back after giving your jaw a painful squeeze, his bony fingers bring the needle up to the light. He double-checks the syringe before gripping the meat of your bicep. “Dont. Move.”

You don’t hear any of the commotion outside, thus, when the metal door slams open, you jump.

Right into the fucking needle.

A shocked cry leaves you, eyes stuck watching half of the dose go into your arm.

It would have been more, save for the body that immediately pulls him and the needle away from you, both clattering to the ground.

“I’ll put you six feet under the goddamn ground.” Price spits before he throws a punch and squarely hits Deidrick in the face.

Then again. And again. And Again.

You’re stuck watching his arm swing heavily until warm hands find your wrist on the opposite side of the commotion. Warm brown eyes meet you, his smile calming.

“Hi, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of here, okay?” Gaz’s hands work quickly on undoing the restraints, letting the sounds of the fighting echo in the room while more footsteps come from the hallway.

Ghost and Soap enter the doorway, taking a quick survey before getting to Price and doing something that makes Price shout in an anguished yell. Gaz cradles you into his neck, cutting off your view. The rough blanket from the bed joins his hold and hides your body. He hushes you when you break into a sob down the hall.

“Not gonna leave you. You’re safe now sweetheart.” Vaguely registering his lips on your head, your eyes dim into a barely open gaze while the world moves too fast around you.

And for a second time, your world goes dark.

---

The sound of a god-forsaken soccer football game playing on the TV makes you stir.

It feels like you were drowned and only saved by the worn-out couch you’re laid on. Muscles stiff, your drowsiness making your hands grope at the soft fabrics. A small prick on the back of your hand makes you groan, and your other hand paws at the intrusion.

“Hey now, none of that.” A hand halts you from touching the intrusion, it takes a solid moment to realize it Gaz. “You’ve got an IV in you, need to keep that in for a bit longer.”

The world comes back into view, the yellow overhead lights far too bright for comfort. “Garrick?” His name slurs on your unused tongue. You manage to blink and look around before finding your head in his lap.

“Good morning, Princess. How’ya feelin?”

Like you got run over by a train.

“Like I got run over by a train.” Now dressed in a pair of sweats and a shirt that you don’t recognize, you’re laid under a fuzzy blanket from your room. “You get me dressed?”

You can’t see a blush pull to his cheeks, but his gaze averting to the side tells you everything.

“Medics came in and uh… I just went and got your clothes.” Probably saw something either in your room or while they were undressing you. “Does your side hurt right now?”

It does. The constant stinging radiates into a dull thrumming up your left ribs. The dressing feels bulky, and the lack of motion worsens the feeling. Your arm, the one that took the injection, feels the soreness from the deltoid, hurting when it contracts.

“‘M okay.” You lie so sweetly to him. While Gaz usually has enough snark to serve his entire country, his eyes look at you softly.

He holds the qualities of a leader, and possibly be concerning at his young age. But seeing how close he is to Price, even witnessing their relationship as a pseudo father and son, he’s learned fast. Maybe to lighten the Captain's load. Or, maybe he won’t fully take Price’s place until the gentleness withers away into hate and paranoia till he barks and bites at the pull of a leash. You hope he’ll get sick of it and decide to have a family, leaving this life behind when he feels his hands have turned far too dirty.

He gazes at the TV, flickering over the colorful screen. “Remember anything?”

You’d rather not. Had you still been in a sterile environment, you’d have woken in a panic just as before.

“Yes. The… yes.”Your lungs ache when you empty them of air. “I remember kicking in the bed, the needle, then Price’s face before you were there.” You miss the look of worry on his face when the game on TV catches your attention. “Where are the others?’

“Price and Soap dealing with the brass. Ghost was here a second ago but will be right back.” Gaz’s head tilts back to check the IV bag attached to you. “You’re just about finished. You’ll be free in a bit.”

His hand holds yours for a moment, checking on the catheter on the back of your hand. “Supposed to put in another after, but you’ll drink your water, yea?” His voice sleek and murmured close to your ear.

“ I will. Thank you.” Agreeing and thankful for him allowing you a bit of freedom soon, you move to stand.

“Stay down, Saint.”

Ghost enters the common room dressed in baggy sweats and a T-shirt, a black gator mask hides the lower half of his face. He makes his way to a spot on the couch adjacent to you and Gaz.

“Stitches are barely holding from earlier. Not allowed to be moving like that.”

Beside you, Gaz clears his throat. “Ah, actually.” He starts, voice now holding trepidation. “You mind taking over for a bit, Lieutenant? Haven’t eaten and need to piss.”

A mix of a laugh and worry crosses your mind as you realize Gaz’s been here the whole time with you.

“Oh god, get up.” You laugh before dimming your humor when it pulls at your side. Once Gaz is up and speed walking away, you turn to your Lieutenant who is already staring at you.

“How long was I out?”

Surprisingly, he scoots beside you, his arm draping on the back of the couch. “Bout two hours.”

The difference between Gaz and Ghost is definitely in size, but the latter's body is firm and demands that you accommodate his presence compared to Gaz’s body molding to you. You’re still blinking slowly, staring at him as your mind whirrs like a rusted fan.

“Didn’t know you had blond hair.”

Ghost is pretty, not even in his own way, he is just simply pretty. Brown eyes contrast the lightness of his hair, some spots missing where scars trail over his scalp. His forehead scars from stitches done too messily, wrinkles from years of surviving, and a few freckles decorate the bridge of his nose. There’s a distinct scar over his left eyelid, a group of eyelashes being gone where the scar ends.

“You wouldn’t ‘ave known.” His chest puffs up, and he laughs, before watching the game.

“That… doctor. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near base.” He starts, and you can’t decide if he’s trying to solve the mystery or tell you the ending solution.

“He did things to you, didn’t he?”

The question makes you nauseous, stomach-lurching for him to know the truth before spreading it to the others. You wonder if you’d throw up stomach acid if nothing at all.

“I…” Shit. You’ve barely spoken to this man and now he wants you to trauma share?

Something tells you this should have been expected.

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

Ghost is Price’s top man, quite literally second in command. He’d have no qualms with feeding him your answers. It coats your throat in shame, silencing any sort of vulnerability.

He sighs, watching the TV as a commotion from a team scoring stealing his attention.

“Fucking skunk lied his way through, altered some ID, and got into medical. They say he was watching over your file and once he saw your name ping in as medevac, he was acting as your attending and case manager.”

It really should send more of a chill down your back than the small amount it does, rather, a sluggish feeling of time combats your beating heart. You’ve been through horrible things. Having eyes watching you should have stopped phasing you a long ago, but it’s changed now. There was a sense of security here- a growing permanence that began to safeguard you from the reality outside. It shows how easily it can crumble.

“Did he say anything?” You push out.

“Didn’t speak to ‘im.” He answers.

The conversation drops, and you both turn toward the football game. You find a place for your face to rest on his shoulder. He doesn’t react, the only time is when the visiting team comes close to scoring his knee bounces in anticipation.

“Did you ever play any sports?”

His knee settles before responding. “Hockey. Short time, but ‘s fun.”

“Took you for a rugby kinda guy.”

“Nah, that's more Price and Johnny’s style.” A soft grin twitches the corners of your mouth at the mental image. “Sometimes they’ll play when we’re together on leave.”

“Never been on leave before.” You hum as your eyes open slowly. You don’t remember closing them.

He shifts when your head lolls forward, his hand moving you to get comfortable.

“I’m sure you can ask Capt’ to fix that.” A soft scratch of your scalp leads you to settle down, and when you keep breathing in the smell of him, you fall asleep.

---

“... lost it by a point. Bloody coach looks like a muppet.”

“Won’t be able to show his face for the next year. Damn idjit.”

The voice sends enough of a spark to take you out of your REM cycle, now taking stock of where you’re at. From the smell of it, you’re on the couch but now lay on it instead of a body. There's a few more steps of shuffling before it stills.

“How’s she?”

The warmth next to you grunts, shifting to leave. “Fell back asleep once Gaz left ‘er with me.” The new set of footsteps have a distinct gait, trying to be silent but failing with the TV no longer being on. “How’d your side go?”

“Almost got me on excessive force.” The croaky voice makes your mind wake up more, realizing its Price. “Had half a mind to knock the brass out hearing that. Made sure they saw the vials and needles he snuck in.”

“Was he going to do anyth-”

“No.” Price cuts Ghost off immediately, something lying in the tautness of his voice. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know, else I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘im.”

Exhaustion fogs your mind’s control of your body, fighting it to the point where it feels like you have to unstick yourself from the couch. You pull on your muscles enough that Price notices.

“Hey, pretty girl. Can you hear me?”

The groan that leaves you is enough of a signal. A hand pets your hair while another adjusts the blanket on you. Footsteps elsewhere fade, signaling Ghost’s departure and you open your eyes as Price squats down in front of you.

