#v; smash mansion

[holdingmyworldsdestiny]

@ofkoopasandtales said:

"It's been a while since I've visited. I hope I don't come at a bad time." Peach said as she bowed at her with respect. After the Smash tournaments, she decided to visit the monarch of Hyrule, just to hang out and have a good time together

"Oh, no. I finished my paperwork early today. You have come at a perfect time."

She'd started earlier, for the sake of finishing earlier. Though the guest is unexpected, it's definitely something that brightens her day. The friends she made during that event were some of the dearest to her heart. When it ended, she wasn't sure she'd ever get to see any of them again, as it meant going back to the busy work of running a country.

Though the woman remains calm outwardly, she could have jumped with joy inwardly. Maybe that's evident by the growing smile on Zelda's face.

"The rest of my day is completely free."

[holdingmyworldsdestiny]

"Your enthusiasm inspires me to keep working hard."

People who looked at things positively, adult or child, were the types of people she could really surround herself with. The woman begins, very carefully, cutting the chocolate into chunks, as to make the chips. It was definitely better to do it homemade, she had always felt. Everyone was going to love it, she was certain.

"We will need two eggs again, along with some flour. The same way as you did it last time."

"... Whoah... Princess and Sage... so you have two important roles... That's so neat!!" Junior said, thinking that was double amazing for someone from royalty. He always liked to see things with excitement.

"Oatmeal... Oh! I think I have tried them! They're good too!" Junior said with a smile. "I'm sure I will like them, princess! Don't worry!!" the Koopa Prince said eagerly. He just loved to be helping her around the kitchen.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I’ll Take the Night Shift

Pairing: Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Before you knew it, John was gone - taken from right under your nose and leaving you no choice but to retreat without him. But you would do anything to get him back, even go into the lion’s den itself.

Word Count: 15.2k

Warnings: Torture, blood & gore, V suggestive & some spicy bits, vulgar language, angst, found family tropes, eventual fluff, and comfort, injured Price would be the sweetest person idc, so much plot, briefly edited

A/N: The flashbacks are spicy because I said so. (Soap request being written after this). Enjoy!

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

You try to remember how you felt the first time they told you. Your combat vest was still on, that night vision rig still connected to your head and weighing about as much as John did when he rolled on top of you in the middle of the night. At your front rested the M13, its black and sleek metal bumping against your chest with every teetering step.

Black, on black, on black. Except for one item, hidden, kept close to heart, and even closer to mind at all hours. You were always aware of it, the metallic press that was ingrained into your body just as the caress of John’s fingers was, burning over your pulsing epidermis as it traveled.

Around your neck, your wedding ring sat heavily on its chain – gold more bright than the sun and kept safe and warm against the flesh of your breast under the numerous padded layers. Your face was bathed in sweat, lungs aflame with blood dripping from a knife puncture on your right thigh. Although the limb is bathed in crimson, the dark fabric of your pants hid most of it. But it couldn’t hide the red footprints in the dirt.

It was a Black Op in Finland – a target stashed away in a mansion that was clawing for breath in this dense forest with more viridian-colored trees than any you had seen before. Green seemed to breed in the small spaces, between rocks, up crackling bark; crunching under your black boots as you came to a shattering halt. Moss and tiny plants get crushed under your fierce steps.

If it was any other circumstance, you would have loved to drag your husband here for a vacation.

You had felt fear when they told you. Cold. Chest-tightening. Skin tingling as your limping body fought to focus on anything but the pain that was spiking in your leg, but that was simple when the words flew from Gaz’s lips with panic. Simon had stopped behind you as well, the two men dressed just as you were and holding their breath for your reaction. They knew it wouldn’t be good.

“The Captain isn’t responding. Soap can’t bloody find him.” The chill of the night was nothing compared to the dread that flooded your veins, eyes snapping forward blankly at flashing shadows as your panting breath was all at once sucked back down.

What?! Is all you can numbly think.

A brief stuttering inhalation ensues, your brain screaming as if banshees wail and smash against the bone of your skull with sharp teeth and blunt nails; tearing to try and get out. But you were not born to break at such a fickle emotion as fear in your bloodstream, or the adrenaline making your eyes vibrate. You were taught to act. 

You’re turning on your heels and hiking back to the mansion without a word or hesitation, the world around you speeding by. In a single instant, the organ in your head promptly goes silent in a fell swoop of horrified realization. Everyone left in that mansion would be dead if you got your hands on them – ripped to tiny little pieces until that which was yours was returned unharmed and conscious into your arms.

You hold the M13 tight around the stock, jimmying it into your shaking grip.

“Whoa!” Gaz rushes to get ahead of your warpath – which didn’t take much as your wound was throbbing; making your head pound something awful. 

It doesn't matter what I feel…Where is my John?

Dark hands grasp your shoulders tightly, shaking you as your lips turn into a snarl.

“Out of my way, Garrick,” You growl, face suddenly twisting into an image of pure animalistic rage, “I��m going to Soap’s position.” 

Attempting to jerk out of the man’s hold, your skin crawls at the thought of John. He always answered the comms – always stayed within eyesight of his partner when placed with another individual. Your husband did not leave men behind. He would never leave Soap behind. 

And that meant he was either dead or captured.

Your mind jumps to violent imagery. Your Captain, riddled with bullets and bleeding as he writhes in pain; left to die like a feral dog as he snaps at everything that moves. Or worse, taken and stashed away, far from you, and tortured for information. John would never break – they’d have to kill him anyway.

There was no version of this story that involved him living if you did nothing.

“Johnny isn’t at the mansion,” Ghost comments, popping up in the side of your vision as you have a stare-off with Gaz and releases the radio attached to his vest, “He was under heavy fire – had to pull back. Should be closin’ in on our position soon.” 

“I’m still going back!” Growling, you snap your arms back and shoulder past Gaz, “You’re idiots if you think I’m leaving John by himself in fucking Finland surrounded by hostiles.”

But what if he’s already dead and I don’t know it? Can I handle that?

You grunt under your breath, trying to stop the sting of your eyes.

“Love,” The younger man pleads, Kyle’s dark eyes worryingly going from your thigh to your face, “You’ve got to be bloody joking with us. If you go back to that place you’re as good as dead. We have to pull back to the Evac Point. There are too many guns – we’re outnumbered.”

When you had joined Task Force 141 you had never expected to marry the older Captain of this rag-tag bunch. It had been surprising enough that you had been spotted by the brown-haired Brit at all, only seeing him once when he had come to teach a class of rookies on Counter-Terrorism. Naturally, the two of you had struck up a conversation – or, rather, you had forced him to speak to you. But how could you not? The man was about as handsome as they came. The gruff and gravel tone that rumbled his chest, his large build reminiscent of a brown bear, and how the muscles under his shirt had rippled when you snuck up on him. Physically, he was everything you wanted, and the same went for attitude once you got to know him.

And, hell, how could you look at someone like John Price and not get entranced by his eyes? Storm gray and raging waters; you swore you could see an entire world hidden in the flecks of silver as if he was carved from stone and his soul was pure electricity. But despite all of it, his serious face had seemed warm under that beard of his and that bucket hat on his head wasn’t helping. He seemed kind enough, and that had piqued your interest as you were constantly being surrounded by less-than-respectful men in the barracks.

In fact, your first sentence to him was, “How many times have you nearly lost that hat of yours mid-Op, Sir?” 

You had snuck up while the rookies were working through a practice course down below the loft, where the two of you currently were. John’s head had snapped to the side, his constantly narrowed eyes widening a fraction. If you had to guess, he didn’t get snuck up on often. 

But he had never met you before.

His arms were attached to the collar of his vest, and you saw the fingers tighten as his shoulder-width stance tensed below him. The shouts and calls of the people below blurred as you tilted your head, blinking innocently up at him, watching his lips move with heated thoughts. 

You quite liked him looking surprised.

“Ma’am,” He utters in greeting, before letting out a deep sigh that makes you huff a laugh in turn. He seemed tired – stressed, “Very funny. Don’t suppose you’re part of the others down there, then, are you?”

“Unfortunately, no, Sir,” Your gaze filters to the flailing limbs and you watch with creasing eyebrows at the chaos, amusement deep in your blood, “I mean…they look like they’re having fun, at least.”

“Yeah, that’s a bloody exaggeration, that is,” His wrinkled forehead had creased, following the horrific sight as well, “Laswell told me that this group was promising.”

Your laugh makes his head fully turn back to you, blinking down and fighting the flick of his eyebrow in confusion.

“Oh, God, she told you that?!” Shaking your head you shifted your body to face him and stifled your chuckles. You say your name and utter out, “If you want someone who’s not going to sugarcoat things for her amusement, Captain Price, you come straight to me. Squad 5 is the one you want for Counter-Terrorism courses; certainly not 3. That’s a good way to get shot in the ass by your own guys.”

He stared at you for a long minute before his eyes flickered down to your hand; he grunted and grasped it in his own. 

You were correct – he was warm. Firm. The ingrained lines of his palms splayed over yours, and the flesh of your lips softened at the delicate way he was holding you. Like you were a prized weapon. 

And you would have it no other way.

“Just Price is fine, Ma’am. Kate mentioned you in her call…You were in Romania in ‘04, Yeah? Quite the job to do by yourself…You ever think on joinin’ a team?” 

Three months later Laswell was giving you a call saying you were getting a promotion and the rest was subtle glances that evolved into stolen touches in dark corners when no one was looking. It had been scary how instant the feelings were realized…you trusted John with your life, just as he did with you. That was the first feeling after lust and the one far before love – protectiveness for each other on the same level as wolves in a pack.

You can’t leave him behind.

“He’s the Captain–” Your lips begin to hiss out, eyes narrowed at the ground as you struggle along. You were weaker than you should have been – blood loss leaving you nearly on the ground after the retreat, “He’s my husband!”

Rage was easier than panic. Perhaps that was why John called you Lion for a callsign.

“...And you’re going to get him killed.” The remark makes you freeze. Ghost doesn’t move from behind you as the echo of his words bounces off the trees, but you feel his presence just the same as Gaz clears his throat awkwardly, “You go back, Aarre Virtanen will put a bloody bullet in ‘em. Not a chance he doesn’t.”

Aarre Virtanen. The target that had escaped the Force’s grasp like the weasel he is. Your eyes alight with rage, and cities burn in your iris. 

“You’re just about the most impulsive person I’ve ever met, Love,” John mutters into your hair, running his fingertips over the hospital gown as he lays in the bed with you. Your eyes are closed, feeling your head rise and fall with the steady breathing in the Captain's chest – damn him, the way he touched you was hypnotic; putting you to sleep where the pain meds failed.

“Hm,” You groan, digging your head deeper into his peck and feeling him chuckle velvety.

“I need to teach you how to think plans through before you commit, Yeah? Else you’re going to keep getting hurt…and we can’t have that, eh, can we Sweetheart?”

“...If you’re gonna hold me like this when I get shot, I’ll make sure to take more bullets for you from now until the end of time.”

A puff of breath and a brush of coarse beard hairs over your scalp.

“You’re hopeless, you are. What am I supposed to do with you…?”

“Probably kiss me, Sir, but I’m not picky. You can fuck me too while you’re at it.”

A shuttering of leaves rips everyone out of their arguing, and in an instant three guns are held leveled at a dense bush, shaking in the moonlight. Every moment spent with John was flashing over your eyes like you were dying. Why was your breath getting strained? Why was your grip shaking?

“Friendly! Don’t go poppin’ off shots, it’s jus’ me!” Your stance lessens at the familiar Scottish drawl, air falling from your nose in a terse sigh. 

Soap’s body pops out a second later, and you’re right next to him with a heavy heart, gripping him by the arm and digging. It was hard, holding yourself together with string and fraying cloth, but you had to. You can’t break…not now. The man's vision is locked on your face, and you don’t like the thinness of his lips as his expression is layered with guilt. 

It mirrors against the desperation in yours, leaking into the tone coating your sentence like poison.

“Little Lady, I–”

“Where is my husband, Johnny?” Your face contorts, pulling back. He was supposed to be here, why wasn't he here? He took MacTavish with him because he needed an expert to detonate a bomb in the lower mansion’s tunnel structure. He said he’d be back soon…Where is he? “Johnny, please, he can’t…” Begging has never been implemented in your life. Never.

But for John, you’d do anything. 

The man in question flinches back, the dried blood over his face catching your gaze in the dim light as you stop dead; your eyes slashed the distance between Soap’s visage and the gore over his cheeks. Up his arms. On his hands. Staining his chest like fucking finger-paint. Before you know it you’re backing up, eyelids fluttering like hummingbird wings and jumping from place to place as all you can see is red. Your hands are slippery, and you hold them limply ahead of you. 

No, no, no. No, it can’t be.

“Holy shit, Soap,” Gaz whispers, voice horrified, and you feel his hand on your back trying to steady you, “Is that…” 

Ghost’s dead eyes stay locked on the scene, narrowing behind his mask. The Scot’s head flows to the blood, quickly inhaling as his nose scrunches. His lips part in horror as he tries to calm you down, backing up a step. 

But you can’t stop seeing red.

“Hen, now don’t do that – it’s not…I…He,” He stumbles over his words, swallowing thickly as you gape. Soap growls, splaying his hands, “Steamn’ Bloody Jesus! The explosive went off prematurely, fucken’ bastard of a device – whoever made it should get his neck rung – an’ the…the tunnel collapsed with us in it,” You just stare, and you wonder if your heart can hurt any more than it already is. At your side, Gaz blows out a slow breath, and over your back, you feel his grip tighten, “I tried to get him out of the rubble, Hen. But,” He stops, and one of his hands smacks against the top of his helmet, “Virtanen’s men got there first. God,” Johnny gasps your name, “I’m so sorry.” 

But all you do is stare. 

“Love,” Garrick lightly says, his breath on the side of your face, “Love, we have to move.”

But Gaz, You want to say; scream, as your stained fingers twitch when you level them with a heavy glare, Gaz I can’t leave him here

“He’s not dead.”

Ghost grunts, fixing the position of his gun over his chest; resting on hand on the end and looking off into the trees, “They’d keep ‘em alive. Try to get answers – who he is, who sent him…” The man trails. 

Your heart fractures your ribs, ears ring like cicadas under your skin.

He’s not dead, You have to tell yourself so you don’t break down, looking at everyone around with veiled shock, He’s not dead.

The only reason the four of you were still standing around was that, in the absence of John’s leadership, you took point. It hit you suddenly, then, in that instant where the storm that was going on inside of your head was silenced. These men were under your wing – they needed you to take up the mantle; you needed to trust that John was alright. If only to keep the whole of the 141 safe and alive.

Gaz had shrapnel in his back; Soap looked like he was about to either turn around and go on a rampage or slump over with his head in his hands. And Ghost well…he was Ghost, but even so, his clothes were layered with blood and dirt. Not to mention yourself – your thigh has since gone numb.

…And we can’t stay here. 

With your heart falling into a deep hole, you school your expression. 

Don’t think about him. Don’t do it. 

Your job has never been more difficult than at that moment.

“Evac Point is a ten-minute jog. L-Laswell’s expecting us.” The voice that comes out of your mouth isn’t yours, the tone is off and the structure is shaky at best and broken at worst. There was nothing more you could do, even if you knew you could drag your way back to the mansion and start a fight. 

Gaz was right, you would die if you went back. And you can’t get John home safe if you were dead. 

The team needs you to lead them just as your husband would. 

So, avoiding all eye contact and the wide looks, you slip out of Kyle’s hold, feeling your leg sizzle with agony as you put weight on it. Garrick mutters your name, and Soap clears his stuffed throat; coughing into the night. Ghost is the one who loops his arm under your shoulders when he strides up behind you, and you flinch at the contact before closing your eyes and feeling bitter tears drip down your cheeks.

“We’ll get ‘em back, Lion,” The man glances down at you, skeletal face glowing bone white, “I give you my word.” But you don’t answer, just grimace and will away the feelings in your heart and the vomit in the back of your throat. 

This is what John would want you to do, you know that – perhaps that was the only reason you were willing to leave and reevaluate at all – but, somehow, it still felt wrong. 

Akin to betrayal.

The ring around your neck suddenly weighed more than the numb flesh of your leg as tears smack the moss mutely.