“There she is.” He coo’s softly. Part of you wants to cry at how good his attention feels. “Still tired?”

“Mhh.” Croaking with a dry throat, now somewhat regretting not staying up to drink your water like you’d promised Gaz. “Where were you?”

Blue eyes leave the depths of your red ones, tracing over your face to your neck, down to your body, and how you lay on your uninjured side. “Taking care of business. Nothing to worry about.”

His hand starts to rub over your shoulder, making you flinch. It’s like you're made of glass the way he looks and touches you, the same man who pushes you down and yells for you to get back up. The difference makes you want to scream at him while crying for him to hold you.

“Did I mess up?”

The whites of his eyes show a bit more when he widens them- his eyes scanning your face.

“No… No, sweetheart. You did not mess up.” In a moment, he moves to his knees, crowding you onto the couch while bringing your face closer to his. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left you in there. Should have fuckin’ listened to you.”

In a twisted sense, the couch seems like his pew, and you are the body he weeps over. Wrapped in a blanket is a far-off notion from any white to be buried in, but your open eyes just feel so tired and dulled from the last few hours. Rightfully so. His hands cup your face like they would hold a bible open, finding scripture in the details of your skin.

Price doesn’t cry. How much would it take to make him? Has he had a family? Did he lose someone he loved because of his work? Did he have a tragic backstory that granted him an almost immortal sense of luck?

There’s certainly no angel on his shoulder because you’d have killed it on the first day.

“You didn’t know.” Starting hoarsely, swallowing the saliva in your mouth. “I didn’t want you to know.”

There's dissatisfaction from hearing your answer, a pull at the corners of his mouth. “I need to know, Saint. I have to know, because that’s not happenin’ again.” Leaning down to press his chapped lips to your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

The feeling of his hair in your hands is surprisingly soft, almost as surprising when you realize you’re bringing him in to kiss you.

It’s soft, languid, and enticing. His lips part yours, leading you to taste the tobacco you tried days ago. His mustache and beard scratch your face, prickling your skin in an added sense to make your nerves come alive. Dragging you closer with an arm wrapped behind your back, his tongue teases yours before diving in deeper.

“While this is sickeningly romantic,”

The voice makes you gasp like a whore in her lover's shared bed, the drawl sardonic enough to know it is exactly not that.

It’s so much worse.

“I prefer a different type of scene.”

The woman stands against the doorway, arms crossed while she surveys the room. Dressed in black pants and a turtleneck, her blue eyes light up with the black overcoat that shields her from the coldness of desert nights.

“Laswell-” Price backpedals, separating himself from you enough to sit up straight from his place on the floor. Stuttering, he glances at you before back to her, a blush fading into existence on his aged skin. “I- uh. What are you doing here?’

Kate Laswell smirks; She’s cocky through and through, and seemingly will have enough blackmail from catching her prestigious ally making out with his supernatural subordinate.

“After the shit show got up the ladder, I decided to make a quick trip to check in. And, you never called me back, Captain.” Now it’s starting to seem like a lover's quarrel.

Feeling out of place, you don't move until Price takes a moment to clear his throat. “Well, I’m assuming it’s more serious than a phone call let it out to be.” Standing his hand brushes your shoulder before he crosses his arms. Laswell watches, moving forward a bit. She gives a subtle nod in greeting.

“Pleasure to meet you, Saint. Sorry to interrupt.” Absolutely no shame eludes from this woman. “A base just got accredited for their first hybrid operator. Similar to our situation with Saint.” She takes a moment to look over you, briefly checking out the remainder of the IV bag on its stand. “Need you to go teach didactics for our friends.”

“And which friends are you speaking of this time.” Price grunts.

She pauses, a flicker of her lips turning upwards if only for a moment.

“You’ll be headed back to Las Almas.”

As if watching a dramatic TV show, your eyes flit back to take in his reaction. With the sigh he lets out, you know that he’ll never catch a break.

“You’ll be headed back to Las Almas.”

As if watching a dramatic TV show, your eyes flit back to take in his reaction. If you had the energy, you’d feel bad for Price’s stress levels. With the sigh he lets out, you know that he can never catch a break.

[bullet-prooflove]

Covert Affairs: Vostanik Sabatino x Reader (feat: G. Callen)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @novamariestark @words-and-seeds @thiashazzywriting @whateversomethingbruh

You’ve been with Sabatino almost two years when your relationship gets thrust into the spotlight. It’s a litany of stolen moments whenever he arrives back in LA. Whirlwind dinner dates and nights spent ruining you in the sheets of his hotel room. You hit your favourite brunch spots, ranking them with detailed notes you keep on your phone for the next time he’s in town. He gives you a tour of Hollywood, the places he used to haunt back in the day when he was playing with his band. You catch a couple of shows over pitchers of beer in a dive bar or two.

“Do you ever think about doing it again?” You ask him as you watch the band from a spot near the bar. Your back comes to rest against his chest, his arm looped around your waist, holding you close.

“Maybe one day, when I finally put down some roots.” He murmurs into your ear as he nuzzles the curve of your throat. “I miss making music.”

He fucks you in the bathroom of the bar, the pulse of the music vibrating through the walls as he goes down on you to a God-awful rendition of ‘Killer Queen’. Whenever you hear that song in the aftermath, you think of that night. His mouth on you, tongue thrust deep inside when you come for him just as Freddy hits the high note.

Sam’s away in Somalia when Nell and Eric identify a problem. Someone has been downloading classified data from the NCIS server and selling it on the black market. An investigation is opened into everyone who was working at a computer terminal during the download, and you happen to be one of them. You’d stayed late to catch up on the after-action reports after losing a bet to Callen at the shooting rage.

It’s ridiculous that a tickle in your nose just as you’re about to pull the trigger is the reason your whole life blows up.

Part of the investigation includes cloning the personal phones of the people under suspicion so they can deep dive into their lives. You make it relatively easy, leaving yours in the top drawer of your desk when you hit the gym with Kensi. Nobody really believes it’s you, you’ve been with them six years. You’ve shed blood, cried tears, saved their lives, fought their battles. For Nell and Eric, it’s simply a process of elimination, that is until they find a wealth of incriminating data.

Calls from multiple international sources they can’t verify.

An encrypted message app, hidden under the calculator icon.

A secret cache of files that are password protected.

It’s all high-level security, something you don’t need on your personal device, almost NSA level shit. Even with their tech savvy it would take hours to break into the phone and they don’t have that kind of time because you’ve just received a text from a burner cell telling you to meet at The Majestic Hotel, Room 216, later this evening.

You must be meeting the buyer.

They can’t take the risk of that information falling into the wrong hands, so it becomes an op with you as the target. It’s hastily put together, there’s no time to run prior surveillance because it’s going down just as they pull up to the hotel. They catch a glimpse of you stepping into the room before the door closes quietly behind you.

Callen, Deeks and Kensi take up residence just outside the door, allowing a few minutes for the exchange to take place before they use the keycard to gain entry.

When they burst into the room guns drawn, it’s not what anyone expected.

The first thing they see is Sabatino. He’s in a state of undress. His white button up shirt hangs open, revealing his bare chest including that messy scar etched into his flesh. There’s lipstick marks trailing down the hollow of his throat, staining his skin. It’s fire engine red, the shade you were wearing. He holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender, his body shielding you from what he perceives to be a threat.

For Callen it's an echo back to that day in Afghanistan, the one when Sabatino put himself between you and the bullet that would have ended your life.

When you step out from behind him, you’re in a similar state of disarray. Your lipstick is smeared across your mouth, your hands tugging the fabric of the black wrap dress around your body covering up the lingerie that you’re wearing.

You’re both arrested and taken to separate interrogation rooms in the Boatshed. You’re silent in the face of the accusation but Sabatino, he will not stop talking. He’s pissed on your behalf, that your team won’t give you the benefit of the doubt, that you’re being treated like a criminal. Him, he’s used to this shit, but you deserve better.

You don’t blame them for suspecting you, you know how it looks. You’d be doing the same thing in their shoes; in fact, you have.

They sweat you for a while, leave you spinning your wheels. It’s standard procedure in a case like this, let the suspect get in their own head, make them eager to talk. You know what’ll happen in that time, they’ll find evidence of your relationship with Sabatino. It’s not that that bothers you, it’s the intimate items you’d brought with you to the hotel room sitting in your overnight bag. The one that someone is now going to have to search through. It’s humiliating.

It's Callen that comes to interrogate you, you didn’t expect anything different, he is your superior after all. You know that your conversation is about to get a lot more personal because Callen has to consider the possibility that Sabatino’s been using you for intel, he wouldn’t be doing his due diligence if he didn’t.

“Your relationship with Sabatino, take me through it.”