—

Laswell is sitting in the meeting room as a nurse wraps your thigh tightly. The sutures underneath pull at your flesh; making it stretch at a touch of a finger as you stand upright. The others had pleaded with you to sit down, but nothing would sway you. Not even the needle that had been going through your skin when you refused pain medication. Being on your feet made you feel better – like you were about to do something which would stop the thinness of your breath and the jump of your heart. Your weight was mostly on your uninjured limb anyhow, shifting as the affected pant’s leg was cut lengthwise and shoved aside as the gauze slowly wrapped around and around.

“When are we going after him,” You ask Kate, rubbing the sleep from your eyes but only succeeding in spreading dirt and blood all over your sockets, “I’ll be ready in five if you need me to be. All of us will.”

“Damn right,” Kyle nods, “Just give the order.” 

The blonde sighs, and the other men in the room move on their feet in unease. No one was content sitting still – one of their own was missing. Soap in particular was taking it badly; almost as broken up as you about it.

“We can’t do anything,” Your rampaging heart clenches. You had been worried about that, “This mission was Black,” Laswell’s chair squeaks as she rises, a tablet in her hands and a scowl on her face, “Legally speaking, no one was ever in Finland in the first place. A blown power box was the cause of the explosion.”

“Kate–” Gaz growls, but Soap cuts him off.

“This is clatty, Laswell!” He crosses his arms, the mohawk on his head pressed down from being in a helmet for so long making him look unhinged. When the helicopter had dropped the Force off at base, a meeting had immediately been called; that was over three hours ago, and still, nothing had been done. It was precious time, “Send out drones, recon forces, anything. Hell, send us back in – we'll take care of this.”

“Sergeant MacTavish,” Kate stares at him, and she spares a quick glance at you as the nurse stands quickly and leaves. You clench your jaw. Without John being here the room felt empty, devoid of a very important figure; you were no leader, but what choice did you have but to take charge, “Price knew the risks, and…Black Op means no take backs. He’s been in this a long time.”

“We all have,” You whisper, grunting as a shiver of fire runs up your leg. 

In the back of your subconscious, you know everyone can see how shaken you are. Your eyes constantly rove to the corners as if shadows will suddenly take form and attack, your fingers twitch as if still around the trigger of a gun; when someone mentions John’s name your hand unconsciously reaches to grasp the ring around your neck. Gaz spares you looks, reaching up to fix the position of his ball cap with tense breaths. 

Inside, the thoughts were running faster than you could catch them. Every moment you spent with your Captain – dinner dates, gifts that you told him not to buy you but he did anyways…the list went on including the moments spent together. They were distracting you. He was distracting you.

Was this how it felt to lose a vital part of you? Like torture? But your person knows what torture was like – it had never felt as painful as this before. You couldn’t recall in your memory a time when your chest had been this wound tight, fingers so shaky and weak. Your brain was what you would consider your best companion in these situations…but this was different. Common sense had abandoned you in the form of a square brown-bearded face and strong arms.

God, John, You press your fingers into your eyes until you see stars, Please be okay. Please. I’ll be there soon. J-just wait for me.

There was another voice as well, telling you that if you just told yourself he was okay you could get through this easier. You could break later – you needed to focus on getting your husband back.

That was all that mattered.

Laswell scratches at the back of her neck, and your hands fall back to your sides.

“We can’t do anything,” Kate repeats, and the subtle change in phonics leads your head to snap up. Her deep blues were already staring at you; boring into your soul. The others perked up as well when your body stills, listening with predatory attention, “Shame. I heard the target was planning on being at a get-together in a week at his property in Poland.”

Your pulse stills, and you find your wavering voice, “...Can’t fault the man, he has a weapon-smuggling business to run…He’ll need more potential clients.”

“Hm,” The boys look back and forth with bright eyes, teeth showing as their lips peel back, “Affirm.” Laswell saunters to leave the room, slipping past you. But before she brushes against your shoulder her face tilts to you. You smell her scent – bark and coarse linen – as she speaks, “You might want to clean up the armory and get your gear repaired. John wouldn’t stand for his team looking like shit it if he was here.”

Kate saunters out the door, and you watch her back as the barrier closes, standing in silence. Sucking down a slow breath, your gaze filters back to the boys only to find them already staring at you. 

“Well,” Clearing your throat, your eyebrows twitch, “You heard her. We can’t do anything…officially.”

“I’d say we better go clean up, then,” Soap grunts, crossing his arms over his chest, and nodding his head to you, “Head off and get a good sleep.”

Gaz and Ghost spare glances, but look about as ready as you are. 

“You sure you’re up for this, Love?” Garrick asks motioning toward your leg with a head nod as he moves closer, “We have no problem doing this by ourselves.”

“I took my vows just the same as he did,” You respond immediately, gripping the younger man by the shoulder and sending a small, weak, smile, “You think he’d stay behind if it was me?”

“I think he’d rather let Soap make him tea again. And we know how that went last time.”

You huff out a sound that resembles a laugh, but the Scot in question refuses to look at you; your eyes catch Ghost sending you glances before he motions with his head to the man. Turning to Gaz you nod.

“You take Simon and get the gear ready. We’re leaving tomorrow first thing.”

“Copy, Ma’am.”

Ghost pats your skull once before disappearing, “Keep your head on, Lion.” 

The door once more closes, and silence overtakes the small room. Taking a deep breath that fills you with a wave of ease – even if for a moment – you focus on the second big problem after a brief second to close your eyes and think. 

Johnny.

He avoids your gaze; fidgets with his hands more than he usually does. The men of the 141 were dear to you and in a way, the entirety of it was a big family of people who really didn’t belong anywhere but with each other. You cared about them more than you cared about yourself – one of them was your husband, but the rest were your brothers. 

“You remember when I took a metal rod right through my lower leg?” You begin, hobbling closer and nearly laughing when the man takes a step forward to help with a grimace set on his lips. You raise a hand to stop him, “In Egypt about two summers ago?”

“You shoved me out of the way and got hurled through a window by a bastard with a knife, Hen. Landed in an industrial yard,” You stop a foot or two from him, attempting to get his attention while he stares at his feet and mutters like a kicked dog, “Yeah. Remember it clear as day. Price nearly had my head – knew right here that he was gonna marry you.”

The comment warms your heart.

“Did I ever blame you for standing near that window, Johnny?” You ask softly, tilting your head and catching his eye as he clenches his jaw in thought. The scar on the pale skin moves, and his stubble bunches.

“Never, Ma’am.”

“Then why would I ever blame you for an explosive that went off spontaneously – one that you didn’t even build in the first place?” 

He stays silent at that, but his head slowly rises to face yours fully. You had never seen him look so guilty before, those blue eyes of his so hopeless.  

“I couldn’t get ‘em out,” Soap whispers and before you know it you’re grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into an embrace, “I left him behind. How could I…?”

There was still blood on him, stuck in the makeup of his flesh like large bruises; dried, yes, but you nonetheless felt it. You found, though, that at that second, it didn’t bother you as much as it should have. The Sergeant’s arms hesitantly wrap around you and when you feel him press forward with his weight, your form loses tension. 

“No one blames you, Johnny,” He's shaking when you tell him, “No one. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Price,” Your throat tightens, “John knows how to handle himself, you know he would never be mad at you for retreating.”

Soap wetly laughs and places his chin on the top of your head; playing it off with a chuckle as the minutes stretch on, “I’ll just have to believe you then, Lion. Who’s to say I can go against my superior?”

Your arms tighten around him as a snort meets air, “You say that and when we get the real Captain back, I might not want to give up the position. The power’ll go straight to my head.”

“And it hasn’t already? Now that’s surprising, I could have sworn you were telling the others what to do not a second ago.”

There he was. 

—

“I’m just saying, John, Fantasy beat out Nonfiction as a genre,” You shake your head, bringing the cup of coffee to your lips and sipping. Over the rim, you watch the Brit toss his beanied head to the side in disbelief.

“Negative, Dear,” The Café was mostly empty today, considering that it was so late at night you were surprised it was still open and that it was a Tuesday, “I’ll agree to disagree.”

“Name me one Nonfiction book that beats ‘The Hobbit,’ hm?” Your eyebrow raises and you place the cup down, “That’s right – you can’t!” 

“‘The Guns of August’ to name one,” John raises a large brow, “do you want me to continue, Love? I’ve got quite the long list.” 

It was one of the rare moments when the two of you had Leave together – once in a blue moon. These moments were so special it became tradition to spend every moment together despite the wounds or the fatigue. You both had just gotten back from an Op and rushed to change into civilian clothes and clean up together before leaving.

Admittingly, the shower took a bit longer than expected, but who could blame the two of you for taking advantage of a chance to please one another? 

Across the table, your lover smirks, and you see his eyes dip to ogle the hickeys and beard burn on your neck with satisfaction. Under the table, you reel back a foot and kick his shin. Not hard, of course, but the message was received.

“Bloody Hell!” He sputters, looking back to glare comedically at you. His black athletic shirt was tight around his chest, making his muscles writhe under the fabric from where one arm sat over the back of his chair. You could imagine where you left nail marks down those abs of his; how his face had looked as you straddled his waist and used him.

“Don’t look so smug, bastard,” Your lips pull into an imitation of an annoyed frown, “Gaz is gonna make fun of me when we get back. I had a hard enough time trying to hide them when we were leaving!”

“Garrick?” John grunts from across the small table and the warm lights flicker above the two of you. His lips set forth a small smile, pulling his cheeks back and crinkling his eyes. The corner seat was the best in the café – allowing both privacy and a view of the windows and doors. Some things would just never die in the two of you, it seemed, “The Muppet can’t even pin you in drills, Sweetheart. If he teases you, just kick his legs out from under ‘em.”

“Encouraging violence between peers is not Captain behavior, Love. What would Laswell say?”

John grunts, “I couldn’t give a damn, Dear.”

While you roll your eyes and try to hide the adoring smile ripping open your skin at the man’s chuckle, you take notice of the street outside as time moves on. Staring out, your soft gaze dances over the illuminated areas of the street lights, finding old architecture and simply enjoying the scenery for what it was. When you were in the field, it was hard to take in the sights around you through the gun battles and tense situations; being able to take your time and admire was a gift. A calm silence falls over the café, and John hums gingerly from ahead of you as his knee brushes yours under the table.

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” Blinking, you connect your eyes with his lovely blues. 

The way he’s looking at you leaves your lungs tight, lashes fluttering over your cheeks as heat alights. His body had moved forward, hands and elbows on the table and leaning forward to gaze at you in reverence. 

“John?” Your eyebrows turn in, lips flicking to a gentle expression of giddy embarrassment.

“Shh, Love,” He mutters, tilting his head to stare at you as your fingers fix the weight of his lent brown leather jacket over your shoulders, “Let me admire my wife, yeah? She gets lovelier every second.”

In your own little world, your head is floating as your eyes stay locked on an ocean with flecks of silver and storms. The air is thick, and around the leather, your fingers twitch with a want to embrace him; pull at the fabric of his shirt and rip him into a kiss over the table. Your heart skips beats.

Where was this coming from? You want to ask, but all that comes out is a huff as you tear your half-lidded eyes away.

“You’re making me all shy,” You grumble cheeks hot and on fire under the flesh. Your lips try to restrain a giggle, but your chest is too tight to hold anymore.

“That’s my job, that is. No use tryin’ to stop me now; you’re stuck with me.”

“I will kick you again,” You emphasize as fire burns down your neck and ears, heart suddenly too big for your body.

“Hm, I’d let you.”

“J-Johnathan Price!”

His chest-shaking laughter is contagious in the best possible way.

—

He remembers the explosion and then nothing more. It was like a ball of fire, carried on the wind before Soap even had the time to call out a detonation time; the device went off in the deep tunnels after the order had already been given to fallback. The fire was too heavy – you had taken a blade to the thigh and that had been it. John had called it off immediately.

Just when he and Soap were about to rush to the exit, the bomb went off without call or meaning. The tunnels were part of an old wine cellar – the target had converted them to be a quick back exit if anything went wrong and he needed to disappear. 

The entire purpose of John taking Soap with him was to collapse the long stretches of rock and wooden support beams; to box Aarre Virtanen in the mansion like a bear in a trap but, of course, these missions could never go simply. 

He remembers the explosion, and then nothing more. 

The pressure of rock on his chest and gripping hands. Was Soap the one yelling at him to wake up? Shoving off the debris and ripping at his gear with grunted breaths? The barked orders were getting closer from all over.

Muppet, he should have just run. 

But then the heavy presence had disappeared, and John knew he had been left behind; his thoughts, before it all left him, were only of you. How would you take it? The fact that he wasn’t coming home with you was sure to induce you into a rampage of gritted teeth and hurled curses. That was, perhaps, the worst thing that could happen. He prayed for one simple thing – that, no matter what, the boys would convince you to hold back. 

And then he woke up in the room.

It was small; barren of anything besides the chair John was tied to. Under his feet was a drain, the silver metal glinting as the chilling overhead light cascaded down and left him blinking rapidly to push back the instinctual tears gathering in his ducts. As John moves his neck, it pops, making his jaw clench even as the bones ache deep under the layers of black and blue flesh.

His whole body hurts.

Blood is dried over his skin, and the world around him pulses as the stab of broken bones moves inside of him. 

Concussion, He assesses, moving his wrists under the tight hold of rope from where they’re restricted behind his back; tied to the back of the metal seat. Still unable to focus his eyes, he continues to go down the list of injuries, broken ribs, John sucks in a sharp breath when he attempts to rotate his left ankle, and broken Fibula and Tibia. Bruises and lacerations everywhere…shit.

But were you alright? Was the knife wound treated, wherever you were? Did Mactavish get out?

Groaning deep in his throat, the Captain shakes his head, noticing immediately the familiar weight of his gear was absent – his bucket hat and night-vision rig are gone as are the combat vest and M13. But under his shirt, one item is still there, pressed into his skin deeply. 

Golden metal. The wedding band. At the very least, that item could bring him a sliver of comfort.

Narrowing his eyelids and scrunching his large nose, a bead of blood travels down a gash above his eyebrow. 

“Fucken’ hell,” John growls, grunting and groaning as he forces his neck to right itself, lower body jerking forward to help relieve the pressure on his midsection. 

Finally, the water over his eyes dissipates like a wave in the ocean and his ears cease ringing. But the buzzing of the light quickly takes its place and his nose twitches at the stench of black mold and gore. Everything was concrete – the walls, floors. Blinking, John’s eyes quickly snap around the room to take it all in; trying to find the weak points that may come in handy later. 

There was only one door and no windows. When the Brit tried the rope around his wrists he found it was bound incredibly tight, even making the skin irritated at the slightest movement.

“Bloody bastard,” The Captain weakly mutters under his breath, shuffling in his seat, “First you stab my wife then you tie me up, is that it?” 

Struggling does nothing but serve to make John angrier, and the pain can easily be thrown to the side when his thoughts run to you. They always did, but now more than ever, considering he didn’t know if you had also gotten captured and were only a concrete barrier away.

While he tries to force down the floating feeling of his brain, a sharp cough works its way from his mouth, jerking his body back and forth raggedly. John is so out of it that he missed the sound of the door opening, the violent squeaking of the metal hinges, and the scrape of concrete. Heavy shoes pound over the floor, and when the air finally returns to his rampaging lungs, blue eyes lock onto the man.

 Aarre Virtanen stands with his hands behind his back, a smug expression staining his perfect, unscathed, face. The Target wasn’t more than thirty, dressed in a nice expensive suit and dress shoes on his feet shining with more polish than Price could begin to wrap his head around. 

Muppet, The characterization was almost instantaneous, Pompous little Muppet. Lion would eat ‘em for bloody breakfast.

John raises a brow slowly as a dribble of blood slides down his nose and gets caught in his beard hairs. The two men stare at one another, eyes clashing. 

“I’d like to imagine,” Aarre smirks down at the Captain, “That whoever sent you planned on my life being forfeit. Unfortunately,” John has to stop himself from laughing in his face, “As you can see, Sir, I am very much alive.”

Narrowing his gaze, Price runs down the length of Aarre’s twig-like form – Not much of a Smuggler, is he? His picture made him look bigger.

But all that meant was that he had others to do the dirty work for him, and John knew that, whatever basement he was cramped into, was guarded heavily just beyond eyesight. 

The chances of escape were drawing up dry, and his tongue ran over his teeth. 

“The real question is, however,” The thin man speaks, coming closer with a careful step. Nose twitching, the Brit can smell the disgusting odor of violent perfume; his head rears back in disgust that the Smuggler takes as fear. Aarre leans closer, “Who might you be? Your little friends managed to slip my grasp, but we got that bitch in the thigh–”

John’s head moves forward so fast all that was seen was a blur, and soon after a cracking of a nose meets damp air. 

A muffled yell echoes off the cracked walls like a satisfactory reward to the Captain’s ears, and the brown-haired individual quickly shakes his head to the side to clear the bouncing of his skull.

Definitely a concussion. He hisses and rips at the bindings behind his back; all that gets him is bloody skin and blisters.

“You,” Aarre is stumbling backward, one hand grasping his broken and bleeding nose. Crimson splatters on the floor and ragged breathing rattle chests from both parties, quivering around the room, “You…p-pathetic little shit. Fuck!”

His tears only serve to make John smile, cheeks pulling back as a humorless chuckle enters the air. Feral satisfaction lives in his flesh.

“You better watch your language there, Mutt. It’s not proper to insult a lady who can’t be here,” John’s tone drops, nearly a growl as the deep rumble leaves a hunched over Aarre flinching back; the Captain’s teeth are bared like an animal. Feet sound off in the hallways – rushing boots booking it down a set of descending stairs, “To knock your fucken’ teeth in herself!” 

Blood spits from John’s lips at the hiss, and his limp feet over the floor slump to the side as his legs fall open, body raging forward as if he could break the restraints. He wanted to – wanted to bash this little bastard's skull against the floor until he was unrecognizable. 

How dare he say that? How dare he call you that?!

Pain could be shoved aside in this case, his anger was so overpowering when it came to you that it simply didn’t bother him. You defended him just as religiously, and John’s mind flies to glimpse a fast memory of you physically getting in the face of a man who had insulted him over some pointless football game at a bar. 

“You better mind your tone,” You had spoken slowly, face calm and the perfect example of hidden rage shimmering under the surface. The Brit watched from the corner of his eye with a smirk on his lips; not at all opposed to letting you pick your battles and feeling his heart skip beats when his title falls, “When speaking to my husband like that.” 

Aarre’s guards rushed through the door, guns held in hands, all immediately leveled on John’s head. 

“Don’t!” The target gasps out, slapping one of the barrels to the floor and straightening himself, “Don’t.”

A deep smirk spreads the still-falling stream of crimson over the sides of his lips; the brown-haired man’s muscles are tense, stringing him up like a wire or a snake ready to strike. Torture was elementary to him, he’d gone through it all before and none of it had ever worked. He could take it, as long as you were far away from here.

“He’s going to have a buyer,” John’s eyes minutely widened in surprise, caught off guard, “Prep him for the flight to Poland. Don’t bother being gentle…the staff won’t mind if he comes in a bit damaged.”

—

Your fingers flinch forward as you shove the sapphire earring into your ear, the sharp point poking out the other end before you shove the backing on. Taking a deep breath, you feel the car under you bounce right as you ask your question.

“Gaz?” Lips thinning, you look through the limo’s glass separator and grimace at the man’s reflection in the mirror, “Are you sure no one knows what we look like? No one at the mansion saw our faces?”

“Lion, I’m promising you – it was too dark, and we were moving too fast for ‘em to get a clear picture.”

“Hm,” You grunt, flattening out the brown fur jacket over your form-fitting gown. The navy blue color was deep, reminding you of a Lapis Lazuli stone with veins of silver reflected in the jewelry around your throat and wrists. 

Poland was cold this time of year, and as the expensive buildings whizzed past just outside the glass, your breath created condensation. 

You were nervous, heeled feet shuffling over the tufted floor of the vehicle and sucking down slow breaths as a way to slow your heart. It had been a week without John at your side, and all the makeup in the world couldn’t hide the bags that had sprouted under your eyes; sleep had come in bouts of quick fatigue but then left just as swiftly. Your body wouldn't relax – couldn’t – until your husband was right beside you once more. 

And if he was already dead…

Your hand goes to itch at your neck, catching on the necklaces, one specifically, before you force it back down with quivering effort. Attempting to shake out your head, your ribs suddenly feel like they’re strangling your organs, and all you want to do is take off this damn dress.

Kyle utters your name from the driver’s seat, and when you blink over to look at him, you find his eyes already staring back.

“When I went missing in the Congo – you raised hell to go and find me,” He tells you, focus flicking back and forth from the road to you, “If anyone can get intel on Price and bring him back, Love, it’s you. He’ll be just fine until then, yeah? Bloke’s probably already out and rushing to get back to you.”

“Think so?” Your lips form a smile, and on your forehead, a brow raises. John was stubborn, there was certainly a chance he was already free.

“Know so, Ma’am. Just you wait and see.” Snorting, you return to looking out the window, breath now noticeably more even. 

There weren't many people who could make you keep a conscience; when you worked alone before 141 it was because no one else could keep up with your spontaneous plans or ideas. You were described in your file as a quick-witted and cunning nuisance for anyone on the opposite end of your weapon – whether that be your tongue or an actual gun just depended on the Op. But John and the other boys were more of a good influence than a bad one; in many ways, they were just the same as you. 

Sometimes it felt nice to have people that understood you. Your actions, the small tics that gave away how you were feeling. No one else could do it like Task Force 141, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The rest of the ride was silent, and soon the city was peeling back to show off more extravagant houses with iron gates and cobblestone walkways. Properties the size of football fields take up your view, and your eyes blink at the extravagance; all you can’t help but wonder about is if the people that live there even know how many rooms they have.

When Gaz makes the final turn onto Aarre Virtanen’s land, you suck down a deep breath. 

There were so many lights that the night sky is nearly re-illuminated with a bath of warmth – the people already inside can be heard out in the air, a chorus of phantoms just beyond eyesight who sing with alcoholic breath and gasp down smoke. You had been to many parties to infiltrate high-level organizations, but never had the stakes been so high. 

Or so illegal. 

When the car in front of you pulls out of the roundabout driveway, Garrick pushes on the gas to take its place. A moment of steel silence rings. 

“Earpiece?” Gaz reminds softly, and you nod in response, tapping the appendage on your right side.

“Earpiece.”

“Alright…The rest of us’ll be listening – I’ll circle ‘round and be inside in an hour and Ghost is already there. He’s the waiter wearing the silver Jackal mask serving champagne near the back window. If anything goes wrong, Soap’s our sniper on the roof of the neighbor's house. Say the word and he starts popping shots to give you an exit.”

“Affirm,” Your hand is already reaching for the door, but the man stops you one last time with your name. You find his creased eyes in the mirror, brown a deep shade of concern.

“...You look beautiful, Love, Yeah? I’m sorry the Cap. isn’t here to see you like this – he’d lose his damn mind. Go all slack-jawed and trip over his own feet; God, I’d pay to see that.”

Lips delicately slide into a smile, and your face heats at the compliment. Letting out a light chuckle, you whisper, “I’ll see you in an hour, Sergeant.” 

“Count on it. Stay out of trouble ‘till then?”

“Trouble? Since when have I ever gotten into trouble?” When you sneak out the door, a light chuckle bounces off the doors before they close, and your heels click against the ground like nails on a desk. 

With a bitter determination entering your blood, your expression eases into a look of smug superiority as you begin to move forward and ascend the steps in front of the mansion. 

Virtanen was inside those doors, and your ears twitch, listening to Gaz peel the car away into the night; plucking out the forged invitation from your jacket pocket, you can’t help but call John forward to memory. Carefully maneuvering your way up the last flight of stairs, you reach the doors and imagine your husband right behind you, clothed in a suit and tie like the one he wore to your wedding, waiting to take you by the arm and lend you strength. 

Keep me aware, You want to ask his phantom, Make me see the hidden details so I can bring you home to me. 

Invitation in hand – which Ghost had to go through quite the killing spree to get accurate – your lips flick into an easy smirk.

Your silver tongue would come in handy tonight, but you hoped you weren’t too tired to miss important social cues. You needed to figure out where John was by tonight, or there was the possibility of losing him forever. Aarre Virtanen was the target yet again, and you would do whatever was necessary to get information to spill from his mouth like prayers; the party was an obvious front to impress buyers. 

And you could play that part quintessentially. 

“Hello, Handsome,” Purring, you move fluidly, body swaying as you come to a stop, letting your fur jacket slip down around your elbows and display a delicious amount of skin around your adorned neck, “So sorry you’re stuck out here in the cold, I can’t imagine what a bore it’s been.”

The man couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, eyes wide as they bore into your form from behind a silver mask depicting a bird of prey. His eyes slip, and a very audible swallowing of saliva makes his throat jerk – the poor individual's face was undoubtedly beet-red, seen extending down his neck and ears. 

“I-It’s really no problem, Ma’am,” He stutters, grabbing the slip of paper from your outstretched hand and barely opening it before he shoves it back into your chest, “You’re all good! Please, enjoy the hospitality of Sir Aarre Virtanen to the fullest of your abilities.”

“Why,” You show an all-teeth smile, “I’m sure I will.” 

Slipping through when he opens the door, a woman in a cat mask offers to take your jacket to the coatroom, which you agree to immediately, and disappears a second later. 

“Did you just flirt with the doorman, Hen?” Soap’s voice nearly startles you, but with a subtle flick of your hair, you play off the flinch as you step through the extensive foyer; slipping past other well-dressed individuals to make it to the ballroom, “Tch, naughty, naughty.”

“You’d be surprised,” You mutter and send a polite smile to a man who ogles your form, his eyes boring into your flesh, “How fast people can look over an invitation if you give them an incentive. Simon’s forger misspelled the street name.”

“Bloody fucken’ bastard,” Ghost growls lowly under the line. 

“So vulgar, Simon,” You smirk, waltzing into the marble-floored ballroom and clearing yourself a path with wide eyes and stares, “We’re at a party. Aren’t you excited?”

“You’re not the one holding a damn plate of champagne, Little Lion. Feelin’ like I might bash someone over the head if they wave me over with a fucken’ finger again. Like I’m some damn mutt.”

Stifling a deep laugh, your fingers splay over your lips, “Easy, boy. Don’t go barking up the wrong tree.”

All you hear in return is a grumble and a muffled giggle from Soap. Gaz is most likely scrambling to get his tux on and tie a bowtie like how you taught him on the far street corner back in the city. Slowly, but surely, it was coming together. 

Soon, You tell yourself and imagine a steady hand splayed over your back; digging into your skin.

“Excuse me?” A presence slips up to your left, and you turn with a slow head and an even slower smile. Already, your cheeks were hurting from the constant fake expression.

“Oh, hello, Love,” It’s a man who wears an all-black outfit, fitted with silver buttons and a red pocket square, “How can I help you?”

“That’s one of the target’s guards,” Soap slithers out over the line, “Saw ‘em scheming not five minutes ago near the snack bar.” 

“I was wondering if such a beautiful woman might not humor me. I’m in desperate need of company for the auction later this evening.” Your smile turns deadly, a glint forming in your eye that should have deterred anyone who saw it – but sometimes people overlook the snake in the grass if it’s pretty, regardless of its fangs. 

Getting close to this man got you close to Aarre. Your hand reaches up to caress the wedding ring on its chain.

“Well, how could I say no to such a dashing man? But you must tell me, where did you purchase your tux? My brother has been looking for one that looks the same; you understand, of course, the kind that hugs the body just right…”

—

“You’re a fucken’ minx, you are,” John moans under you, hips sputtering and jaw clenched. He’s panting as you finally slip off of him, choosing to collapse to the bed just by his side with a breathy sigh. Your legs are still shaking, but the deep-rooted ache of pleasure takes hold in your lower body nonetheless.

Chuckling while sucking down breaths, you smirk and turn your head to the side, finding deep blue already digging into your skin despite the glaze over the orbs. Perspiration leaks down his flushed forehead, getting caught in the hairs of his eyebrow before you reach up, and flick it away with a firm finger.

“And you’re a lousy bottom, Captain, how many times did I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” You ask, eyeing the way the brown strands of John’s hair stick up at odd angles with growing amusement. He looked like a porcupine, “You don’t listen very well. I’ll have to fix that.”

“Damn woman,” He groans, turning his head away with a huff escaping his lips. Your ears twitch when he cracks his neck, stifling a chortle behind your fingers as he levels you with an unamused look, “Need to figure out a way to tire you out quicker. Gettin’ too old for this.”

“Hm,” Rolling your eyes, you shift till you’re laying on your stomach, legs sliding over the ruffled sheets, “I like you like this. Just perfect.”

“Yeah? Tell that to my hips, Love.” Now that really gets a laugh out of you, hiding your face down in the covers for a moment and feeling John’s eyes lovingly gracing down the curve of your spine.

Reaching over, your fingers grab onto the bare skin of his toned thigh and pinch.

Grunting in surprise, the Captain’s hand snaps to your wrist and grasps it as your giggles fill the air with softness. You turn your head up and rest your chin on your free hand, looking over and letting your eyes wash down John’s physique; a primal sense of possessiveness leaks into you when you know no one else gets to see him like this. The nail marks track down his pecks, over his abs and deliciously lower atop his navel, and over his neck and collarbone is the fresh array of black and blue hickeys. Just like you, his heart was still racing, seen moving under the skin.

He looked positively, beautifully, wrecked. The Captain’s eyes never left yours, side-eyeing you with a half-open mouth. A small sigh leaves his red lips.

“C’mere,” John mutters, and you squeak when his grip is suddenly pulling you right up next to his chest so that you were more than half lying on top of him. 

Moaning out in contentment when you feel his heat leak into you, your body goes limp against the man; leg thrown over his upper thigh. Eyelashes flutter over your cheek when his large hand keeps you against him, settling on your ass heavily. He squeezes gently in payback for the pinch, and you smile, knowing he can feel it against his chest by the way he purrs like a cat as you press a kiss to his sweat-slick flesh.

The moment of content silence leads long, but just when your eyelids are nearing their final shut is when you hear it, muttered on teeth-bitten lips for the first time, though it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Love you, my Sweet Girl,” John mutters deeply into the air, but you’re already drowned in sleep, satisfied and more at ease than ever before.  

But no matter, he’d just tell you again in the morning; make you say the same as he gripped your hips and used his tongue for more…carnal types of confessions. 

You had no idea at that moment, but two years from that day, you’d both be married. Husband and wife in every sense – bonded and promised to each other until the sun and moon collided; till every city burned and only dust remained. 

There was really no other pair so carefully crafted than the two of you. 

—

“Here you are, Lovely,” The guard, whose name is Mikael, hands you a champagne glass as you both stride forward to the bidding room. It had been two hours of entertaining this man – dancing, flirting, brushing off compliments that made you want to hurl – but none of that mattered. No matter the cost, you would see this done with a smile and a knife through Virtanen’s eye.

“Thank you,” You sing, toasting with him and taking a slow sip. The liquid sits bitterly in your stomach, a rock that bounces around with every clipped step. 

Choosing back-row seats, you sit in what could be described as a theater of sorts and place the glass on the floor. There was a large stage at the front, with rows upon rows of plush chairs.

How many people are here to buy smuggled contraband? You can’t help but wonder silently, eyes wide as more and more people flood through the doors.

“Do you usually get so many buyers?” Asking Mikael sweetly, you keep your gaze moving, filing every face into the back of your mind for later. 

His hand moves to rest on the back of your seat, and you have to hold back a grimace, “This is more than the last times, but, uh…well,” Sensing hesitation, you shift closer and peer up into his eyes, blinking innocently and smiling.

“Well…what?” 

You swore you heard Soap gag over the line and soon after a sharp shushing sound. At your side, Mikael’s expression gets giddy, pupils dilating as his vision darts down to your dress before righting itself. 

“My boss has got something good tonight – a new piece of merchandise that everyone wants to get their hands on. Apparently, some people here have been waiting for a score like this for years.”

“Oh?” Wondering aloud, you lean back out of Mikael’s hold with a furrowed brow and ignore his light huff of annoyance in your ear. 

Narrowing your eyes, you scrunch your nose at the thought.

‘New piece of merchandise?’ What the hell could that mean? The target mostly specializes in weapons – certain ones that are manufactured so that they can’t be traced…what could be so new?

“It’s starting, here,” The guard whispers as the lights dim, and hands you a golden-colored bid paddle designed with lace-like designs. You twirl it in your hands with an unimpressed look.

“How pompous can this guy get?” You mutter under your breath and startle when Ghost’s voice pipes up.

“Get me a new G18, yeah? Johnny lost my last one.” Resisting the sudden urge to cover up your face and hide your smile, you lightly hum in the back of your throat.

“I did not!” Soap starts a ruckus as the Auctioneer comes onto the stage, and you ignore the fast man’s voice as he begins a bid for a stack of RPGs – wheeled out in a crate by three other individuals in animal masks – in favor of the amusing argument, “I told ya’ where you could blood find it.”