So, you do, from that first kiss in the car to the last time he was in town. As you detail your relationship, things start to make sense to Callen, pieces he hasn’t put together until now. Sabatino’s reaction back in Afghanistan when you were taken, the fact he’d undertaken the prisoner walk instead of a member of your team. He had known that bullet was coming, that the Taliban couldn’t afford to let you go. He’d been prepared to die for you that day.

Callen thinks about earlier in the hotel room, Sabatino’s first instinct had been to get between you and whatever was coming through that door. He understands that urge, it’s reactive and primal, like a wolf protecting his mate.

There’s other things he’s noticed. Sabatino’s smile when you’re around, it brighter, more genuine. The look he gives you, there’s always a warmth in it despite the fact he’s being a smartass. The last time they’d arrested him, he’d been reserved but this time he’s irate and Callen knows that it comes from a place of love. That he’s infuriated on your behalf.

At the end of your story, you give him the passwords for your phone. Everything you need to prove the existence of your relationship resides on that device.

“See for yourself.” You tell him and he does.

Those files you’d encrypted?

Selfies.

The two of you eating ice cream on the boulevard, the sun setting in the background. Sabatino kissing your cheek as you smile into the camera at a bar in Hollywood. Him playing a guitar on the couch in your living room, a book of chords laid out in front of him. There’s more of them, documenting your relationship over the past two years. For anyone else these would be normal Instagram images but for someone who’s a covert agent they’re a death sentence.

The hidden chat app?

It’s full of voice notes filled with private, intimate things that no one else should ever be privy to.

When I look up at the sky tonight it reminds me of Afghanistan, the first night I spent with you.

You looked too beautiful to wake up this morning, I’m sorry I had to leave.

The sun’s just rising here, and all I can think about is how I wish I was waking up next to you.

The international calls?

Callen realises it’s Sabatino checking in, letting you know he’s still alive.

By all accounts he’s looking at a couple in love, one that’s been forced to keep their relationship a secret due the nature of Sabatino’s career. Callen’s worked for the CIA; he knows the risks. He also knows that this man would set the entire world on fire if anything happened to you.

“Come for a drink tonight.” Callen suggests when it’s all said and done. “I wanna get to know Sabatino a little better, you know, just in case he ends up joining the family.”

You roll your eyes as you stand in the main room of the Boatshed, gathering the few personal items that had been transported with you.

“Our very fucked up little family.” You retort.

“Neither less he’s important to you, so he’s important to us too.” Callen tells you.

You can hear the sincerity in voice. Callen doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, not to you. You’ve been lied to too many times in the past before you’d transferred to LA. Your old partner back San Diego had been corrupt, it had been a severe blow to your psyche. You’d been transferred to LA because you were deemed a problem child. Callen got that, he’d understood it. He’d made you a deal.

“If you’re upfront with me, I’ll be upfront with you, it’s a two-way street.”  

That’s the way the two of you operated and it had worked consistently over the past six years.

“Even after all of this.” You say gesturing at the monitors that oversee the interrogation rooms.

You’re talking about the fact that you’ve spent two years hiding your life with a man, he has a kinda love/hate relationship with. Out of everyone you work with Callen has the most trust issues, this should be a problem for him, but the thing is, it’s not. He understands it on both levels. You’re protecting the man you love, and Sabatino, he’s protecting you too.

“Especially after all of this.” He says firmly before he places his palms on the surface of the wooden table and tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “Look I’m not going to pretend I understand what you see in the guy, but he cares about you, hell he almost died for you, and I can’t fault him for that. Trust me I want to, but I can’t.”

There’s an edge of humour to his voice because his interactions with Sabatino have always fluctuated between irritation and respect. The man is an excellent operative, and the problem is he knows it. You find yourself smiling despite yourself, your fingertips tapping lightly on the table.

“Alright.” You agree because this how you step into the light, how the two of you move forward into the future. “But the drinks are on you guys tonight.”

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[melishade]

Number 6 or 15, about Megs and OP let everything off their chest at Megs death in Shockwave Timeline ending ? Pick that you think the best one

This ask game

For context: Part 28: Ending and Dark Timeline Epilogue

TW Death. TW Decapitated Head. TW Blood (Or Energon)

Megatron was distracted for only a moment. He had heard the sounds of the predacon crying out, forcing Shockwave and him to stop fighting. They had both watched the predacon falling from the sky before crashing into the ground, Wheeljack and Arcee being thrown off the creature. The insect like creature that Shockwave had managed to muster disappeared into steam from existence. Finally, all the titans and titan shifters had been turned back into humans.

He should be elated. The power of the titans was no more, but confusion clouded his mind. How did this happen? What was the cause? What-?!

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Megatron felt searing, hot, white, pain at the sensation of blaster fire from a cannon tearing through his abdomen. Megatron could feel dark energon already leaking from his body as he cried out in pain and fell onto his back. He was distracted for only a moment, and he was now going to pay the price.

"How?! HOW DID YOU DO IT?!" Shockwave shouted at him, looming over his body. Megatron never expected to see this kind of emotion from Shockwave ever again, "You had nothing! No plan! No proper tools! I had everything! I had all the proper tools and schematics! Yet you ended the power of the titans! How?!"

Megatron winced as his optics scanned the battlefield. Shockwave had a point. They had no real plan besides getting Eren and Zeke back. They were still in the dark about how the power of the titan operated. How did that power disappear in the first place? Through the steam and the panic and confusion of the humans running around, Megatron spotted it. He spotted the sight of Mikasa on her knees, holding something to her chest with a look of sorrow in her eyes. Tears streamed down her face before she shut her eyes. Megatron's optics realized that in her grasp...

...was Eren's decapitated head. His head was cut clean from his body. Eren's eyes were closed, and he could see just a small expression of peace. The body of the now dead titan shifter was slowly turning to dust, but he was surprised to see that the head still remained. Megatron...felt bitterness. He felt an ache. He felt loss. But...the sight of Mikasa grieving over Eren could only mean one thing. And that one thing...oh Primus that one thing was the most ironic and twisted joke of all.

Megatron couldn't help it; he started laughing bitterly, and that laughing invoked Shockwave's ire.

"What's so amusing?!" Shockwave demanded.

"Love," Megatron answered him with the biggest bitter grin he could muster, "It was love. The most illogical, unreasonable, emotion out there, that helped us defeat you."

If Shockwave wasn't angry before, he was definitely in a state of fury right now. Megatron prepared for death as Shockwave charged his cannon once more, but the former warlord let out a quiet gasp as Optimus decapitated the mad scientist from behind. Optimus didn't even bother to check the kill or wait until the body hit the ground. After he made his killing blow, he ran towards Megatron.

"Megatron!" Optimus cried out as he kneeled down and examined his wounds. Optimus was horrified. His abdomen was torn to shreds! Dark energon was leaking out of him! He was certain Megatron's spine was destroyed!

"Stay awake! Stay with me! I'm going to get you help! I-!" Optimus scanned the battlefield, but...he couldn't think of anything. The neutral ship didn't prepare a groundbridge in time, and they would have to review Shockwave's schematics before making a jump. Optimus couldn't carry Megatron on his own; he was already weak from his own fight! Wheeljack and Arcee were trying to support each other! They couldn't drag him onto the Jackhammer without causing more damage to his body! And all the titan shifters have just lost their powers! Where was Eren?! Why was Armin running to Mikasa in distress?! What could he do?! What was he supposed to do?!

"I need a medic!" Optimus cried out in desperation, "Please!"

"Optimus, don't bother," Megatron told him weakly, coughing up energon in the process, "Who would be willing to save someone as worthless as me?"

"Megatron you're not worthless! You helped stop Shockwave-!"

"Who caused him to be like this?" Megatron asked rhetorically, "Optimus...it's too late for me. Leave me be. The others...Eren is-!"

"Let me fix this, brother please!" Optimus begged.

Megatron was surprised at Optimus' plea and smiled sadly. "The one thing I stayed on this world for was you. For your acceptance and forgiveness. But this world has changed me, and now..."

Megatron could still feel the loss of dark energon from his body continue. His internal systems were screaming at him, but he ignored it. "All I've done is just hurt you with my selfishness all over again."

Optimus hated how his instincts were telling him of the now hopeless situation. There was too much energon loss. He was going to die, and...

"I've been selfish as well," Optimus confessed, "I never killed you...because I hoped...you would come to your senses...and we could go back to Maccadam's like we used to. And that hope, that selfishness that slowly died over time, never truly went away, and that got many others killed."

"...And I took advantage of that kindness," Megatron relented, "My mistakes are not your fault."

Optimus blinked in surprise as he felt lubricant come out of his optics and tears stream down his faceplates.

"They never were," Megatron reassured.

"Megatron." Optimus grabbed his clawed and bloodied servo with both of his, "I just got you back. Please. Please don't leave me brother. Please."

"It's not a choice I can give." Megatron felt his words beginning to slur. He felt lubricant slip out of his optics as his vision began to fade. He had no idea what was going to happen. He was truly scared. He was going to die like this. He didn't want to die now, but...there was no choice.

"Thank...you...bro...th..." Optimus gasped in horror when he felt Megatron's body go limp. His servo slipped out of his grasp and fell limply on the floor. Optimus looked to Megatron's faceplates, but the life was gone. There were remnants of lubricant around the corner of his now lifeless optics. But the former warlord...looked so at peace.

"Megatron! Megatron wake up! Please wake up! Megatron!" Optimus screamed at Megatron. Everyone else who was still alive converged onto the scene before them. Wheeljack and Arcee were supporting each other while Hanji was helping Levi stand on his feet. The Ackerman was bloodied and bruised everywhere, the extent of his injuries unknown. Even though Hanji was free from the being a pure titan, the Commander's right eye had not healed at all.

"Chief," Wheeljack mumbled.

"Megatron, wake up!" Optimus slammed his fist into Megatron's chest, but noticed something dreadful. His chest was still glowing purple. Megatron was dead...and Unicron might still have him. No! NO! Unicron was not going to keep him! Not while his still functioned! Optimus pulled out his sword and rammed it into Megatron's chest, shocking everyone. The sword didn’t pierced all the way through Megatron’s armor, so he tried again and again.

“Prime! Prime what the fuck are you doing?! Stop!” Levi screamed at him. But the Titan refused. Optimus continued to cut through Megatron’s armor until the cut was large enough. He used his servos and pulled apart the armor, revealing Megatron’s spark and the dark energon shard. Optimus roared as he ripped the dark energon shard from Megatron’s spark . He threw the crushed object aside before taking out his blaster and firing at it until it turned to dust.

Optimus looked back at Megatron’s corpse, hoping the damn thing would restart, but…it was damaged beyond repair now. Megatron was gone from him. He lost his brother, and he could do nothing else for him now.

Optimus let his tears flow freely as he cried out in sorrow. He sobbed over Megatron’s tattered chest, completely inconsolable. And the others could only watch the Prime’s mental breakdown.

“Why…why would he do that?” Sasha asked Hanji.

“…To save Megatron’s soul,” Hanji realized.

‘This world is cruel,’ Mikasa thought as Optimus was wrecked with grief. She still cradled Eren’s head to her chest. She wasn’t sure…how Optimus would react to hearing both of them dead. She didn’t have the courage to stay for that. She…she wanted to go home.

Armin still cried next to Mikasa when the Ackerman stood up. “M-Mikasa?”

“I’m going to take Eren home,” Mikasa informed him. “There should still be an active port somewhere.”

“Where…where will you bury him?” Armin asked.

“At the spot he loved to nap under,” Mikasa answered as she walked away from him into the fog, un clipping her 3D gear in the process. She didn’t need it anymore.

“Yeah…he’d love that.” She smiled at Armin’s last words to her before noticing someone in front of her. A woman with blonde hair and gray eyes and a white dress, staring act her with indifference and remorse. She had nothing to say to her. She had no connection with the woman. As Mikasa walked past her-!

We are sorry.

Mikasa blinked and glanced back, but no one was there. She was gone.

(Well there you go. 96 and 19 have been asked. The rest is free game).

[spacerockfloater]

Hey friends and foes, the following post was submitted by beloved @florencegracia , whom I’d like to thank so much for taking the time to share their views with me and our mutuals! It’s always very nice to have such polite conversations with people from TB. I think the outcome of these discussions is beneficial to everyone involved! Your perspective is very much welcome and needed here! I would like to request from everyone who wants to add to this conversation to do so kindly, with an open mind! Toxicity and hate towards OP or me will not be tolerated.

So happy finding ur page bcs im TB and everyone around me is TB too. I need another perspective from TG 😃

I dont read the book but i read wiki of ice&fire and others so my apologies if i misunderstand some.

Thanks again for your submission, you are a peach! No worries at all, this blog mainly discusses the TV show rather than the book either way. And besides, F&B can be interpreted in many different ways, no one can be absolutely right or wrong in their opinion!

1. I agree that Alicent sacrifices a lot. And it is up to her that she is with Cole after Viserys dies bcs she is a free woman now. Even if there is adultery during the marriage, i dont really care. But i still think that she is a hypocrite bcs she approached Viserys behind Rhaenyra’s back and never told Rhaenyra but she expects Rhaenyra to always tell her the truth. Yes, she was used by Otto but still she is not truthful to Rhaenyra so how she expects Rhaenyra to be truthful to her.

This is actually such an interesting take that I never dwelled much upon! Huh, now that you mention it, it does leave a bad taste that Alicent never told Rhaenyra about her interactions with Viserys. However, I do not exactly believe that these two situations are equal. Alicent was forced by her father to go and visit Viserys against her will and Viserys himself commanded her to not share their conversations with Rhaenyra (a typical thing abusers do). What’s more is that the nature of their relationship with Viserys wasn’t explicit or even romantic! She was just a girl being nice to him! Even Alicent herself was shocked when Viserys announced he intends to marry her. It was difficult for Alicent, who was lost in her misery, to tell her also miserable friend that their fathers are abusing her, especially after the king himself forbade her to do so. And Rhaenyra showed no understanding to her situation, especially since all of that happened against Alicent’s will. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, was responsible for her own actions and concealing the truth from the girl who spent years of her life trying to apologise for what happened to her and tried her best to help her, would make anyone in Alicent’s shoes feel betrayed, me thinks.

2. I understand that Cole is very disappointed with Rhaenyra for turning his proposal down and thus siding with Alicent. I was thinking that he wants to keep his honor and seek redemption by doing his duty with honor. But then he is with Alicent, which keeps me wondering. My guess is probably that they both have the same enemy and can share the same feelings. Alicent ofcourse cant hate/complaint abt Rhaenyra to Viserys so probably she pours down her frustation to Cole and then they develop feelings to each other.

I think there’s more to Criston’s hatred towards Rhaenyra than her turning down his proposal. If you rewatch the scene, as I recently did, you’d see that Rhaenyra is awfully cruel to him. She speaks at him angrily and diminishes him. She calls him not worthy enough for her and rubs salt in his wounds by flaunting how much of a perfect husband Laenor is going to be. And the ultimate blow is that she finishes by telling him “We can still fuck tho!”. That’s such a fuckboy behaviour. She doesn’t respond when Criston desperately holds her accountable for what she did to him, how much he put on the line for her. What he did with Rhaenyra is punishable by death or castration. People need to remember what happened to princess Saera’s lovers! And to top it all off, he finds out Rhaenyra’s husband’s boyfriend knows all about it and threatens his life! He switches sides and becomes loyal to Alicent because she is the only one to show him some sympathy and mercy. I think their relationship is much deeper than people make it out to be. Coming close due to trauma and common experiences is a very strong bond. I never liked the jokes about how Alicent and Cole are together solely because of their mutual hatred/ yearning/ whatever for Rhaenyra, their literal abuser (at least from their side of the story). It removes the agency from two broken, abused SA victims and it disturbs me a lot. They experience how the Targaryens mistreat one another first hand. And, in Criston’s eyes, he has already lost his honour and feels like he’ll never be able to atone for his sins, as he says in this season. It’s kinda cruel to demand that he keeps the celibacy oath he gave to the Targaryens, who literally used him for sex, if not abused him.

3. For me, Rhaenyra’s bastards are the same like Cersei’s bastards. Cersei sacrifies her life to become Robert’s queen so that she can give throne to her kids and Robert does not care who will be the next king since he is too heartbroken to care whatever happens after he dies. Same like Rhaenyra. I guess Laenor doesnt care whose children are they since he cant give any children but he needs someone to continue his name/legacy. And the fact that Rhaenys and Corlys do not question the bastardy, i think they also feel the same thing.

I think I might be able to provide some insight on this, as a book reader! Cersei specifically doesn’t really sacrifice anything to become Robert’s Queen. The position is open handedly given to her in exchange for her father financially supporting Robert. In fact, Cersei has never willingly sacrificed anything in her life. She simply refuses to do so because she grew up very spoiled and entitled. Cersei was excited to marry Robert at first, until she realised that he’ll always be in love with Lyanna. If we’re to take Cersei’s word for it, she and Robert did have a son that died young and Robert was immensely heartbroken and angry over his death. Robert very much cares about who inherits the throne after him, that’s why his dying act as a king is to make sure his son (who he thinks is his) becomes king after him. Things would be very different had he known the truth. At the same time, even if Robert, Corlys, Viserys and any other lord did not care about who inherits their titles, this doesn’t change the fact that there are still laws that protect the rightful heirs from getting robbed off of their inheritance! Imagine if your brother, who practically has no heirs of his own, was the current holder of your family’s ancestral house which he did not himself build, and instead of leaving it to you, his blood, he was okay with the house getting passed on to a person that has no connection with your family. That wouldn’t be fair to you, would it? The ruling titles of House Velaryon and House Targaryen are not personal properties of Viserys and Corlys just because they happen to be their current holders. The titles have existed long before them. Vaemond Velaryon getting passed over, especially after he shed blood and money for his house in the Stepstone’s war, was an absolute disgrace. Sure, Viserys might have been justified in a way to change the law and allow his daughter to inherit the title because that’s still his blood, even if it was unfair to Aegon and Aemond according to tradition, but Corlys and Rhaenys had absolutely no right to humiliate Vaemond like that.