“It was in the middle of an active war zone, MacTavish.”

“You’ve never complained about it before, ya’ bawbag. Canny be my fault if you don’t go an’ get it.” The Scots accent gets more prominent as the Auctioneer sells the current merchandise to a couple sitting two rows down, “‘I lost it’...utter shite.”

Gaz groans and you see a shadow near the door, leaning on the wood from the corner of your eye. The badly presented bowtie gives away who it is – you’d have to have John teach him how to do it properly when you got him back.

“Would the two of you shut up? Bloody hell, I’m about to scream.” 

The bickering went on for a while, making your tight chest just a little looser. John would be proud of them. 

“Finally,” The Auctioneer calls out, yelling over the crowd, “The grand attraction for tonight – a product put forward by our esteemed host Mr. Virtanen!” 

Your body straightens, spine tensing, as Mikael tries to get your attention fruitlessly to talk about a product he won. You ignore the guard, watching with a unique type of hatred as the weasel of a man swishes his way on stage from behind the red curtain. Immediately all conversation in your ear is halted, and try as you might, a growl builds in your throat.

“Easy, Lion,” Simon mutters, but all you see is red; red around an expensive tux and a lithe form of the man who had stolen away your husband from you without thinking of the consequences. The bandages over his nose gives you cruel satisfaction that someone, whoever they were, had gotten a hit in.

You had half the mind to tell Soap to take the shot but knew that if you did, John would be lost forever. Your Captain had always said violence and timing were the most important aspects of a mission – you had to politely disagree. 

Ops could be accomplished without violence, though it was rare, it could still happen on occasion and timing was all relative. One person could say it was time to act while a million others disagreed; this was shown in your case. You wanted to rush the stage, tackle the thief, and beat his head in – Gaz, Soap, and Ghost would all disagree, of course, but that was because you were thinking only about John and nothing else. 

What really mattered was cunning and drive. You had the silver tongue, and you, without a doubt, had the drive to see this through. 

But nothing could have prepared you for what came next. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aarre Virtanen called out, his thin face ugly and punchable, “May I present the star of tonight's bidding wars – an esteemed and highly sought-after mystery man! Captain Jonathan Price!” 

The curtain rolled back, and, tied to a chair with a light shining above his head, was John. Beaten. Bloodied. Barely recognizable besides the tufts of his brown locks and the glittering of golden metal under the ragged remains of his clothes. You can see his wedding band around his neck, and you go to grip your own in a flashing second. There was so much blood. Your heart ceased working, body suddenly very numb and stone-still despite the heat in it, as if you had been shot in the throat and all you could do was gasp out in panic. And gasp you did. It was involuntary, instinctual, like you could feel every ounce of pain and agony that he was undoubtedly in deep in your own marrow. 

What?! 

A loud, horrified, sound rips from your throat; the air was hard to suck down as your hand snapped to your mouth, muffling the exclamation of terror. Your eyes are so wide you’re afraid they’ll pop out of their sockets as you lightly hunch into yourself like a bug.

“Now, now!” Aarre Virtanen continues over the muttering of the crowd, oblivious to your panic in the back row. Mikael is giving you strange looks, lightly pulling away from you in confusion at your reaction; you don't register any of it, “I know what you’re thinking, my lovely patrons, but I can say without a doubt that this man–” He points to the limp figure, “Is the one and only Johnathan Price! Do you want to know why?” The crowd cheers, and in that instant you want to torch the entire building and laugh as it burns to the ground, “Because he and his precious 141 tried to attack me on my own property! The idiot’s explosive went off before they could run!”

Over the ruckus of gleeful laughter, Soap on the line is hissing curses under his breath, voice heated and full of hatred. 

What I’m I supposed to do? Your mind’s running. For the first time in your career, you can’t focus clearly. Gaz is saying something in your ear, his shadow slinking closer step-by-step, and Ghost is nowhere to be seen or heard. 

Oh, John, You feel like crying, eyes running from one injury to another as if he were just a punching bag – his body was broken, but still, you knew he hadn’t given anything away. In the chair, you can see the small inhalations of his lungs, jumpy and shaking, but he was still breathing.

“How did they figure out his name?” Simon grunts over the line, and his tone is the only one unaffected by emotion, even if you could feel the anger wafting out and mirroring your own. 

His dog tags, You want to tell them, He keeps them in his vest pocket because he said he wanted to wear his wedding band instead. 

Your hand tightens over your matching piece, one half of a promise to protect one another even in the direst of circumstances. 

Freezing, you snap back into focus as the bidding starts with Aarre Virtanen laughing and clapping on stage like some demented jester. So be it. Your mind halts and a rage-induced calm encompasses you as your eyes stick like glue to John. Tossing the joke of a bid paddle at a startled Mikael’s lap and slipping past him, your heels connect with the floor with muffled thumps, carrying you down the middle of the aisle. 

“Ma’am–!”

“Lion, what in the bloody hell are you doing?!”

“Playing the game,” You growl over the chaos in the comm, “Gaz, find a way to get on stage from behind one of the curtains,” People are starting to turn and look at you now, accusing glances that bounce off you like flies, “Soap, have a line of sight of the target – do not let him stray from it no matter what. And Ghost,” Your heart is speeding when Virtanen’s gaze snaps to yours, expression blanking. John groans weakly from where his head is downturned, and you can’t help but take a shaky breath at the sound, “Go find out where they store the sold items. Find something that’ll come in handy. Take out anyone you need, I give full Execute Authority.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” They all say it at once, and the line goes silent not a second after, flipped off so everyone can remain focused. Steeling your body, you put on a cloak of indifference, even as your eyes bug and sweat stains your palms – the stakes had never been this high, and if you messed this up…

The both of you would be going home in body bags. 

If I had known he was going to be here, I would have come more prepared. A knife in a carry bag or a hairpin – Something. But John had stated before that he loved you for your intuition. 

You simply needed to move your pawn piece and hope it wasn’t in the way of a bishop.

Sliding over your husband's slumped body once more, you have to rip your gaze away, else your cover be blown and everything falls apart before it’s begun as a sting forms in the back of your nose.

Just a little longer, Love, just hold out a little bit longer.

The Auctioneer halts when you stand just below the slightly higher plateau of the platform, and Aarre digs into your body with his dead face, body bent to stare down at you. All around you, the world is deathly quiet. A minute…two…

“And who might this be?” Virtanen spits, lips pulling into a sneer as his eyes crinkle, “I don’t have to tell you, Dear, that all purchases are final.”

Don’t look at John. Don’t look at him. 

“You said this is Johnathan Price?” Your voice carries; it's stronger than you would have imagined, even as your legs shake, “Well, I don’t believe you.” You swore then that your Captain’s head moved slightly, his face turning to the side, but you can’t be sure. 

Gasps are hidden behind hands and handkerchiefs.

“...What?” The smug look on the man's face falls in an instant, just as you had hoped it would – Virtanen relied on his power; ego, and unquestioned superiority. What you had to do first was break it down to a point where he was frothing at the mouth, “What is it that you are implying? That I would…lie to my loyal customers?!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Your feet carry you away to the stairs, scaling them up to the stage and shoving past shell-shocked guards who didn’t know what to do, “Where’s the proof, Mr. Virtanen? I believe I would like to see it before I make any definitive financial choices. You could be selling us any stray British man you found on the street and we’d be none the wiser for it.”

There was a pause before a murmur of agreement from the crowd. 

Aarre gapes at you, mouth opening and closing as his face gains a red sheen, blood rushing to his head and making his eyes rapidly flutter from the guests to you. Swallowing down saliva, you saunter up to John, fingers shaking as they reach out to brush his arm. You nearly break when his flesh flinches and becomes tense, muscles writhing as you hook a finger under his chin all too aware of the eyes on you from every angle. It helps that one of them is Soap, though.

Looping the digit under him, John’s beard scratches your skin just like it always did when you ran your hands over his cheeks or around his square face. Moving his head up, your grip vibrates with anxiety when you’re finally able to take a full look at his visage. 

Please be okay, Love.

You can’t help the widening of your eyes when they lock on the bruises, the cuts, and scratches littering his large nose and forehead. His eyelids flutter over sunken cheeks, bags of severe color under his orbs as a rumble echoes in his battered chest.

Did they even feed him?

“I don’t – I don’t like what you’re implying, Miss!” The Target continues to prattle, but already your shoulders have squared, “I would never, in a million years, make such false claims–!”

When John’s eyes shutter open you seem to forget where you are entirely, head completely going silent off all fears or concerns. As the lids slide back, you notice one optic is bathed in red – the veins in the gentle sensory organ having been popped by relentless fists…but the other, oh, oh, the other. A shade so familiar it twists your lips and makes your heart clench. Storm gray; ocean blue, flecks of moonlight trapped just for you. 

John’s focus is blurry, his mind confused and in need of a dark room with a glass of chilled whiskey to put on his forehead, but...that finger under his chin. His gaze narrows, lips pulling tight under his beard hairs as a shadow stands in front of him. Why did it feel so familiar? So…warm? 

“John?” A soft voice graces his ears, leaving them twitching as his arms burn more than a thousand suns, “John, please, look at me.” 

His face scrunches, eyebrows turning in. Blinking, the man only succeeds for a few moments, consciousness so rapidly fading because of the wear on his body, but a few moments was all he needed. 

It was you – looking at him with terrified eyes, mouth slightly parted in awe. John’s heart skips beats. 

She’s here? He questions, weakly moving his arms to try and embrace her before the rope stops his bloodied and shredded hands, Why? How? And…oh hell, is that a dress?

Blinking at the navy gown, his eyes widened at the heavenly sight in front of him. Was he dead? No, he realized, you wouldn’t be here if he was. But that was the only option to see something like this in front of him when he was where he currently was. 

“L-love?” He gasps out, letting his full weight fall into your hold. 

Your hand brushes over his beard, tangling in the bristles and flinching at the open wounds that you find. 

“It’s me,” You whimper, “I’m right here.” 

If possible, he gravitates toward you even more.

“--Are you even listening?!” Aarre Virtanen yells, and people are standing from their seats out in the crowd, calling out in confusion. 

John murmurs out comments from under your grip, but they’re so weak you can’t make them out as he nuzzles your limb. From the corner of your eye, a figure rustles one of the stage curtains, held back in the shadows.

“I’m here,” Gaz says a second before Simon does.

“I found something that might come in handy...When I throw it, get Price out of there and take cover.”

“Soap?” You ask, voice low and gaining a sheen of ice. Slowly, your head tilts to the side, gripping your husband by the back of the head and drawing him to your stomach, caressing his scalp through his hair as he sighs into your dress.

“Yes, Ma’am?” 

“Take it.”

“...With pleasure.” The ear-ringing shot fires off, breaking glass and rustling half-drawn curtains, but it meets its mark with expert precision. 

Aarre Virtanen’s head pops like a balloon, and a moment later a smoke bomb is being chucked from halfway across the room by a Jackal-masked waiter with a strong arm. Before the guards can even get to their pistols around their thighs, Gaz has rushed through the smoke and sliced John’s bonds with a serrated cake knife. Both of you grab your Captain by one of his arms and drag him off to the side, disappearing just as the first screams wail out. 

The 141 works like a well-oiled machine, and not five minutes later everyone is in the limo that Gaz had re-driven and parked down the dark roads of Poland, rushing off as you press table cloths against your husband’s leaking cuts. Tears dribble down your cheeks, with large hiccuped gasps as you lean over John – who could only barely keep his eyes open to look at you as Soap and Ghost watch anxiously from their seats. 

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that,” You sob out, practically sitting on top of him to stop the crimson leaking over the cushions, “I need to keep a bell on you, my Love.”

Your wedding band sways just above his face, and his own glints below you, bunched on his collarbone.

“Go on,” He says in a low voice, eyes incredibly soft but still distant in a way that told you he was concussed. It was a miracle he was even conscious if you could admit it to yourself.

The man’s shaking hand travels to your cheek, brushing away tear tracks only to leave blood stains behind instead. He pulls away slightly, staring at the mark in disgust as his complexion gets even paler. Snapping your grip up, you bring it back, making him cup your flesh in his big hands and splay his fingers over your ear and weave into your hair. 

John hums under his breath, “Beautiful.”

Then he goes limp, and you start screaming.

—

Stripping your face of makeup, you step into the shower with only your necklace on, letting the water slap against your head as you take a deep breath in. You lean forward, letting your head connect with the porcelain of the hospital’s washroom as your body begins to shake – finally allowed to fall apart and feel the genuine horror that had lived in you for a week straight.

John was just a door away in the hard bed of some random hospital Gaz had driven to. Quite recklessly, you should mention, but it’s not like it mattered. 

Ghost was on the phone with Laswell, getting a protection detail in case anyone attempted to break into the room and stab someone with a scalpel, while Gaz and Soap also got ready for sleep. No one was leaving the hospital tonight. Garrick had explained the situation in broken Polish to the local authorities, and the staff was kind enough to give out a free office room with pillows and blankets. It was a good thing that the room was connected to John’s, otherwise, you might have refused…even if the bags under your eyes threatened to block your line of sight.

Wiping blood and grime from your body, you take less time than you should have in the shower – too occupied with being by your husband's bedside. The new stitches on your recently ripped-open thigh wound were red with irritation, but you had all but forgotten about it entirely. 

They had only just gotten John stable an hour ago. 

“They, uh,” Gaz’s eyelids crease, “I think they said that they had to re-” He halts, face going slack, and sending you a slow look, “restart his heart.”

“They nearly beat him to death,” You whisper, hands coming up to weave over the top of your head as you sob into the wall, “They…God, John. I was nearly too late.” 

Your words trail off in a weak whimper, muffled over the sound of water and the whirring fan in the ceiling. What if you had been five minutes late? Three? Would he have…

Would he have died in your arms?

You spend the rest of the shower wondering, and as you dry yourself off and slip into sweats and a hoodie from the gift shop, your tears splatter the floor. Rubbing your nose, you sniffle; reaching to grab the ring and pull the chain out above the fabric. Your fingers caress the item for a minute or two, and your eyes flutter shut. 

He’s okay, You tell yourself, He’s just a door away. He’s alive.

You open the door and let the steam waft, itching at your neck before you take a steadying breath. John lays still on the hospital bed, body hooked to machines that display screens and vital signs with glitching green lights that pierce your eyes as if a mocking little beast was behind the glass. 

Your husband’s wounds are all stitched and glued back together; wrapped tightly and tucked in by your gentle hands with an extra blanket. He usually complained about how cold it was back at your shared flat in London and around the multiple bases the Force traveled to…you would hate for him to shiver here. 

It was the least you could do.

Drawing your eyebrows in, the red ring around your eyes doesn’t help the sting, but still, you gaze at your husband with all the tender concern in the world. 

If was determined, then, that you wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was awake; until you saw his eyes soften on your figure. Until he was tracing the very makeup of your genetics like no other being could even have a glimpse of you in their features – like the aspects of your form were holy and utterly unique, never seen besides out of legend and fable. You longed to bathe his flesh in the feeling of your touch. If you believed it hard enough, you could convince yourself that you could make him forget this ordeal, forget the wounds. 

But you were no fool. A cunning nuisance, perhaps, but not a fool. 

All you could do was wait for him to wake up, and so your socked feet carry over the tile and bring you to the chairs beside the bed, grabbing one and pulling it out. Your fingers intertwined with his, weaving the calloused pads and scared flesh that mirrored your own like an echo of history together. 

Bringing his limb to your face, you rest your forehead on it, feeling the pump of his blood like a hymn and letting it calm you. A presence in the room makes your once closed eye crack open, slipping to the side. You had only just noticed him.

I really must be tired.

“Doctors say he’s stable,” Gaz mutters lowly, leaning against the wall in the far corner. It was like he had known you wanted someone to watch John while you couldn’t – even if only for a few minutes, “They came in while you were showering” 

Your lungs inflate, “...Thank you, Kyle.” 

You feel his eyes on you, but as you lay a gentle kiss on your husband's knuckles he speaks once more.

“You sure you don’t want to get some rest, Love? It’s late, y’know – sun’s gonna come up in a few hours around here.” It was a nice concern, and you knew that after Ghost’s call with Laswell that he’d get some sleep as well; Johnny was already snoring away, the sound nearly heard through the walls. 

Gaz, well…

“And am I to expect my Sergeant to get some rest if I do that?” Your voice is hoarse and weighed down, but the message is clear. The man lets out a chuckle, pushing off the wall and coming over to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder and you lean into it.