4. My understanding is that in the book both Rhaenyra and Alicent want the throne and the issue is abt female vs male heir, thus Rhaenys keep supporting Rhaenyra despite whatever. But the show cant make it abt female vs male heir since it will not sell in 2024. In the show, the main reason is misunderstanding since even Rhaenyra in season 1 is shown to not really want the throne but just to honor his father’s wish. Which is very weird since in GOT, many female character blatantly said they want the iron throne or become the queen.

I see what you’re trying to say! Yup, it’s absolutely true that the show doesn’t know what they’re doing with the storyline anymore. At first Rhaenyra doesn’t want to be queen. Then she does. Then she does even more. Then she is not certain. Book!Rhaenyra was much more adamant about sitting the throne at all costs. The TV show has removed the agency of all its female characters. If you take a closer look, you’d see that all the female characters are saints that compete for the Nobel Peace Prize. Alicent, Rhaenyra, Rhaenya, Mysaria, Alys Rivers: they all care about the well being of the people first and foremost and their own aspirations come second! On the other hand, the men, Daemon, Aegon, Aemond, Jace, Criston, are quick to go to war and give no fucks about the aftermath of it! Ryan Condal, HOTD’s producer, had informed us that this show was going to be a “feminist” retelling of the Dance of the Dragons, the feminism being that all women are good and all men are bad. That’s why it has turned into such a dumpster fire.

[deeg9]

Chenford + fight about their relationship

Hey anon -

Thanks for the request! You probably wanted something canon-adjacent for this but I recently wrote a Chenford fight scene in "Some things are more important" (STAMI) that I'm proud of. If you haven't read STAMI -- All you really need to know going into this scene is that (in the previous chapters) Lucy transferred to Hollywood and attended UC school after Chenford got together. While Lucy was away at school, Tim went undercover to help on an op related to Jake / Sava and got stabbed -- and then he downplayed it A LOT to Lucy. Hope you like it!

Tim rounded the corner to the squad room and found Lucy standing with Grey, her arms crossed across her chest. Despite the tension radiating off her body, he broke out into a smile. He wasn’t expecting her back for another day. 

“What are you doing here?” Tim asked, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She let him, but he felt how tight her jaw was when his lips met her skin. 

“To ask you the same thing,” Lucy said with fire in her eyes. “I just asked Grey if you’re riding a desk and he said no. You are not ready to be back in the field. You need to let that heal.”

She pointed to his stomach. 

This was not how he expected their reunion to go. 

“Are you barking out orders now?” Tim joked lightheartedly. “Last time I checked, I was the sergeant. Not you.” 

Grey let out a low whistle and focused on a spot on the ground. 

Lucy narrowed her gaze. 

“Fine,” Lucy stuck her hands on her hips. “Let’s hit the gym first and you can prove to me you’re fit for duty.”

“You’re going to put me through a workout?” Tim asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“I’m going to spar you,” Lucy told him. 

“I am not sparring you, Lucy,” Tim replied incredulously and crossed his arms. 

“Are you saying you’re not up for the challenge?” Lucy smirked, tilting her head to the side. 

“Of course I am,” Tim rebuffed. “I wouldn’t be back unless I was.”

“Ok. How about we make a deal: if you can take me down without popping a stitch, you can work today,” Lucy shrugged confidently. “If there is even a drop of blood, you go home and continue recovering. And you don’t come back until your stitches are out.”

Tim looked over at Grey who was finally meeting his gaze.

“You know I agree with Chen,” Grey laughed. “I told you as soon as I saw you that you shouldn’t be back yet.” 

“So you called her?” Tim accused.

“I did no such thing,” Grey asserted, his face full of amusement. 

Tamara. Tim rolled his eyes. He should have known after those big sad eyes she’d given him yesterday morning.

“Fine,” Tim conceded with a sigh. “But after roll call.”

“Works for me,” Lucy agreed with a smug grin. 

He was definitely not going down without a fight.

* * *

“I thought you had your last set of classes today.” Tim bent down to tie his laces, doing his best to hide a grimace. This was going to be brutal. 

Lucy had stood at the back of roll call with Angela and Nyla, glaring at him the entire time. Every single person in the room noticed. She hadn’t been to a dayshift roll call at Midwilshire in six months. Between the jabs Smitty was making under his breath and the hardly concealed laughs of Nolan, Webb, and Thorsen, he’d barely made it to the end without blowing a gasket. 

“It was just closing ceremony stuff so I booked an earlier flight to surprise you,” Lucy told him. “Imagine my surprise when I got home and Tamara told me you were going to work today.” 

“Like I told Tamara, I was planning to take it easy,” Tim insisted. “Thorsen was going to do all the heavy lifting.” 

“You know as well as I do that once you’re on the streets, you have no say in how easy the day will be.” Lucy stared him down, not ready to give him an inch. Behind the stubbornness, he could see the concern in her eyes. 

“I’m fine,” Tim assured her. 

“Stop stalling,” Lucy flicked her hand. “Get up.” 

Tim stood and rolled his shoulders out to loosen up. He circled the mat, waiting for Lucy to charge. 

She didn’t. 

“What are you waiting for?” Lucy taunted. The corner of her mouth ticked up. “Take me down, Sarge.” 

Tim went in low and Lucy spun, taking out his legs in one swift motion and ending up behind him. The next thing he knew, he was face down on the mat, and Lucy’s knee was pressed into his back. 

“Too slow,” she said, a smile in her voice. She rose to her feet.

“What was that?” Tim asked, popping back up. Renewed energy surged through his body. 

“What?” Lucy asked innocently. “You thought I spent four weeks at UC school sitting on my hands?”

“You’re teaching me that move,” Tim demanded with a proud grin and circled her again.

“Nah, I can’t give away any trade secrets.” She shot back, staying on the balls of her feet. 

He switched things up and used a combo he hadn’t tried since his days in the military. She wasn’t expecting it and lost her footing. 

This time, he was on top. He propped himself up just enough to avoid squishing her but relished the feeling of her warm body underneath his. Her eyes flickered to his lips and his mouth twitched into a satisfied grin that only grew when Lucy’s fingers edged under his shirt. 

He took in a staggered breath and began to lower his mouth. 

“I win,” Lucy whispered before dumping him off to the side. 

“What?” Tim blinked and looked down at the fresh blood stain on his shirt. He lifted the performance fabric and sure enough, he’d popped a stitch. 

Lucy sprung to her feet and held out a hand to help him up. He shook it off and she rolled her eyes at him. He tried to ignore the tug of another stitch pulling loose as he helped himself to his feet. 

“Go get cleaned up,” she ordered. “We’re going to get your stitches fixed and then I’m taking you home.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Lucy.” He shot back, the pain from the oozing wound doing nothing for his temper. 

“Ooookay.” Lucy’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “It’s time to reset some expectations. We need ground rules.”

“For what?” Tim asked.

“For how we do this,” Lucy motioned between her and Tim. “How we do our jobs and still be good partners to one another.”

“Oh, so now I’m not a good partner?” Tim asked with a wince, finally giving in to the stinging pain in his side. 

Lucy grabbed a clean towel and softly dabbed it over the wound, which was now eagerly seeping into his shirt. 

“I never said that,” Lucy tossed back, looking up at him with a sharp gaze as she pressed the towel firmly into his gut. “You know, I felt so guilty for going back under as Sava after I told you I was done with UC. And yet, I had the courtesy to call you beforehand and tell you how to get status reports. ”

“I never asked you to give up undercover work,” Tim reminded her. Irritation poured from his throat before he could stop it. “I told you to go to UC school, didn’t I?” 

“You might have said the words, Tim, but your body language told me you didn’t want me to.” She crossed and uncrossed her arms in frustration when he stepped back so he could pace the length of the mat.

“I can’t win, then, can I?” He countered. “Either I’m supporting you wrong or I’m wrong in not supporting you.” 

“This isn’t about winning anything,” Lucy shouted in frustration. “We already won. We have each other. This is about communication and how we’re going to be doing a whole lot more of it.” 

“We are communicating,” Tim said sarcastically. He motioned between them and Lucy narrowed her eyes, clearly not amused by his joke.

“Okay, then tell me honestly,” Lucy said and swallowed. “Would you have dated me if I hadn’t said I was done with UC work?” 