“I have no problem watching over him for you – he’s my Captain too, Lion. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden more than the rest of us.”

If you could have rolled your eyes, you would have. A teasing tone sneaks into your words as you snort.

“Gaz, and I mean this in the best possible way,” Your lips utter out, still gazing at John’s face as it scrunches and twitches in his sleep, “Respectfully, fuck off, yeah?”

A moment of silence passes before a thick laugh echoes out over the room.

“You act a lot like Cap. when he’s out of commission, Ma’am.”

“Of course I do,” Your grip travels up John’s arm, tracing old blemishes and kissing across bruises, “If he brings all the hard-headedness away with him, none of you lot would get anything done.”

An easy air keeps the both of you in a tight embrace and Garrick’s hand squeezes for a moment; a piece of you breaks open as your gaze slips to the floor.

“I’ll take the night shift. Please, I…,” Your voice borders on unheard, “I can’t sleep until he’s awake.”

He sighs but nods his head.

“Say no more. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you just come get me, yeah? Don’t worry if you have to be loud – been trying to get used to waking up abruptly anyways.” His hand disappears, and you huff.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. You better.” Gaz’s feet carry him away and through the side door, slipping into the office. A rustling of thin cotton is heard a moment later before the door completely closes on its own. 

You stay in that chair for another hour and a half before John moves an inch. When you feel his finger twitch you jerk up, drool falling from your chin to the sheets before you wipe it off.

“John?” Breathing out a gasp, you shake your head to focus better, and pause when his hold on your hand suddenly gains strength. Your heart soars.

“...Love,” He grunts out, face scrunched, and tense. 

At that moment you swear your body loses all weight, and you pull the chair closer as you wetly speak.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. D-don’t move too much, just let the painkillers work.”

“Bloody things make my damn head lose,” He groans, head falling to the side on the pillow as his eyes flutter open. 

You place his knuckles to your lips to hide the shuttered breath you take when you see his eyes – even if one was still red. It was still your John. 

He looks at you for a moment, eyes glazed, with his jaw clenching and unclenching to gain bearing. The covers hide his chest, but you hear the way he breathes as his messed-up bedhead leaves you chuckling. But the longer you were chuckling, the more you wanted to cry, and soon nothing could stop the swell of vile sobs falling from your mouth. 

“Oh,” John whispers out, voice weak as his digits twitch under your shaking lips, “C’mere, Love. None of that, now.” 

Your body falls forward, and the man hides the grunt in his chest when you unintentionally hit his ribs as you burrow closer into his side. He doesn’t mind. John’s hand goes to the back of your head, weaving through the strands as the covers catch your tears – he’s looking down at you with such blatant worry it hurts. 

He shouldn’t be worried about me, look what happened. He’s in the fucking hospital.

“Y-You,” You’re gasping for breath, chest tight and vibrating. ‘Take a breath’ it tries to tell you, but getting the words out was more important. John’s hand gets tighter, and he longs to kiss your forehead, “I didn’t know if you were dead, a-and then when they had you on stage I was trying so hard to keep it together, John. But…but then you were bleeding all over the car and I was screaming at you too–”

“Breathe,” Your husband pleads, authority leaking into the comment, “Please, Dear, take a breath for me, Yeah? I’m right here.” 

You weep but do as he says, feeling the muscles under your grip move as he shifts his weight. Taking a deep breath, your nose is shoved into the fabric of the blankets, inhaling John’s scent and letting it encompass you entirely. 

He was there. He was right there. 

Letting out one last whine, your Captain prompts you to lift your head with a muted brush of his finger over your scalp. Pulling yourself up, you scrunch the bedding in your hands around John’s waist, practically leaning all the way over him. It was a good thing the bed wasn’t too high. 

He smiles softly down at you, his grip moving to slip past your eyebrow and swipe away the salty water that itches your chin, “There she is. My beautiful wife”

Your watery chuckle wraps him in more warmth than any blanket ever could. 

“Do you need anything?” You mutter after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes, head tilting to the side as your heart rate finally slows to a pace that copies John’s. 

One of your hands goes to smooth his hair, carefully flattening down the patches and being mindful of the bandages and band aids over his visage. You swear he purrs at you, body rumbling under your chest.

He doesn’t answer right away, instead focusing on mapping out your face – as if for the first time. But when he does speak he brushes off the question entirely.

“I had a dream.”

“A good one?” You ask immediately, voice equally as low and vulnerable as his. In his orbs, you see stars blinking with every movement, deep hues of blue in every shade.

“Hm,” He affirms, a slow smile blossoming on his lips, “You were there.”

“That, my love, could mean many things.”

“No. Only one, Mrs. Price,” Your eyebrows raise, eyes watering as rogue drops tracks fall down your cheeks once more. 

It was all so much. Getting him back; seeing him like this, having him talk to you like that again – with all the love in the world. He was beaten, but alive, and already awake beside the gargantuan odds.

But you didn’t marry him just because you thought he was buff and could give you a good time. You married him because he was John, and no one else could be.

John’s gaze washes over you, narrowed in that expression he always had on his face when he’s thinking. When he’s studying you with more care than anyone has in your entire life. Like he could figure out everything and anything about you in the way your lips curved, or how you looked at him so delicately as if he was made of glass and not stone or metal. 

He could never understand how you loved him so much, how every bit of stardust was reflected into your body and leaked out of you whenever you moved. 

How he managed to get you by his side…well, he’d never know. But the feeling was mutual.

“Oh,” Your thumb caresses his cheek, running over the bristles and skimming over the skin, “And what’s that, Mr. Price?”

“..Means I’ve been blessed to see you not only when I open my eyes…but when I close ‘em too.”

In Poland, two people are finally able to press their lips together for the first time in a long while; they themselves would say it felt like ages. That was expected, naturally, because a match such as the one made between you and Jonathan Price was forged with steel and tempered in rough waters. Nothing could break it.

Their wedding bands clink together as they pull back, glinting gold more vibrant than the sun…but not quite as warm or adoring as the looks in their eyes.

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @antigonusyuki, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @lora21, @330bpm-whiplash, @michirulol, @john-pricee, @cl0wncxre, @jade-jax, @anna-banana27, @lothiriel9, @halfmoth-halfman​

[tomssexdoll]

Can I request a 2008 dom bill smut? Where him and fem reader are at an after party and he fucks get from behind. Can it also be like rough. If anything is uncomfortable for u don’t do it!! Tysmsmsm love u

Heyy! Yes ofc!

Party

PAIRINGS: Bill 2008 x Female reader CONTENT: SMUT and a lil bit of fluff at the end <3 SYPNOSIS: You and Bill went to an after party together after going to an event with the rest of the band and both got slightly tipsy, then one thing leads to another.. A/N: KINDA EXCITED TO WRITE THISSS, I'm also gonna assume you meant she gets yk from behind HAHA WARNINGS: degrading, bill!dom, reader!sub, p in v (doggy style aka from behind), sucking d, smacking ass, rough kissing

Me and Bill were tipsy, we had just gotten to the after party of the event we were at, Bills band Tokio Hotel had won an award and someone hosted a party last minute to celebrate.

We arrived at the huge mansion and stared in awe, "oh my god it's massive..who even planned this?" I looked up at Bill, he smiled and looked down at me "I don't know liebe but I'm definitely not complaining" he patted my ass and we went inside.

Numerous bottles of alcohol were messily placed on the kitchen counter, Bill and I picked out 2 mini bottles of vodka and took a swig, running into the living room where everyone was drunkingly dancing.

Bill placed his hands firmly on my hips and started to dance with me, I grinded against his erection and swayed my hips. I could tell he was getting excited because he kept on bucking his hips into me, making me know he needed relief.

I turned around and whispered in his ear "let's find an empty bathroom" I winked and took his hand, he followed me like a lost puppy and we finally found a bathroom that didn't have people openly fucking in it.

I closed the door behind us and locked it, as soon as I turned back around to Bill he pushed me against the door, smashing his lips into mine, roughly sticking his tongue in my mouth and holding onto my waist.

I moaned into the kiss, putting my hands around his neck.

He lifted me up and placed me onto the counter, continuing to kiss me roughly and passionately, his lips were like a drug, I couldn't get enough of them. At any opportunity I would always kiss Bill, his lips were soft like clouds.

His hands roamed around my body, squeezing my boobs and my ass. His kisses started to trail down to my neck, sucking slowly on the flesh and leaving dark purple marks. I hissed softly as he bit down on my neck a little. "Mm, sorry baby" he chuckled and continued to kiss my neck, down to my breasts.

After leaving multiple marks on me he lifted his head up "get on your knees, now" he demanded, my eyes widened a bit and I obeyed, getting off the counter and on my knees, onto the cold tiles.

Bill motioned for me to take his pants off and I happily obliged, taking his belt off, then his pants, then his boxers to reveal his hard, throbbing cock. I gasped as I saw how red his tip was, leaking pre cum. He pushed his hips forward, pressing his tip against my lips. "Well? Go on" he grabbed my hair, pulling it slightly.

I opened my mouth and slowly filled my mouth with his length, bobbing my head up and down, sucking it slowly. I looked up at him to see him smirking down at me "that's a good girl..keep going" he pushed my head slightly to guide me. I keep sucking his cock, occasionaly licking the tip to earn a moan out of him.

He threw his head back in pleasure, groaning deeply, "fuck, you're so good y/n", I smiled at his praise and started to go faster. Licking and sucking his cock at a fast pace, my jaw started to hurt slightly but I didn't care, I needed to make him cum.

"F-fuck!" he yelled as he shot his load into my mouth, it hit the back of my throat at lightning speed and caused me to choke a little. "Swallow, liebe" he reminded me, I nodded and swallowed, opening my mouth and showing him after. He smirked and picked me up from the floor, my legs slightly wobbly and my knees red.

"Good girl, now bend over" he said lowly, lust flashing in his eyes.

I bent over and lifted my skimpy dress up, revealing my black lace thong, he chuckled and smacked my ass playfully "so naughty..all of this just for me? What a slut you are.." he moved my thong to the side and positioned himself at my entrance, slightly rubbing my clit with his tip. I moaned softly "hurry up Bill!" i said, pushing my ass into him slightly, he smacked my ass again and pulled my hair "be patient or you'll get nothing." he said coldly and pushed his cock into me, I winced as his large cock stretched me out. I wasn't used to his cock and he knew it, I had been with other guys before but no one ever compared to Bill. He knew his way with women and I loved it.

I moaned and gripped onto the counter as he pounded his cock into my pussy, leaving no mercy at all. His brutal pace earned multiple loud moans out of me.

"Fuck! Mm Bill so good!" I moaned, he continued to relentlessly slam his cock into me, groaning as he felt my pussy clench around his cock.

He pulled out completely before slamming me onto his length again, thrusting his hips so roughly into me that the sounds of our skin slapping filled the room.

"Jesus..you're so fucking tight" he moaned lowly, snaking his hands onto my hips and quickening his thrusts.

My pussy clenched around his cock again, signalling that I was close to my orgasm, "fuck, harder!" I begged, I heard him chuckle as he started to pound into me harder, ramming into my sweet spot, causing me to moan loudly, my boobs squashed against the counter as they repetedly moved up and down like cleaning a window.

"Cmon, cum for me baby" he whispered in my ear, causing my body to twitch a little as my orgasm washed over me roughly, I whimpered and tried to catch my breath. Bill's orgasm shortly followed after mine and he came in my pussy, coating my walls with his thick cum.

Just as I was about to pull my dress down, Bill grabbed my hips and slammed his cock into me again, "ah!" I moaned, not expecting his sudden movements. He continued to ram his cock into my pussy, again hitting my sweet spot repetedly.

It didn't take long for me to feel that familiar knot in my stomach, Bill's thrusts were getting slightly sloppy and slow, signalling he was close too.

"Fuck, liebe you're so sexy..make me so hard.." he smacked my ass again, causing me to yelp slightly. He chuckled at that and picked his pace up, drilling into me over and over.

"I'm gonna cum! Fuck!" I moaned softly, cumming all over his cock. He growled slightly and I could feel his cock throbbing and twitching inside me. He continued to fuck me at a brutal pace and groaned lowly. "So good baby.." he kissed my shoulders and thrusted into me, slowing down a little.

I gasped as I felt his cum squirt into me again, coating my walls even more. After riding out each others highs he pulled out slowly, a mix of our juices spilling out of my cunt. He grabbed some toilet paper and wiped me, helping my put my outfit back on properly.

I turned around and kissed him softly, holding his hand as we left the bathroom. "Should we go home?" I shook my head and pointed to the bottles of liquor, "let's party, we're celebrating!" he smiled brightly and followed me.

E/N: AHH THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE TYSM FOR THE REQUEST LOVELY

[askyuuandco]

Twst Incorrect Quotes: Halloween Edition!

Yuu: What the fuck?! Oggie Boogie just broke in the goddamn studio! Yuu: He lifted me out the chair, with one hand grabbin' my pipehole! ;m; Yuu: He hopped on the damn mic and said 2 lines and then he left a note! Yuu: I'ma read that bitch to y'all real quick this what he fuckin' wrote! >m<'/// Yuu: "Dear all trick or treaters! >:)" Yuu: "I'm coming back for that ass! >:D" Boys: ! O_O Yuu: "If I ain't get that butt last year, then this year it's getting smashed! >:)" Boys: OAO'/// Yuu: "I ain't pulling up in no granny costume that shit hard to run in I'm pulling up in a tracksuit and we really gonna get this fun in. 😈" UmU'/// Ace: What the fuck?! >A>'/// Deuce: What that mean?! ;A;'/// --------------------------------------------------------------- Skully: There are three things I have learned never to discuss with people. Skully: religion. Skully: politics. Skully: and the Great Pumpkin. :>

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

Vil: I put a spell on you~! Vil: And now you're mine~! Vil & Rook: Mine~! >:)

Vil & Rook & Epel: Mine~! >:)

Vil & Rook & Epel: All Mine~! >:D

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

---The First years go trick or treating and go to the first house--- First Years: Trick-or-treat! Money or eats! Ace: *after getting his bag filled* Can I have an extra piece of candy for my stupid brother? He couldn't come with us 'cause he's sitting in a pumpkin patch, waiting for the Great Pumpkin. >:L Ace: *gets her extra candy, then the other kids get their bags filled*  It's so embarrassing to have to ask for something extra for that blockhead. >:L Ace: *sees his bag* I got 5 pieces of candy! :D Deuce: I got a chocolate bar! :D Jack: I got a quarter! :D Yuu: I got a rock. :( -----they go to the next house---- First Years: Trick-or-treat! :D Epel: Gee, I got a candy! :D Orthro: Boy, I got three cookies! :D Sebek: Hey, I got a pack of gum! :L Yuu: I got a rock. :'( ---they go to the next house---- Grim: Trick-or-treat. I got a popcorn ball! :D Deuce: I got a fudge bar! Ace: I got a pack of gum! First Years: ? >.> *look at Yuu* Yuu: I got a rock.... For the 3rd time in a row.... Yuu: You know what! *chucks the Rocks at the house's window* >:(

First Years: OAO !!! Yuu: GET TRICKED!!! >:( -------------------------------------------------------------- Lilia: Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion. I am your host, your ghost host. Kindly step all the way in please, and make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now. Our tour begins here in this gallery, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state. ^v^

[drezendragon]

V to UV Art by DonnyK9 Murder Drones AU Idea Rambling Alright this is a “Drezen Ramble” I watched Murder Drones as it was coming out and after the last episode had an idea for a AU that then spiraled out of control a bit. It took a long time to finally find someone to draw some stuff for it and hopefully I can find more people to comm stuff for this but here we go. Should probably note I copy pasted most of this from a conversation I had with a bud so sorry if it comes off as nonsense XD

Context: this idea was inspired by the last few episodes where we find out “Effective Drones were cloned more” and Cyn’s comment that N’s Team always surprised her along with the fact V was willing to make a deal with the solver and that V’s persona kind of a mask to deal with the horrors. 

Most of this little story would take place on a different world probably a few years before Copper 9 and the main plot. I mean the solver had to get through Copper's 1 to 8 after all plenty of space to fill so assume it takes place on one of those many outings. 