“Yes,” Tim said without hesitation. “How can you even ask me that?” 

“Because I didn’t know the answer,” Lucy shot back. “Part of me has been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since Jake showed back up in our lives.” 

“What?” Tim shook his head. “I’ve been in love with you for–. Honestly, I don’t know exactly when it turned into love, but it was well before you and I started dating. And once we crossed that line...”

Tim paused, remembering when the switch flipped in his brain and he realized that he could have a future, no, share his future with Lucy. 

When his eyes focused, he saw her watching him closely.

“There was no going back after that. Not for me” he confessed. “I am all in. Tell me you can see that.” 

“I want to believe that,” Lucy pushed. “But you were disappointed–”

“No.” Tim shook his head. “I’m not disappointed in you, Lucy, I’m just terrified of losing you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lucy said, her wide eyes pleading with him. 

“We can’t promise each other that,” Tim said. “Our jobs are dangerous, that’s a fact. Things happen outside of our control every single day.”

“True,” Lucy conceded. “But there are still plenty of things within our control. You taught me that.”

He was at a loss for words. 

She had him there. How many times had he told her that when she was a rookie?

“You didn’t tell me you were going undercover,” Lucy said calmly, “and you got hurt and you weren’t honest about how bad it was. Then you went back to work before it healed and if you’d hit those streets today, you would have been putting yourself at unnecessary risk, maybe even Aaron too.” 

He took a deep breath. Fuck. 

He hated to admit how right she was. 

“I love you and I don’t want to lose you,” Lucy said, her voice growing thick. “And your actions worried me sick and made me feel like you don’t trust me to put you first.”

“No, Luce,” Tim shook his head. “I trusted you to do exactly that and I wanted you to finish school. You have so many doors open for you now and that was more important than my third career knife wound. I knew I’d be fine.” 

“Tim, I need you to hear me when I say this.” Lucy walked over and grabbed his hands. “ You are more important.”

Tim was tongue-tied as he stared down at their joined hands before meeting her gaze. The earnesty he found there was almost enough to break him into a million pieces. 

“You’ll always be my first priority,” Lucy rephrased. “I love this job but what we have will always matter more.” 

He’d never been someone’s priority before. Not with his family growing up. Not with Isabel or the women that had come after her. 

He felt the last ounce of fight leave his body.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Tim explained, squeezing her hands gently. “You had enough on your plate.” 

“I understand that but I need to be able to make that decision,” Lucy urged. “You can’t make it for me just like I can’t make it for you.”

He nodded.

“So, rule number one: we don’t lie about injuries.” Lucy dropped his hands so she could use her fingers to count off each rule. 

“Ok,” Tim sighed. 

“Rule number two: we always tell each other before we go undercover.” Lucy looked up at him, waiting for his acknowledgment. 

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. 

“Rule number three: our relationship comes first,” Lucy stated. “Whenever that is in doubt, we discuss it.” 

“Deal,” Tim approved.

Lucy let out a satisfied breath and Tim felt his muscles start to relax one by one. They stared at each other as the seconds ticked by one by one on the old wall clock behind him. 

What now? 

“So… should we shake on it?” Tim asked.

A smile lifted at the edge of Lucy’s lips as he took a step toward her. 

“Or…” His voice dropped and Lucy raised a brow as he skimmed his hand over the side of her hip, rubbing his thumb over the buttery fabric of her leggings. He loved her thighs in leggings.

“Or what?” She asked, sliding her hands up his chest. 

 “I haven’t seen you in weeks,” Tim murmured, swiping a loose strand of hair out of her face, “and I really want to kiss you.”

She waited.

He stared down at her, taking her in. He loved this woman. He loved her strength, her fire, her ability to break his brain with a simple phrase or the touch of her hand. He cupped the back of her head and tilted it back, brushing his thumb over the vein in her neck. 

She rolled her eyes in frustration.

“Oh my god. Kiss me alread–” 

He didn’t let her finish. Instead, he sucked the end of the sentence right out of her mouth along with the breath she’d been about to take. 

She moaned into his kiss and for a second, he forgot he had an open wound. She had the unique ability to take away his pain with the touch of her lips. 

God, he’d missed her. 

He wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her up until he could feel her heartbeat against his chest. Her arms looped around his neck and he felt her fingers grab hold of his hair.

He wanted nothing more than to tear off her clothes and make love to her on the mat, but the flickering light from the camera on the ceiling had Grey’s words ringing in his ear. There is no expectation of privacy in the police station. 

And he liked his job. Right? 

“Let’s go home,” he grumbled against her throat. 

The sound that escaped Lucy seriously made him question whether he needed a job at all. 

She cupped the sides of his face. 

“Shower. Hospital. Home.” She managed to say between staggered breaths. 

He nodded and rested his forehead against hers before lifting back up and kissing her softly. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

She held out her hand and he laced his fingers through hers, following her out of the gym and toward the locker room.

END

[eldritch-araneae]

Hello, I have more Earthspark theories and observations! Spoilers for episodes 11-18 and welcome under the cut!

Observation about Grimlock!

I noticed that despite being controlled by Mandroid's device, he was holding back against Bumblebee! It's especially noticeable when you see him more actively chasing and firing at Terrans (he doesn't know them, makes sense) or how controlled Hashtag was acting!

In fact, we can see Grimlock shaking and hesitating to attack when Bee was talking to him. Even after he bit Bee's arm, he still didn't even aiming at Bee with fire, even tho Bumblebee was right in front of him!

( Note: idk why, but I suddenly remember the moment from Norse mythology, when Fenrir bites Tyr's hand! Sure gods wanted to chain him, but Tyr was the one who raised him. Bee must be really good with dinobots, maybe one of few friends they have and Grimlock was forced to hurt him. Gosh I can't wait for new episodes to see all the drama!)

No wonder Grim went into rage mode after the device was removed from him. To express all this shit he went through while being controlled. He needs a hug!

A little theory about Bee and GHOST.

I keep thinking about how it's so strange that Schloder was on Bumblebee's trail. Bee was supposed to be dead to GHOST, and even with energon suppressor, they still were after him! Did someone among bots spilled the beans about Bee?

Or Schloder really saw a yellow car appearing in races ( which tbh is still very far-fetched bc yellow cars aren't rarity ahah) and he decided to catch Bee in all costs during all 15 years? Schloder, as silly as he is, was pretty angry at Bumblebee for "deserting Autobots" and he was talking about Bee like he's some kind-of-evil mastermind who takes advantage of good people like Maltos?

What happened? Did Bee accidentally did something to upset Schloder? Or his sister told him some gross lies about Bumblebee being dangerous to humans? So intriguing!

Another thing that bothers me, that yeah, Optimus is absent right now, which is already sus. The only thing we saw is him sending Bumblebee to find Grimlock according to Bee. And Bee said that Optimus got a tip... from who exactly?

Also, why Optimus would send Bumblebee, who's primary role is scouting and espionage, into basically fight-to-death gladiator matches??? Cmon, there are plenty bots who are stronger and more fit to this mission in hiding I'm sure, so why Bee?

Of course, it can be that Bee was tasked to find Grim, and like Bee he is, decided to prove himself and enter the brawls. And sure, he can fight and even win despite being weak he is. Anways, very curious too!

(UPD: Actually to think about it, I won't surprised if Bee went to brawls himself instead of calling for help bc he might feeling guilty for blowing his cover? So risking his life would be his way to make thing right in a way ( like in old comics when blamed himself for letting Ravage escape on his watch and de decided to capture him solo while Optimus is sulking with self-doubt... only to fall into Decepticon trap. Because he didn't see how exactly Bee is doing yet, only knowing he's sad he can't go home.)

I'm getting the impression that GHOST is after Bee, either to catch him, or even get him killed. But why? During trailer I thought that maybe it was to do with AllSpark bc he was carrying it, but we saw Bee quickly passed it to Op and Megs and it was send back to Cybertron. Yet it feels like Croft has some agenda against Bee in particular. Very curious!

Can't wait for new episodes!

(UPD: maybe Croft got a wind that Optimus wants to make a third cybertronian faction outside of her influence ( which the end of ep 10 gave this idea), and I guess they seen that Bee, while inexperienced, still have some leadership traits and she def doesn't want that. esp if Bee is good with humans as well. this will suck for her… unless she get rid of Bee first)

[baelpenrose]

Project Praetorian 51: Inspection

After all that, the Praetorians have to put on a dog-and-pony show for the UN Inspectors, and make Imperator look just good enough - or do they? Xavier and Casey manage to thread the needle - or so they hope. Beta-read by @canyouhearthelight

Casey

The thing she remembered most about the flight home was how quiet it was. 

Everyone had known, on some level, that they were going to have casualties. That not everyone was going to be there when the war ended, if any of them.

But someone dying in their first battle? And Dante? He’d seemed so smooth, so confident. And he’d been blowing away tanks like nothing, somehow. And…he’d died. He’d died and there was nothing left of him.