Basically this AU would center around a different V who went with a different persona to mask behind instead of canon V this AU V takes up the persona of a "Tomboy" (+ a little shonen protagism) this Persona of V basically sets out to try and make sure this Squad is a proper Team and not barely functional mess... Basically She and N use “Democracy” to vote out J as leader and put V in charge who then actually raises team efficiency (much to J's annoyance) by basically doing all she can to be N and J's friend attempting to give them both therapy while mediating their clash of Extrovert and Introvert. N she actually deals with the fact his brain is wiped although basically spoon feds him info (basically tells him the mansion stuff but not the Gala incident) and also kind of gently shuts down his crush on her because she can't really remember what it was like to be the Girl N fell for and she thinks he deserves someone who can take all the love he has in his big dumb heart (She does promise to wingman for him though if they ever find someone who meets his fancy). Becoming friends with J was a lot harder. The girl has so many walls up she basically lives in a mental fortress but together they actually get their job done much faster and making N less annoying for J to deal with they become actual friends.

The Team did so well they actually finished the job with a year to spare which they spent further bonding and talking about what they might do after..... then Cyn and the other J show up. The Team freaked out but they did their job and they did it well and V hopes that this means the deal she made of "Leave us in Peace" will be upheld which Cyn says it will... as she proceeds to rip one of V's arms off. This of course freaks them out and Cyn clarifies it is holding up its end of the deal to "Leave them in P-I-E-C-E giggle" in fact she is so happy with them she is extending the deal to "Pieces"  isn't she the best boss (Happy Sarcastic Tone) the Team panics and tries to fight back but doing so causes Cyn to kill N (guess he didn't want to be left in Pieces oh well hopefully the next back up is more of a team player) J (Team) fights J (Solver's Pet) kind of messes up the “Solver's Pet” to see herself fight back choosing her Team over Corporate... but she too goes down once Cyn gets bored with the resistance and uses Admin permissions to lock up the Team has her pet J finish off the other J and then Cyn takes time ripping V into pieces removing her arms, peg legs, smashing her visor face and shredding her voice box after V tries to curse her out/ scream to just annoy Cyn. In the end V is left just a torso with her upper leg stumps still attached, a smashed face and something that shouldn't be called a voice and due to Cyn being Admin she won't be regenerating. Cyn eats the planet but makes sure to leave the chunk with V and her team’s remains as untouched as she can after all would be rude to not let V keep her reward.

Cyn eventually leaves for the next planet and V is just kind of left she can't see or hear anything only feel the wind but even that eventually fads and she is left alone with her thoughts for a very long time.... until something finds her something finds a broken doll discarded by a cruel "god" V is not sure if she has gone mad but she tries to call out and whatever it is doesn't retreat from her distorted cries instead it seems to try and comfort her and she feels herself being gently picked up so long since she last felt kindness that she drifts off to sleep. When she wakes up she has been repaired.... mostly it seems whoever repaired her used the parts of her team leaving her with N's lower legs, J's voice box patching up her own (Basically she doesn’t sound like V or J her voice is either deeper or growly-raspy sounding), no idea whose arms she has since they all look so similar but her upper arms seem to be new parts, seemingly J’s unbound hair, no stinger tail and when she looks into a mirror she sees her eyes are now basically the color of UV lights and on closer inspection she swears she sees more eyes beneath her visor but before the panic of whatever that is about set in she notices another addition of…. Animal Ears in place of her Headband eyes with said ears expressing her current mood before twitching as she hears someone in the next room and with checking herself over done she leaves out the room to whatever awaits her next.

Notes:

She is nicknamed "UV" because of her eyes she never actually introduces herself to the person who put her back together so “UV” is just what they call her until she either introduces herself or picks out a name for herself.

Her lights were changed from yellow to purple by the person who put her back together both as a side effect of some of the alterations made when repairing her and also so that she hopefully wouldn’t freak out when seeing yellow drone eyes looking back at her when she looks in a mirror.

She is the admin of her own system Cyn’s Admin rights were replaced but despite that UV was unable to regenerate which is why she was repaired with available parts. The current status of her solver is UV has admin rights but the solver does not seem to work in any capacity. 

She can't use her arm weapons so has to carry actual weapons which after finding some Disassembly Drone arms with their Swords sticking out she takes the blades to make into actual swords she can wield. She also can’t use her wings anymore.

Her body has a few upgrades beyond the patch job repair due to the person who repaired her getting hit with inspiration while examining her but they stopped themselves from going overboard as they acknowledge UV is a person and any alterations should really be of her choice… granted this person also looked through her memories just to make sure they weren’t repairing a psycho.

Upgrades and modifications she now has are: Her new upper arm parts compensate for her lack of wings since they allow her arms to extend (Think Reg’s arms from Made in Abyss), her visor she can now customize things like the type or eye brows she has when she expresses along with a range of other options to help her be who she wants to be, She can eat human food being no longer reliant on oil but she can still eat it and other drone foods if she has to and probably a few other features relating to her new visor and ears that she didn’t bother to ask about once the shock of being rebuilt started to wear off.

Having her Teammates limbs attached to her has had a bit of an effect on her psyche causing her to take up some of their personality traits on top of her Tomboy Persona leading her to be more Chipper like N but also making her call the person who fixed her up "Boss" (thankfully she is spared using the mountain of corporate jargon that J does)

She has a lot of mental grief, having survivors guilt and refusing to get any further upgrades or better repairs to desperately hold onto what she has left of her friends which sometimes leads to her hallucinating them when alone or stressed out.

Character Inspirations: Murder Drones's V: Eldritch Robo, Fake it till you make it, Cloned Traumatized Killed Cloned again, Sacrifice her own happiness for her friends.

Fate's Mordred: Knight of Rebellion, Artificial Being Cloned from another, Tomboy, Traumatized but kind of dealing with it.

Underverse's Cross:  Quotes "Am I evil for what I did? Am I evil for what I am?" " What's the point of feeling useful and valid in a reality plagued by thousands of us...?" "Yes, our origin is an imitation... ready-made from another. But...our pride, our experiences... Maybe they make us authentic." Scrapnik Mecha Sonic: Haunted by the fight that left them in pieces, Shadow of their “maker” looming over them, feels like a misshapen thing with scraps for limbs, surprisingly dangerous for their current state of repair. 

[saint-ajax]

༒︎ OCT. 03 | IRON MAN

༒︎ KINKTOBER

TW: 18+ ORAL SEX | FORCED BLOWJOB | ONE NIGHT STAND | P IN V SEX | NOT PULLING OUT

 “Mr. Stark! Excuse me, Mr. Stark!” you run in your heels to chase the billionaire about to enter his car, only to be stopped by his security when you’ve finally reached him. You introduce your name in an attempt to stop him, “from Vanity Fair magazine. Can I ask you a couple of questions?” 

   You almost yell in effort for him to hear you out as had his back on you. While the man on his right is Happy Hogan, your research and observation tells you that he is Stark’s chauffeur and friend. They thought they were being slick with their whispers but you clearly see them pass signals if you were cute.

   “She’s cute.”

   “She’s all right?” 

   Tony turns around and gives you the go, “Hi, yeah, okay, go.” 

   As the guards free your way to approach the boss, you start. Questions well thought-out, written on your notes, tape recorder running, you smile at him. “You’ve been called the De Vinci of our time. What do you say to that?”

   “Absolutely ridiculous, I don’t paint.”

   He quickly answers, deadpan. You keep your eye contact straight, ready to ambush with another question.

   “And what do you say to your other nickname, Merchant of Death?” your eyes slightly narrow, knowing references behind how the nickname was born.

   He nods, his furrowed brows indicating he’s a touch impressed. “That’s not bad,” then he continues, guessing your college. “Let me guess, Berkeley?” 

   “Close enough. It’s Brown.” 

   “Well, Ms. Brown, it’s an imperfect world, but it’s the only one we’ve got. I guarantee you, the day weapons are no longer needed to keep the peace,” you nod as you listen intently. “I’ll start making bricks and beams for baby hospitals.”

    Your eyes narrow at him, disappointed yet not surprised. 

   “Rehearse that much?” you bite back.

   He raises an eyebrow, diva to diva. “Every night in front of the mirror before bedtime.” 

   You agree with a nod, “I can absolutely see that. For a diva like you.”

   He smirks at your retort, “I’d like to show you first-hand.” Then, it was your turn to smirk. You admit it, he’s definitely a smash. But, you’re not going back home with a sarcastic, mocking answer after fighting to be in that spot at the moment. If it was needed, you would’ve pulled Christine Everhart’s hair just to be assigned to interview Stark. The mean bitch deserves it anyway. You've been competing with her since college.

   “We’re not parting ways without a serious answer, Mr. Stark.”

   You were that desperate— and flirty— enough to make threats.

   “Well, you see, that just works on my end, Ms. Brown.”

𖤐

   Then you find yourself on his bed, intense make out session until the both of you find his bedroom in his gigantic mansion. Your lust is as aggressive as an untamed lion, you strip him of his clothes as you do yourself without breaking the kiss.

   His goatee brushing against your skin as you meet every crash of his soft lips. He’s lying on his bed, while you lock his waist with your bare legs, you kiss his jaw. You leave a trail of kisses down his neck, as you reach down to his chest, a strong whiff of his axe body spray fills your nostrils making you chuckle.

   “What?” he asks. 

   “I like your cologne,” you sneer.

   “You think that’s funny?”

   “No,” you shake your head as you snicker.

   He flips over your positions easily. You’re now holding up your torso using your elbows, while he kneels, locking your body in between his legs. He was looking down at you, his cock ready to plunge into your mouth, “Let’s find out if you still find it funny choking on my dick, huh?” your expression was barely able to change when he instantly slams his hard cock on your throat. Your tongue was forced to stretch out, welcoming his warm meat. While you cough as you try to widen the opening of your mouth as your eyes look up at him. 

   He holds on the back of your head, pushing it down for his tip to meet the back of your throat. He slams his hips as well roughly while you make slobbering sounds, frothing the base of his stiff dick with your saliva.  

   He groans back as he keeps on abusing your mouth. Face fucked is what you are as you scratch his thigh, begging for air while your mascara run down your cheeks. Your plush lips meet the skin of his punic bone as he pushes down your face, while he trembles from forcing you to swallow his generous load of cum. 

   He finally releases your mouth, you swallow first before being able to catch your breath, your chest rising as you inhale.

   But he isn’t finished just yet, he crawls down your legs, splitting them wide open before launching in  to devour you. He inhales the smell of your cunt. You feel his breathing on your core as he licks it whole. Flattening his tongue on the surface of your entrance up to your woken clit.

   He dips his tongue inside, using the liquid he gathered as lube on your swollen clit. Swirling his tongue on your nub makes you quiver. Then he sucks on it, licking your pussy was a great way to shut you up and make you shudder with just his tongue. Equally, you cum on his mouth. He lather on your labia, not wasting a single drop of your juices. 

  He rises and meets your face to kiss you, distracting you as he centers his dick and enters your pussy slowly. As you let go of the kiss, he pushes in and you moan. He drags it out and slams it back in, gentle as ever before landing on a pace to his liking. Your boobs bounces at the force of his thrusts while he holds on to your legs.

   His balls slapping on your cunt was making you mewl as he stuffed your cunt full. He leans down to crash your lips with his once more. His pace was getting sloppy as your pussy tightened around his dick, causing it for him to hold back harder.

  Your legs cages his back, while your arms are around his neck. He started thrusting harder and harder, pounding on you faster. He was chasing the high with you. And it was getting closer. Few more rough poundings and he was shuddering with his mouth slightly open as he reached his climax. While you whimper as another orgasm hits you. 

   He keeps on thrusting, savoring the pleasure. Your legs shake as his hard dick drags an orgasm out of you and fills you up of his warm, creamy load. He spurts his strings of whites inside your womb, while you, a slut for him, moans from it. Too drunk from the high to object.

   “My old man had a philosophy; “Peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy,” he blurts out, catching you off guard.

   “What? That’s a nice line for a guy with a big stick.”

   He chuckles, considering his stick still inside of you.

   “There’s your serious answer, now we part.”

   He groans in your ear as he slid his dick out of your dripping cunt. 

𖤐

    “A beautiful morning, mademoiselle. A bright day ahead waits for you.”

    A robotic manly voice wakes you. You slowly wake up, the window slowly blinding you from the, in fact, a bright day outside the ceiling to floor window. You were naked, you looked around to find clothes from last night scattered around the room. You stand up and find a great fucking view. You were definitely up the mountains as you looked down at the sea.

   Once you settle and comprehend the situation in front of you, you can't find your clothes. So, you picked up Tony’s shirt from last night and wore it to find him.

   You went downstairs to his living room looking for him. Until a beautiful blonde woman appears from another room seemingly holding your clothes. “I’ve got your clothes here. They’ve been dry-cleaned and pressed, and there’s a car waiting for you outside that will take you anywhere you'd like to go.” 

   You’ve never been grateful to a blonde woman. “You didn’t have to do that, thank you so much,” you say, genuinely grateful for saving you the trouble. “Wait. You must be the famous Pepper Potts.”

   She smiles gently, “Indeed I am.”

   “It is so nice to meet you. I absolutely respect you and what you do considering who you work for,” you say as you let go of the handshake.

   She laughs at your jest towards Stark. “That means a lot. Thank you.” She sends you outside with a friendly chat before you make your way back home.

[every-character-ever-poll]

WEEK FOUR LINEUP

Some minor changes this week, we have officially retired the SEE RESULTS option on the polls, down to five options. I probably won't be adding any new options unless there's a very good reason or high demand, so I'm sorry to the people who have asked for a "I know them and I love them with all my heart, positive cannot contain the love I have for them" option. With that being said, here is this week's lineup!

Mimi - Your Imaginary Friend

Tsubasa Arihara - Cinderella Nine

Tablet - Commodity Clash

Fox Alistair - RWBY

Alan B'Stard - The New Statesman

Sportacus - LazyTown

Tougou Mimori - Yuuki Yuuna is a Hero & Washio Sumi is a Hero

Rottytops - Shantae

Naomasa Tsukauchi - Boku no Hero Academia

Hagumi Hanamoto - Honey and Clover

Bellringer - Toontown Corporate Clash

Tarlach - Mabinogi

Ata Ibusuki - Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu Happy Kiss

J - Heat Guy J

Mami Tomoe - Madoka Magica

Rocket Raccoon - Marvel Cinematic Universe

Princess Elle - Hirogaru Sky Precure

Phèdre nó Delaunay - Kushiel's Legacy series

Rex Mohs - Scott the Woz

Eileen Roberts - Regular Show

Waluigi - Super Mario

Rick - Denpa Men

Great Sage - Miitopia

Sidon - Legend of Zelda

John F. Kennedy - Clone High

Greg Heffley - Diary of a Wimpy Kid

Martin - Wii Sports

Yellow Face - Battle for Dream Island

Eraser - Battle for Dream Island

9-Volt - WarioWare

Luigi - Super Mario

Milo Murphy - Milo Murphy's Law

Rigby - Regular Show

Holidog - Holiday World

Jerry Attricks - Scott the Woz

Jeb Jab - Scott the Woz

Peter Griffin - Family Guy

Baljeet Tjinder - Phineas and Ferb

Gary - Regular Show

Skelly - I Spy Spooky Mansion

Max Schnell - Cars 2

Charley - Incredibox

10th Doctor - Doctor Who

Mii Brawler - Super Smash Bros

Miles Morales - Into and Across the Spiderverse

Party Phil - Wii Party

Lego Joker - Lego Batman

Knife - Inanimate Insanity

Fusk and Vorte - Hitmen for Destiny

Chaika Trabant - Hitsugi no Chaika

Jesse Pinkman - Breaking Bad

Agent - Penguinronpa

Squelch - Denpa Men

Muscle Man - Regular Show

Fuuta Kajiyama - MILGRAM

Jonathan Phaedrus / Prof - The Reckoners

David Charleston - The Reckoners

Spensa - Skyward

M-Bot - Skyward

Chet Starfinder - Skyward

Sirius Gibson - Witch’s Heart

Guy Montag - Fahrenheit 451

Zachary Zatara - DC Comics

Kento - Payday 2

The Shapeshifter - The Odd Squad

Akane Kurashiki - Zero Escape Trilogy

Letitia "Letty" Price - Babel

The Last Son of Alcatraz - The Monument Mythos

Lily - Duolingo

Ohio - The United States of America

Myne - Ascendance of a Bookworm

Rani - Disney Fairies

Agrael/Raelag - Heroes of Might and Magic

Donna - RErideD: Tokigoe no Derrida

Kasane Teto - Vocaloid

Martin the Warrior - Redwall

Colombo - Colombo

Sonny Wortzik - Dog Day Afternoon

Butch Cassidy - Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid

Blondie - The Good The Bad and The Ugly

Prior Walter - Angels in America

Dark - Nowhere

Reona West - PriPara

Shax Lied - Mairimashita! Iruma-Kun

Villager - Minecraft

Wahanly Shume - Tenchi Muyo! War on Geminar

Qifrey - Witch Hat Atelier

Marvin - In Trousers

Mr. Bungee - A New Brain

Mayor Mingus - Dialtown

KAITO - Vocaloid

Almond - Postknight 2

Serial Designation V - Murder Drones

Flint - Postknight 2

Magnolia - Postknight 2

Nobara Kugisaki - Jujutsu Kaisen

Snufkin - The Moomins

Ikabod Kee - The Upturned

The Professor - Hailey's On It!

Chimumu - Waccha PriMagi

Mia Taylor - Love Live

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

do you play on switch? if so what games do you recommend?

I do. I've played every generation of Pokémon and I'll continue to do so until I die (when Gen V remakes come out, you'll probably not see me for a while, welp). List of games I enjoy: Animal Crossing, Kirby, Luigi's Mansion, Super Smash Bros, Astral Chain, and every Pokémon game (including Arceus and Let's Go, basically if that yellow rat is on the cover, I'm sold LMAO jk I love you Pikachu).

Other games I recommend: Taiko no Tatsujin (v silly rhythm game), Bayonetta series (RPG ft sexy gun witch), Legend of Zelda games (I prefer Toon Link myself but any Zelda game is good), Pikmin games (solving puzzles with cute lil aliens), Mario Party (when you have friends over and want to possibly cause a riot in your own home but I swear it's fun), Pokémon Mystery Dungeon (remake for the Switch, you turn into a Pokémon and do various missions to help out other Pokémon, can get repetitive but I don't mind bc I love Pokémon XD), Fire Embelm: Three Houses (turn-based RPG with a little bit of a chess twist)

I own a PS4 to play one game and one game only: Persona 5 (original release and Royal, recommend Royal out of the two). This is my favorite game of all time, no contest. And Persona 5 Royal is available on the Switch now, so if you are interested in playing a turn-based RPG that has wonderful music, an amazing story that asks a lot of questions about the human condition, and a great cast of eccentric characters, please PLEASE play this game. If only for Morgana. XD

LOOK AT HIIIIIIMMMMM <3

[demonicangelics-world]

Redamancy - Zestial x Angel!OC

Chapter Eight: Wine and Candy

Synopsis: In the shadowy realms of Hell and the celestial heights of Heaven, two souls grapple with the ache of unrequited love. Zestial, the formidable demon overlord, commands respect and fear. His past has forged a reputation that isolates him. Resigned to a life of power and isolation, he yearned for companionship and understanding, knowing that his intimidating demeanor made such connections seemingly impossible. Gabriela, once a radiant angel, admired the archangel Michael from afar, her heart swelling with unspoken affection for his divine strength and kindness. Casted into Hell on a mission, she now struggles to survive in a world where danger lurks at every corner, her angelic essence buried beneath a demonic exterior. Amidst the chaos of Hell and the secrets of Heaven, a profound and forbidden love ignites between them, challenging the very core of their beliefs and values.

Chapter Eight: Wine and Candy Chapter Nine: The Long Night

word count: 4,532

*********************************************************

On his way to the hidden mansion, Valentino, tense and on the verge of murder, couldn’t help but reflect on just how terrible his day had been.

Earlier in the day, Valentino was informed that Angel Dust, his muse, had decided to move out of the V tower and live at Charlie’s hotel—Lucifer’s daughter, no less. The revelation sent his meticulously maintained control spiraling into chaos. 

All day, he had been bombarding Angel with messages, demanding his return to the V tower. The messages were relentless, a digital barrage that went unanswered, fueling Valentino’s fury.

Angel’s refusal to respond pushed Valentino to the brink. 

Seething with frustration, he had unleashed his wrath on the nearest unfortunate souls. His rampage was brutal and merciless; limbs were torn from bodies, and blood splattered across the walls in a macabre display of his fury. The air was thick with the acrid stench of sulfur and burnt flesh, mingling with the metallic tang of fresh blood.

Valentino’s hands twitched with residual anger as he recalled the crumpled forms, their lifeless eyes staring blankly. 

The destruction didn’t stop there—he had also targeted Velvette’s precious models, smashing them to pieces with savage glee. The delicate creations were reduced to shattered fragments, scattered across the floor like the remains of his shattered patience.

Each wing flap towards the mansion was a reminder of the carnage he had left hours ago, a testament to the depths of his rage.

“Those worthless whores couldn’t even dodge a bullet,” he muttered to himself, the memory of their crumpled bodies doing little to soothe his anger.

Then came Vox, of all demons, attempting to calm him down. Valentino could almost laugh at the irony. Vox, with his smooth, digitalized voice and infuriatingly calm demeanor, sauntered into his room as if he owned the place. 

“Valentino,” Vox, his voice modulated to a soothing tone, “chasing whores down the street will only ruin our reputation. It will make it seem like you can’t control your own employees. Sometimes, doing nothing is the best strategy.”

Valentino bristled at the suggestion but knew better than to show it. Outwardly, he nodded, pretending to absorb Vox’s advice. “You’re right,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

As Vox continued his condescending pep talk, Valentino’s mind raced.

A calm, manipulative rage was brewing. Valentino played along with Vox’s pacifying words, but his thoughts were already crafting a rebuttal, a way to regain the upper hand and exact his dominance.

“You know,” Valentino said, his voice dripping with feigned casualness, “Angel isn’t the only one living at Charlie’s hotel. Apparently, Alastor has moved in too. He has returned.”

He watched with satisfaction as Vox’s calm facade cracked, his digital eyes flickering with barely contained rage. The mere mention of Alastor, the Radio Demon, was enough to send Vox into a tailspin. Valentino had hit a nerve, and he knew it. 

Vox’s composure shattered like glass. His modulated voice, usually so controlled, took on an edge of anger. “What did you just say?” Vox demanded, his calm veneer completely gone.

Vox went into a frenzy. He stormed out, no doubt to make a live broadcast denouncing Alastor’s return. Valentino watched him go, a cold smile playing on his lips. Vox’s breaking news would be splashed across every screen in Hell, a public spectacle born from the chaos Valentino had subtly unleashed.

As he relished the sense of control he had regained, Velvette stormed into Valentino’s room, her eyes blazing with curiosity and annoyance.

“What’s his deal now?” she demanded, thrusting her phone at him. The screen displayed Vox’s furious broadcast.

Valentino leaned back in this sofa, his mind drifting to the intricate dynamics within the Vees. 

Velvette's rise through the overlord ranks had been nothing short of meteoric. From the moment she appeared on the scene, she had demonstrated an uncanny knack for manipulation and a keen eye for detail, qualities that had not gone unnoticed by Vox.

Vox had swiftly accepted her into the inner circle, the Vees, a move that had initially surprised Valentino. He had always viewed her as merely a pretty face with some talent for organization. Yet, Velvette had proven herself to be far more than that. She was cunning, observant, and possessed an almost preternatural ability to anticipate moves before they happened.

Despite her impressive skills, Valentino had kept his distance. He saw Velvette as a potential threat, a wildcard whose loyalty could never be fully trusted. She was Vox’s protégé, not his, and he had no intention of getting too close to someone who could easily become an adversary. His daughter, however, seemed to enjoy Velvette, a rare smile gracing her face whenever Velvette’s fashion work was involved. 

Valentino had always known Valeria had a knack for design. From a young age, her sketches and creations showed a keen eye for detail and an innate sense of style that surpassed even some of Hell's most renowned designers. 

Seeing her potential, he had initially kept her talent a secret, worried that exposing her talent would bring unwanted attention and danger.

But then, one day, he saw an opportunity to expand his influence and power. 

Velvette had been struggling with fresh ideas for her new line, and Valentino knew Valeria’s unique designs would be the spark she needed. With cunning precision, he introduced Valeria’s work to Velvette, presenting the designs as if they were from an anonymous prodigy he had a soul contract with. 

Velvette was impressed, to say the least. The collaborations between Valeria’s innovative designs and Velvette’s expertise led to stunning collections that took Hell by storm. 

Valentino has earned handsome commissions for brokering the deals. They were significant sums, one that could have been life-changing for many. But Valeria didn’t need the money; she already had everything she needed – a roof over her head, food, and, most importantly, safety. Valentino kept the all commissions for himself, using it to further solidify his position and influence as overlord.

Valeria’s talent had not only brought her joy and recognition but also reinforced Valentino’s standing. 

Yet, despite the success, he remained vigilant, always aware that in Hell, trust and security were delicate, and even the most talented could be exploited if not protected, as he himself knew best.

Valentino’s thoughts wandered to the countless meetings where Velvette had proven her intelligence. Her ability to gather and analyze information was unparalleled, and her strategies often turned the tide in their favor. 

Yet, despite her contributions, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease she inspired in him. Her eyes, always sharp and calculating, seemed to pierce through the facades everyone else wore. She was too perceptive, too dangerous to be taken lightly.

His relationship with Vox and his daughter were the thin threads that held his tolerance for Velvette together. It was one of the few reasons he tolerated Velvette’s presence, if at all.

In the ruthless world of Hell’s overlords, alliances were fragile, and trust was a rare commodity. Velvette’s presence was a constant reminder of that reality. Velvette was a valuable asset, but he knew better than to let his guard down. In this infernal realm, trust could be a deadly mistake, and he wasn’t about to make it.

For that reason, Valeria, his daughter, remained hidden from Hell’s prying eyes. 

The reason was simple yet profound: she was his weakness, a precious innocence he couldn't afford to expose to the treachery of Hell’s debauchery and politics. 

“He’s losing his cool over Alastor,” Valentino replied nonchalantly.

They watched Alastor and Vox’s broadcast in tense silence. Valentino continued sending degrading messages to Angel, but received no response. Just as he was about to send another, all the power went out, plunging the room into darkness. Even their phones were dead.

Valentino’s first instinct was to check on Valeria at the mansion. However, Vox barged in, demanding both him and Velvette to help restore the signal. 

“I have urgent business to take care of,” Valentino told Vox in a coded language, trying to excuse himself.

Vox dismissed him with a wave. “It can wait. We need to fix this now.”

Velvette, perceptive as ever, noted the odd interaction but said nothing. Together, the three of them struggled to power on the signal. The tension was palpable, and Valentino’s mind was elsewhere, fixated on Valeria.

Before he could leave, Vox demanded a meeting to discuss preventing any deals between Alastor and Charlie. Valentino’s tension mounted. He just wanted to get the meeting over with. Vox suggested having someone on the inside, like Angel Dust, to sabotage any plans between Charlie and Alastor. This only reignited Valetino’s anger again at the mention of Angel. They eventually agreed to send Sir Pentious to sabotage the hotel, a plan Valentino couldn’t care less about.

Now, Valentino flew down and landed at the gates of the mansion. As he pushed open the iron gates, their creaking echoed in the stillness of the night, and he hurried inside, his heart pounding with a mixture of dread and urgency as the surveillance system on his phone was down during the blackout.

The events of the day had taken their toll on him, but his focus was singular now: Valeria.

Stepping into the grand foyer, Valentino’s eyes darted around the dimly lit space.

“Valeria!” he called, his voice reverberating through the empty hallways. There was no response, only the haunting echo of his own voice. A chill ran down his spine, but he reasoned that she was probably asleep.  

Quickly, he moved up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time, his eyes fixed on the door to Valeria’s room. He pushed it open, the hinges groaning in protest. 

The room was empty. The bed, neatly made, looked undisturbed. A dress in process was scattered on the floor and her phone on the nightstand. 

“Valeria!” he called again, louder this time. There was no response. Panic began to creep into his mind, gnawing at the edges of his composure. He began checking every room in the mansion, calling her name with increasing urgency. Each room he searched was empty, the silence mocking him.

As he moved through the mansion, his eyes caught sight of his office door. It was ajar, the passcode lock blinking green. He felt a jolt of dread. He always kept that door locked. With a sense of foreboding, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

To his horror, the room was in disarray. Papers were strewn across the floor, and drawers hung open, their contents spilled. His eyes were drawn to the safe hidden behind a bookshelf. The door was open.

A calm, cold rage began to build inside Valentino. 

Valentino stood amidst the chaos of his office, the destruction a stark contrast to the meticulous order he usually maintained. The sight of the broken safe, its contents scattered, made the truth crystal clear: Valeria had escaped. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. She had used the blackout as her chance, taking advantage of the chaos to make her move.

Valentino’s mind raced, calculating the time from the blackout to his arrival at the mansion. She couldn't have gone far. His heart pounded with a mix of fear and rage, but he knew he had to remain composed. If she had truly escaped, he needed to act swiftly and discreetly to find her. 

Vox. He had nobody else to blame for the blackout but him. It had provided his daughter the perfect cover to slip away unnoticed.

Valentino’s jaw clenched as he pulled out his phone. The rage simmered beneath his calm exterior as he dialed Vox’s number. The line rang once, twice, and then Vox’s smooth, digitalized voice answered with a sultry tone.

"Valentino, darling, you just left a while ago. Are you calling to do a little business on the floor tonight, we could have done it at the tower, you know?"

Valentino’s voice was icy, controlled. "If only that were the case, Vox. We have a problem."

Vox chuckled, the sound like static crackling through the line. "Oh, do tell. You know how I love a good problem, especially during these late hours."

"The kind that involves Valeria escaping during the blackout," Valentino replied, his tone dripping with barely contained fury. "I need your help to find her. Now."

There was a pause on the other end, then Vox’s voice came through, serious and calculating. "Well, that does put a damper on our night plans. Any leads, or are we playing hide and seek in the dark?"

"She couldn’t have gone far," Valentino said, his eyes scanning the wreckage of his office. "But let's not forget, this game of hide and seek happened under your watch."

Vox's tone shifted, a hint of irritation seeping through. "Are you suggesting this is my fault?"

"All I'm saying," Valentino replied smoothly, "is that if certain emotional displays hadn’t led to power disruptions, I wouldn't be in this situation. So, it's only fitting if you help rectify it. I need you to tap into every surveillance feed in the city.”

Vox sighed, the sound modulating through his digital voice. "Fine, Valentino. Consider it done. I’ll mobilize our resources. We’ll find her."

Valentino ended the call, his mind already plotting the next steps. He would find Valeria and make sure she understood the consequences of her actions. And when he did, he would ensure she never had the chance to escape again.

*********************************************************

Zestial sat in his hidden sanctum, the eerie glow of green fire casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The flames danced hypnotically in the hearth, a peculiar color that matched the intensity of his thoughts. Reclining in an ornate, high-backed chair, Zestial pondered the day's events with a mixture of intrigue and anticipation.

Earlier, the frantic chaos of demons and sinners scurrying about confirmed what he had suspected: Alastor, the Radio Demon, was back. Alive and well. 

It was widely believed that he had perished in an extermination, killed by an exorcist's weapon, seven years ago, as no one had seen or heard from him since. Now, there were rumors that swirled of his involvement with Charlie and her hotel, adding another layer of intrigue.

Earlier, a conjured note had appeared before him, materializing out of thin air. 

The message was an invitation from Carmilla herself, calling for a meeting of allied overlords to discuss the recent extermination. This prospect excited Zestial. 

If the rumors were true, he would confront Alastor to confirm his suspicions. He also looked forward to seeing Carmilla and her daughters, whom he hadn't seen in quite some time.

His thoughts then drifted to Celeste, the enigmatic sinner he had encountered today. 

His encounter had been entirely unplanned. Zestial had intended to stay in his sanctum, as he often did. But during his breakfast teatime, he had come across a section in the local newspaper praising a nearby establishment, Pandemonium café. The critic's glowing review piqued his curiosity, leading him to decide on an unusual outing later in the day.

Venturing out into the late evening, Zestial hoped that the café would be relatively empty, given the late hour. He had earned the privilege of a quiet evening out, or so he thought. 

Upon arriving at the café, he found the place bustling with activity, contrary to his expectations. Expectedly, the moment he stepped through the door a wave of terror swept through the patrons and workers. Screams erupted, and demons and sinners alike fled in panic, leaving a trail of overturned chairs and shattered windows in their wake.

All except for one. 

Amidst the chaos, Celeste remained standing, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the pandemonium around her. Intrigued by her fearlessness, before Zestial could approach her, a great white shark demon descended the staircase, responding to the ruckus with a menacing presence. 