Shiloh was sitting, staring at the bulkhead of the ship, and Amaryllis had recovered enough from the shock to be flying again. Mark was transmitting the report, even as they were heading back to base. But…

Vergil was the first to speak. “I…I should have said something sooner.” 

Casey was dazed. “Said something?”

Vergil spoke without affect. “I saw a blur that looked like a Spike, but…It was far out, through the scope. Even for me, at the distance, I thought that I was struggling with the smoke, or the noise, or just…seeing things from battle shock. That far out, even for me, with it that blurred…”

They looked at the deceased Ascendancy stealth soldier they’d heaved onto the floor of the dropship. It was like a Spike, but bigger. Not that Spikes were ever anything other than muscular, but if Casey didn’t know better she’d have said this one was one of those bodybuilding spec ops types. Yet, it was lithe, and the armor it wore was more tightly fitted than that of the other Spikes they’d encountered. Probably to help with stealth, but…

“The jaw is different. Modified, maybe? Or a different breed?”

“Call them Stalkers for now. We’ll let the lab figure them out. I’m never getting suckered again.”

Casey was quiet. She could hear Amaryllis sobbing quietly in the cockpit, and she could still see Shiloh staring off at the bulkhead, shaking. Blood - alien and human - caked their armor.

***

Once they got back to the base, they went to go shower, after they’d had the alien gore hosed off their armor. 

Once they left the armor and weapons in the armory, they headed to decontam. 

Decontam - no one even blinked. Casey was amazed that she’d ever objected to showering with everyone. Now, she was too rattled to care, too rattled even to notice. The group stripped down and stepped into the showers, getting the gore off - Casey hadn’t noticed that her arm hair had burned away, or that the ends of her hair were getting crispy in the fighting. She felt bad for being so unharmed, so minimally damaged - when she’d slaughtered so many. When one of those things had managed to kill one of them. She almost laughed at her own vanity - and then she noticed a bit of something under one of her fingernails. She picked at it, and slowly, she realized what she was looking at. During the fight, she’d fumbled a reload, and while she was scrambling in the muck, she had brushed - something, something she hadn’t identified. Now that she did, she realized she had the melted flesh of a Croak under her nails.

She flicked it off and felt violently sick. 

After they got out of the showers, and dressed again - in loose fitting sweats, nothing tight, nothing like dress wear, nothing like battle garb, not even civilian street clothes. Shorts. Tank tops, lazy skirts.

They flopped onto the couch and Casey found herself cuddling up to Mark, noticing that now, even the lounge of their little barracks was too small, felt too small, even though it had felt fine with Dante there. Like there was something else in the room with them. 

Amaryllis took a breath. “How…how did…?”

Shiloh tried to sign and Vergil spoke. “I ran out of ammo. I was trying to direct him and Shiloh to fire and take them down. But then…they got surrounded. There were three left, and then…Dante took the 2-vee-1 angle, and got one. The other got him. Then…Jonathan got there. Didn’t need directions. Thing was…visible, then.” 

Left unsaid was the horrible reality. She’d seen the corpse Jonathan had made. It had been painted with Dante’s blood. Then its own. Jonathan hadn’t so much killed it as ripped it apart. 

Amaryllis took a breath. “I…I need some space.”

Of course, that was the moment that the phone rang. Mark took a moment. Like he wasn’t about to pick it up. He let it go. 

Then it started ringing again. Mark opened the phone. “Lieutenant Ascher speaking, we just lost a brother and one of my team lost her boyfriend. Give me a really good fucking reason you’re calling right now.” 

Echo was frantically signaling - she’d pulled open her computer. Like she’d wanted to check in on Imperator’s intelligence reports, update it…

Then…Casey saw what she was looking at. Imperator had had previous reports of the Stalker unit. They’d known and they hadn’t warned the team. 

She grabbed Echo’s computer and showed Mark, and Mark froze. Cold hatred blazed in his eyes. “So that’s the situation. The UN Inspector is coming and…get our caps and bells on and perform? Think carefully.”

Mark took a breath. “Yes. I understand. You and I are going to have a conversation.”

He snapped the phone closed. “Alright. Echo, send me that report. Everyone, we have UN inspectors arriving in three hours. We don’t even get time to mourn.” 

Casey felt a cold weight of dread drop into her stomach. Inspectors, here? Asking questions, demanding results of them right now? “So…?”

“Get everyone into dress uniforms. Xavier, Casey, you have the conn interfacing with them. I need to talk to Franklin. Imperator has been hiding things for too long. And Echo? I need you to start digging. Everything. They can’t hide anything from us anymore. I don’t care who you have to piss off, whose national security you violate, what treaties you violate. No more secrets.” 

Echo saluted. “No rest for the wicked?”

“And no rest for us either or they get ahead.” Jared grunted. “Just so we’re clear, I get that we don’t trust the UN, but is there any point in playing them and Imperator off each other?”

“Since we’re still not completely certain what the limits of Imperator’s bullshit are, or how involved the UN is, I’d say no.” Casey was still reeling. She barely had the energy to stand up, but she’d be expected to play host to a bunch of UN agents?

She forced herself to her feet. “Alright, everyone. Get dressed, I guess. Dress uniforms?”

Mark glanced at her. “Yeah. And mention that we’re designing our own.”

Casey nodded - the Imperator dress grays looked like shit. 

***

She had managed to get her hair combed and conditioned. Her outfit in order. Helped Molly and Kimmy as well. 

She hadn’t managed it for Echo, but Echo had barricaded herself in an archival room and was busy violating every country’s National Security Act equivalents, their Espionage Act equivalents, multiple treaties regarding espionage from UN agencies, and opening every file in Imperator’s archives. Mark’s phone’s near constant buzzing was a constant testament to her efficacy. 

Now, Casey stood, at attention, as a man in a dark suit walked into Imperator, escorted by Gideon. “And, Inspector, you’ll have to forgive them if they’re a little less than perfectly presentable, they only returned from combat three hours ago, and one of them was killed in action. By accounts from the field team, it was an incredible kill-death ratio, over two thousand to one. I don’t think you have to worry about their capabilities.”

The Inspector was cold. “I’ve already spoken to Col. Melbourne about their combat capacity, Adjutant Director, and to Dr. Koleth regarding their powers. I wish to speak to the test subjects about their estimation of their ability..”

Casey felt a chill go over her back. Test subjects.

So. It was no secret that that was how this was going to go.

Shit. 

The Inspector looked at the line of Praetorians, then around the small dorm. “They manage to maintain a space fairly well - taking to discipline effectively.” 

“I knew how to keep a space clean, I was the eldest of five siblings.” She wasn’t about to let them think that the torture had made this space the home the team had turned it into. She’d done that - all of them had. “Casey Martin. One of two NCOs in the squad.”

The inspector looked at her, narrowing his eyes. “Ah. I’m given to understand this team has its own officer. Where is he?”

Mark stepped out of line, uniform sharp. “Right here. Mark Ascher. I won’t be long - I have a meeting with Director Franklin very shortly.” 

Gideon glanced at him from behind the inspector’s back, but Casey smirked. No one would contradict them with the Inspector there - it would too easily make Imperator look incapable of keeping its house in order. She walked over to the kitchen where the kettle she’d put on was starting to whistle - and poured small cups for everyone, including the Inspector, but not, notably, for Gideon.

Mark gave her a small hug, then murmured, “Gonna go deal with the Director. Can you handle..?”

“Yeah. I’ll sweet talk the Inspector.”

She took a breath as the Inspector sat down, and then she handed the kettle to Gideon, in a clear, passive aggressive dismissal - she still intended to make the point about what had almost happened to Kimmy. “Thanks, Gideon.”

The Inspector looked between everyone as they all sat down - and then started speaking. “So, Ms. Martin - sorry, Corporal Martin, I’ll ask you first. How have things been here? I’m well aware of the situation not being…ideal, and that you all probably resent the kidnapping, but I’m curious - how have you found the overall conditions?”

Casey let herself laugh. “Oh, you know. The unethical human experimentation wasn’t fun.” Honest, but then, glancing at the others, “But I’ve met some people I can’t imagine living without now. Friendships that feel more real than any I had before I was taken.” She felt herself gesturing in ASL as she spoke, watching Shiloh react. 

Xavier nodded, face stoic. Casey gave Molly a small, encouraging smile. She saw Jonathan come back into the room, having gone to the dorm to put the last of the crap away.

“And…pardon, but how do you feel about your chances?”

Casey froze. She could have laughed if the question wasn’t so fucked up. How did she feel? Worse now than she had before one of them had died. Amaryllis almost said something, and Xavier discretely nodded to Jonathan, who quietly helped pull her from the room. 

“I think we can manage. We work well as a team, and we’ve always been able to come out on top.” She paused, “Though, I have a question. Why are you asking me? Aren’t I just a grunt?” A lie, she knew. Officer team or no, she was very well aware of the importance they’d have as propaganda. 

The Inspector chuckled. “You’ll be important to the war effort as icons once things get going - that alone means you have to have the right attitude. I’m glad to see all of you holding up so well. After the battle there were some who wanted to call off the inspection, or reschedule it, but truth be known, it was perfect. Being presentable after a tragic loss is vital to your role, as much as being lethal. And you all certainly fit the bill…” The Inspector looked around.

“Though those uniforms do leave a lot to be desired.”

Casey flushed. “Make Stricken give us a budget and we’ll design better ones for ourselves.”

The Inspector squinted. “And why would you need to design them for yourselves?”

“Because if we have to play the part of saviors we need to look the part. We can’t look boring and drab, we have to look spectacular, heroic. Something that people can look to as icons. People need heroes.” Xavier was quiet. “I’ve seen those things. I’ve seen how they fight. It isn’t enough for us to fight well. We have to look good when we make public appearances.”

Casey nodded, shuddering as she imagined herself on posters. “And we have to look good as propaganda. People need to see us not as children in…prison uniforms, basically, but as something almost…” She thought of Vergil. Of Molly. Of Kimmy. Tried to imagine what it would take to get this impression of them and realized she already had it, a little, of Vergil. “As something completely unstoppable.”

She winced, internally. She had crossed a line. She was throwing away their innocence, their right to even be looked at as children. Hiding the crimes Imperator had committed. In the name of helping them gain the power and gravitas they needed.

And then Xavier opened his mouth. And if she was going to hell for what she’d just said, and Mark was going to hell for bargaining with Franklin, Xavier was on the ride there with them.

Xavier

He thought about how the Inspector was looking at them. Not asking about how they were treated - then again, why would he? That wasn’t important in the scheme of this, not to the people who’d signed off on what happened here. Xavier considered bringing up Volkov, but decided against it - right now, they were operating with Franklin and introducing more factions didn’t seem like a winning play.

Then again…

“Oh, I did have one question. What is the status of Imperator’s international bases? We should be getting more comrades from all over the world, and developing the capacity to deploy to repel alien attackers there too, correct?” No sense in hiding that they were being kept in the dark - unless this man had already been flipped.

The Inspector blinked - a small cue, but noticeable. “They are prepared and have begun scanning for recruits - the corps will shortly begin fully staffing, as I understand it. Surely, Franklin has told you as much, with the Invasion so soon underway?”

Xavier kept his thoughts hidden. The date of the main invasion was known? What an awful lot Franklin wasn’t sharing with them. Unless this was a means of sending a message through a compromised UN operative. Interesting. “Thank you. Our training, including language acquisition, is progressing on schedule. Does the UN have any further questions for us?”

“I suppose I was curious - I was given to understand that the original members of this team were involved in a breakout effort, then negotiated a return. During the breakout, I am given to understand a member of the staff, Ivan Volkov, was killed. Is that accurate?”

Xavier shrugged. “Accurate enough.” Why was this being asked? “Volkov is remembered with a lot of hate by those who met him. His removal was a major step in being able to have a functioning relationship with Imperator.” 

The Inspector arched an eyebrow. “Tactical, ruthless, and premeditated. Interesting. Am I correct in saying the allegiance of the team is not entirely to Imperator, then?”

Xavier glanced at Casey, then faced the Inspector head on. “Our allegiance is to humanity. Imperator is our means to that end. At present, we’ve seen little evidence that we have a better means available to us.” That covered everything. No, we aren’t in Imperator’s pocket. Yes, we are, currently, loyal to them and you won’t be able to turn us against them for nothing. If you have an offer that may align with our goals, you can find a way to show us and we’ll consider it. If Franklin had turned the man, that was safe, but if he hadn’t, that would give them chances.

The Inspector inclined his head slightly. “I see. You seem to be everything promised, if nothing else. The best science could make anyone, champions of Earth and all its peoples - and you already talk the part. I’ll make sure I mention to your higher ups that the UN would prefer your elbows not be joggled when you want those uniforms.”

Xavier blinked. Was that all?

“Oh, I did have one more question - I needed to ask about the conditions you’ve been living in. Are these the dorms? And are you all attending school?”

“Online school.” Casey said. “Yes, these are the dorms. We’ve made them as homey as we can.”

Xavier broke in. “And school is going as well as can be expected.” That felt so strange to say. What was this guy playing at? Serious one minute, almost nonsensical the next. 

“Adequate food? Medical care?”

“Yes, and yes. Sleep - questionable. Now…”

“Yes. I think I have my questions answered. I’ll ask around some of the others, but…”

“No.” Xavier surprised himself with the firmness in his tone.

Casey backed him up. “Absolutely not.”

The Inspector paused. “Excuse me?”

“We are representing our team. Whatever questions you have. Ask us.”

The inspector looked at them both, quizzically. “Ah. I see. Well then. Thank you for your time.”

The man turned and walked away. Casey turned to Xavier. “What the hell was he playing at?”

“I don’t know,” Xavier said. “But I have a feeling we’ve got more problems coming from that direction.” God, and right now, that was the last thing they needed. Whether the man was a defector owned by Franklin or a UN spy, he and Casey had gotten something useful and kept the opposition from getting anything.

But goddamn, they did not need another headache. Especially now.

[lehguru]

ROMANTIC DATE + BROOK

request: Can I request a little scenario where Brook (from OP) organizes a little romantic date for his S/O, please?

warnings: silly goofy, i loved to make this as one piece as possible, one joke about eyes popping out (literally just that, no g*re description), brook accidentally sets himself on fire, not proofread; gender neutral reader + requests are open ! check pinned post for requesting rules

im soooooooo sorry i took so long to post this! it was very fun to write and i hope you enjoy it ♡ obrigada demais por enviar essa ask meu chuchu!!

he had no idea where to start. he loves you, he loves you as much as he loves music, but he truly didn't know what to do. here's the thing: it has been YEARS since he had an actual date with someone. god, he didn't even see any person for 50 years while he was lost in the florian triangle; his romance skills were really rusty.

when the idea of organizing a date night appeared in his mind – nami gave him the idea –, he went around the crew asking for tips on what he should do to impress you. from "all you can eat buffet" to "why would i know", everyone had different answers to his question. surprisingly, sanji was the one with the best idea: a candlelight dinner.

as the night came, the table was ready. a small vase with a rose stood in the middle of it, a single candle making the mahogany towel even darker. compared to the simplicity of the table, the floor was a mess. countless candles were lit against the hard wood of the ship and any surface that was available in the room; sanji murmured that those things were clearly a safety hazard when he went to deliver the dinner, bur brook ignored his words.

when the skeleton lead you inside the room and took your blindfold off – you were a little scared when he begged for you to wear it –, you were left completely speechless. you mouth dropped and your eyes darted from the tall man to the scenery in front of you. you let yourself be pushed to sit on the chair and, after he sat down across from you, you murmured:

"shouldn't we blow out some of the candles?"

he simply chuckled and assured you that it wasn't a problem; everything there was perfectly safe and he made sure of it.

it didn't take long for you to be proven right. after you both finished eating the pasta sanji prepared – brook tried to pretend that he was the one that made it – and were just enjoying each other's company, talking about random topics, a faint smell of smoke reached your nostrils. you tried to ignore it and keep looking at your boyfriend, but a clear thin smoke thread started to come from somewhere under you two.

brook seemed to not notice, but he followed your stare as you looked down. if he had eyes, they would've popped out of their sockets; the bottom of the towel started to catch on fire. you tried to remain calm, it wasn't a big deal, it's not like that wasn't something you could easily put off just by stomping on the cloth. unfortunately, your boyfriend seemed to have different thoughts.

with a quick and rough movement, brook pulled the towel from the table, shaking it around so the fire would be put out. after he, apparently, succeeded at extinguishing the fire that was starting, the skeleton sighed deeply; relief was starting to settle in his bones when you noticed another trail of smoke appearing. this time, from his head.

"brook, you–"

"i'm sorry for this, my love! we can carry on with our date now." he noticed your worried face and tilted his skull. "what is wrong, my darling?"

"your hair is on fire." you pointed at the top of his hair and he seemed to freeze for a second.

when your words settled in, he started screeching at the top of his lungs. before you could help him and take the fire yourself, brook slammed the door open and runned to the deck of the ship. all the crew members that were close also started screaming. while luffy and chopper started to hit brook in an attempt to put out the fire, franky appeared with water and threw it on the boys. sea water.

while your boyfriend was whining on the floor, his strength leaving his bones for a moment, sanji appeared next to you, lighting up his cigarette. "he had good intentions with the date. he asked all of you about it."

you smiled softly and nodded, "i know."

2023 © content belongs to lehguru, but the characters used in them belong to their respective creators!!