The shark's eyes scanned the room, ready to assert dominance. However, before he could react, his gaze locked onto Zestial. Recognition flashed in the shark's eyes, and his demeanor instantly shifted from aggressive to nervous.

"Lord Z-Zestial," the shark stammered, his bravado crumbling.

Zestial raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. The shark, visibly trembling, quickly excused the ruined café before he hurriedly shoved Celeste towards him, as if offering her up as a peace offering.

Without waiting for a response, the shark turned and bolted back upstairs, leaving Zestial and Celeste alone amidst the shattered remains of the café. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the echoes of the shark's retreating footsteps fading into the distance.

Zestial chuckled softly, amused by the shark's hasty exit. He turned his attention back to Celeste, whose calm demeanor was now tainted with caution. 

His presence seems to have that effect on every soul. 

He remarked on her composure in his presence. It was unusual, to say the least. He expected fear, trembling, perhaps even pleading. But instead, she met his gaze with careful steadiness.

"Am I not supposed to?" she responded, a hint of humor in her voice. Zestial blinked, momentarily taken aback. This was not the typical reaction he elicited from sinners.

A smile spread across his face, and he chuckled softly, remarking her being a rare gem.

Her confidence seemed to grow. "I suppose I just have a knack for dealing with unexpected situations."

This one was different, and that intrigued him. Observing her reaction carefully, he asked, "Tell me, Celeste, what doth keep thee anchored in such chaos? Is it courage, or perhaps a hidden agenda?" 

Her response, though calm and measured, hinted at something more. 

Zestial narrowed his eyes slightly, a spark of interest igniting in his lime-green gaze. Zestial realized that Celeste was a new sinner. He remarked how it was rare to see such composure in someone so new to Hell's chaos, where most would be overwhelmed. Celeste handled it with grace, which intrigued him further.

She shrugged. "I guess I'm just a quick learner. Adaptation is key, right?"

Her responses were carefully crafted, revealing just enough to maintain his interest without giving too much away.

"Why don't you take a seat? What can I get for you today?" she asked, clearly trying to shift the conversation.

He raised an eyebrow, noting her attempt to steer the discussion. He asked her to surprise him with a slight smile, curious to see how she would handle the situation.

Suppressing any visible sign of nervousness, she nodded and moved to prepare a drink. Zestial's eyes remained fixed on her, observing every movement. There was something captivating about her, an air that he couldn't quite place.

In a fit of entertainment, he requested her to prepare a drink for herself and that he would pay for it.

He found amusement in her reaction, sensing her internal scream. Outwardly, she maintained her composure. "Of course," she replied, adding an extra cup for herself. Once the teas were ready, she set the steaming mugs on the table and took a seat across from him.

Zestial picked up his cup and took a measured sip, watching her closely. She held her breath, clearly awaiting his reaction. 

To his satisfaction, the tea was well-made, and he set the cup down gently. He remarked on her talent, his eyes glinting with approval. He asked how she found herself in Hell.

He could see the wheels turning in her mind, her caution evident. She took a sip of her tea, buying herself a moment to think. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but her words carefully chosen. "Well, in my mortal life, I was a nun."

Zestial's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a flicker of genuine interest crossing his face. He remarked how it explained her calm demeanor and grace.

She nodded, a bit taken aback by his unexpected reaction. "Yes, I suppose it does."

He leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. Now Zestial was intrigued, he asked what led her becoming astray. He did not expect her response.

"The truth is, I have no memory of the grave sin I committed, or even how I died," she confessed, her tone genuine.

Zestial's eyes widened imperceptibly, surprise flickering across his face. "No memory?" he echoed, his tone laced with genuine intrigue.

She shrugged slightly, "The administration was as clueless as I am. It seems my records are... incomplete."

His gaze sharpened, a hint of curiosity and a bit of confusion. Leaning back in his chair, Zestial considered her thoughtfully. He remarked how she is a puzzle waiting to be solved. 

He could see her shifting uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze. "I... suppose so," she replied cautiously. "Though, I hadn't expected a… demon as yourself to take such an interest in me."

He smiled faintly, a hint of amusement at her politeness, dancing in his eyes. He remarked how unexpectedness often holds the greatest intrigue.

However, his response seemed to cause her slight discomfort, yet she maintained her composure admirably.

Her next move was an attempt to glean information from him. "I must admit," she began tentatively, "I am rather new to all this. Vinny mentioned you're an overlord. Could you enlighten me on what that entails?"

Zestial's lips curled into a wry smile.

In truth, he didn’t mind answering Celeste’s question, but he was worried that her palpable discomfort would be amplified with information she seemed to not be familiar with, so he answered with a bit of wit to lighten the gravity of his status.

She chuckled softly, appreciating his response. "Middle management," she echoed, nodding as if pondering the concept. "Quite the responsibility, I imagine."

Zestial inclined his head gracefully. Now, he saw the chance to shift the conversation back to her and asked about her plans to recover memories. 

Her hesitation was brief, and her answer carefully measured. “Honestly, I am unsure. What I am certain of is that I must atone for my sins. Perhaps in doing so, I will reclaim the memories that have eluded me since my arrival in Hell,” she replied evenly.

Her responses were intriguing, revealing layers to her character that only deepened his interest. Her composure, her mystery, and her quest for atonement all hinted at a deeper story waiting to be unraveled. The fact that she had been a nun in her mortal life added a layer of wisdom and grace to her demeanor.

Zestial knew that religious sinners were actually quite common in Hell, often due to hypocrisy, hidden vices, or moments of faltering faith. Yet, there was something different about Celeste that he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

Her presence exuded an unusual combination of innocence and strength, a calmness that seemed out of place in the chaotic inferno. This paradox only fueled his curiosity. 

It did not go unnoticed to Zestial how beautiful Celeste was, despite the infernal taint that marked every soul in Hell. Her features were delicate yet striking.

Zestial found himself wondering how such a beautiful woman had chosen the path of a nun. What had driven her to a life of devotion and purity, and what had ultimately led her to this damned place? 

Her allure, both physical and enigmatic, captivated him. He couldn't help but imagine how breathtaking she must have been in her mortal life, unmarred by the darkness of Hell.

However, what truly captured Zestial the moment he stepped into the café was the faint scent of wine and candy. At first, given the environment of the café, he thought it was just the atmosphere—a blend of intoxicating yet sweet aromas. But as he and Celeste stepped out of the café and walked down the chaotic streets of Hell, it confirmed his suspicions: the scent came from her. That was what captivated him—her scent.

In all his years in Hell, everyone reeked of brimstone and sulfur. Demons and sinners could try to clean and wash and afford the most expensive perfumes and soaps, but the smell would always be there. 

The scent that emanated from Celeste was very faint, and it took someone like him, with his many years in hell, to pick up on the subtle difference. The scent of wine and candy, as he would describe it, was intoxicating yet sweet at the same time—almost heavenly. 

There was only one other being with that scent, and it was Lucifer himself. 

As Zestial thought of Lucifer, memories of his years of friendship with Lucifer flooded his mind. Zestial recalled countless private briefings, where the two of them discussed the intricate politics of Hell and its various power struggles. In those intimate moments, he would often catch the subtle scent of wine and candy emanating from Lucifer—a peculiar aroma that had always baffled him, though he never gave it much thought, until now.

Now, that same scent enveloped Celeste, stirring something deep within Zestial. 

His thoughts drifted back to Lucifer. In recent years, Lucifer had retreated from Hell's affairs, preferring to stay out of the constant turmoil that plagued his realm. The disappearance of Lilith had only deepened his withdrawal, leaving a void in Hell's leadership. Zestial had become Lucifer's eyes and ears, tasked with monitoring the ever-shifting dynamics of Hell and reporting back to him. Hence, keeping tabs on Alastor’s reappearance. 

As Zestial pondered Celeste and the potential implications, he felt a surge of curiosity and determination. Was this sinner somehow linked to Lucifer or was there another explanation? Whatever the case, Zestial knew that he had to unravel the mystery surrounding her. His role as Lucifer's confidant demanded it, and his own intrigue compelled him to delve deeper into the enigma that was Celeste.

Beneath his logical analysis, a subtler belief stirred within him: the notion that a divine force had brought him to her. In Hell, where chaos reigned and nothing happened by chance, Zestial couldn't shake the feeling that their encounter was more than mere coincidence. It was as if fate or some higher power had guided his steps, leading him to Celeste. 

This idea, both unsettling and thrilling, added another layer to his determination. He was not only following his duties as Lucifer's eyes and ears but also responding to an inexplicable call that resonated with his very being. Whatever the truth behind Celeste's presence, Zestial was resolute in his quest to uncover it, driven by both his loyalty to Lucifer and this newfound sense of direction.

As these thoughts churned within him, Zestial couldn't help but reflect on the famous proverb, "There is no rest for the wicked."

In his long existence, he had found this to be undeniably true. The restless pursuit of power, the endless schemes, and the ceaseless machinations of Hell ensured that peace was a rare commodity. Yet, for Zestial, this restlessness was not a burden but a driving force. It was what pushed him to uncover truths, to seek out hidden knowledge, and to unravel the mysteries that others might overlook.

In this moment, with Celeste at the heart of his curiosity, he felt the proverb's weight more acutely than ever. There would be no rest until he understood her, and he was more than willing to embrace the relentless pursuit that lay ahead.

*********************************************************

Next Chapter: The Long Night

Story Available on AO3

[fatedcadenza]

#𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐀 — An indie, selective, headcanon-based RP blog for Ludwig von Koopa of the MARIO FRANCHISE. Written by Nebula (they/she, 21+). (tags)

★★ BETA EDITOR ONLY. If you use the legacy editor with me, you are responsible for trimming our threads. If you don't want to, nor use the beta editor, I will drop our thread(s).

CARRD. CURRENT PROMO.

ALTERNATE VERSES BELOW !

v | one of bowser's many children. ;; ★ MARIO-CENTRIC. The Koopalings are all part of the Koopa Royal Family - being Bowser's seven children, with Bowser Jr. rounding off the group at eight. Ludwig is the oldest of the bunch, and the heir of the Darkland throne. They all call Bowser "King Dad", and their loyalty to him is unfaltering.

v | super smash bros. ;; ★ NINTENDO/CROSSOVER-CENTRIC. It seems Bowser and Junior have been invited to some kind of cross-dimensional fighting tournament…naturally, the Koopalings have tagged along. Ludwig lives in the "Super Smash Mansion" and, while seeing familiar faces, is utterly curious of the other folk who are also participating in the tournament. // Can be blended with the 'v | one of bowser's many children. ;; ★' verse.

v | world traveler. ;; ★ CROSSOVER-CENTRIC. Ludwig hails from a magical dimension, but has left it in the pursuit of knowledge. He's keen on travelling to other worlds and learning about them - documenting his discoveries in journals. His primary weapon & means of defense is his magic wand, which he is quite potent with.

[moran-with-a-g]

[image id: a twitter screenshot of a post by Kumi (@/Kumistarr). The post reads "DNI list" with a pondering emoji and a screenshot of a long list of franchises.

A reply from the user sonata: randomly zoom in on one and that's the universe you'll be reborn in when you die.

The list of franchises in the screenshot is as follows:

FNAF, Dandy's World, Sprunki, Warrior Cats, Wings of Fire, voltron, Kipo: the age of wonderbeasts, My Little Pony, My Hero Academia, Sanrio, Demon Slayer, Bendy and the Ink Machine, poppy playtime, Yandere simulator, Mouthwashing, Minecraft, Hollow Knight, A Hat in Time, Detroit: Become Human, Borderlands, the promised netherlands, bleach, oyasumi punpun, rick and morty, dont hug me im scared, love is war, asobi asobase, Bee and Puppycat, Sekai Project, Vocaloid, Bones, Dress to Impress, Kirby, Heathers, Miraculous Ladybug, Danganronpa, Object Show Community, Total Drama Island, Disventure Camp, Brawl Stars, DSMP, cartoon cat, strawberry shortcake, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Touhou Project, Serial Experiments Lain, Super Mario, Pokemon, Regretevator, Webfishing, madoka magica, Arcane, Jujitsu Kaisen, Stardew valley, murder drones, Dandadan, Death Note, how fish is made, marvel, DC superhero's, hunter x hunter, Attack on titan, amphibia, owl house, star vs the forces of evil, gravity falls, sailor moon, South Park fans, country ball, omori, Hamilton, k-pop stans, wolf 359, Azumanga daioh, Nichijou, cookie run kingdom, bungou stray dogs, sonic, bluey, Hazbin hotel, helluva boss, Alien stage, Haikyuu, undertale, deltarune, sims 4, rainworld, Celeste, turning red, genshin impact, honkai starrail, zenless zone zero, mr beast, baba is you, Amazing digital circus, v-tuber, roblox, Naruto, spy family, smiling friends, plants vs zombies, Persona 5, Identity V, Lion King, One piece, Home Stuck, furries, villainous, parappa, ace attorney, doki doki literature club, needy streamer overload, creepypasta, song of saya, romantic killer, ranma, chainsaw man, higurashi when the cry, elden ring, red dead redemption, yakuza, Harry Potter, Hungergames, twilight, game of thrones, sherklock Holmes, bambi, yuri on ice, Doctor who, invader zim, Star Wars, SpongeBob, Steven universe, amazing world of gumball, adventure time, mega man, portal, avatar: the last airbender, other avatar with the blue guys, over the garden wall, jojo's bizzare adventure, spooky's jumpscare mansion, super smash bros, The Last of Us, Life is Strange, little witch academia, valorant, overwatch, wonder egg, Ergo proxy, perfect blue, Haibane Renmei, cowboy bebop, land of the lustrous, league of legends, goat simulator, dragon ball, night in the woods, little nightmares, terraria, disco elysium, binding of issac, cuphead, baldi's basic, shovel knight, dont starve, cult of the lamb, fear and hunger, lackadaisy, fundamental paper education, dogman, many Disney princess movie, you and me and her, class of 09, ghost stories, SMG fans, tom and jerry, Garfield, simpsons, family guy, GTA, yume nikki, in stars and time, garten of banban, Skibidi toilet, kintopet, Amanda the adventurer, balatro, fortnite, call of duty, just shapes and beats, block blast, fall guys, among us, half life, the dance of fire and ice, ENA, Until Dawn, candy crush, resident evil, The Quarry, Bocchi the rock, walking dead, phasmaphobia, animal crossing, silent hill, world of horror, cooking mama, geometry dash, incredibox, crossy road, Tetris and Puyo puyo tetris, bob's burgers, subway surfers, spider man, disenchantment, futurama, dead end: paranormal park, big mouth, paw patrol, inside job, ghibli studio, beyblade, how to train your dragon, slay the princess, minions, outlast trials, Taylor swift, cookie run ovenbreak or actually any game from them, fever, spider man, yu gi oh, black clover, from me to you, miss kobayashi dragon maid, Saiki K, school babysitters, Ouran host club, sound of the sky, Welcome to the NHK, Cardcaptor Sakura, wicked, Barbie, mean girls, legally blonde

/.End id]

why is legally blonde here

[causalitylinked]

"And for your birthday, you are allowed to lose your virginity with me," Fang offered, keeping a serious face until she let out a snort after all. "Here." Offering him a postcard, but there was no printed picture, but her very own art, and it was him dressed like Junior, as if he was a giant mascot. "Don't worry, I drew abs for you, they sadly got covered."

            kobato's birthday. » always accepting!

    "You for real?!" Kobato exclaims, only to awkwardly pause when he realizes he did already lose his virginity after becoming Ryuto's chauffeur. "Oh, uh... not to burst your bubble or anything, but my V card is already gone. Though, for what it's worth, I only ever really smashed once, so I'm still very happy you'll let me stick my dick in you," he then proceeds to clarify while lifting a hand to tousle the back of his dark tresses... and he wasn't lying either, because back before he even met Fang, a family servant from the Tsukishima mansion, Mayumi, had pretty much showed him the warmth of a woman for the first time.

    Kobato, though, wasn't surprised she hadn't known, since when it came down to it, it wasn't like he ever told her. Regardless, he still finds himself peering down curiously when she presents him a postcard... and considering Rei already told him Fang drew, he did expect it to be a drawing, but what he didn't anticipate was the fact she was actually quite talented; in fact, he found himself subsequently marvelling when eagerly prying it out of her hands.

    "Whoa, Fancchi, you actually managed to make me look hot even in a mascot outfit! And it's okay - abs or not, I ain't picky," Kobato then goes on to excitedly remark before bringing himself to wear a boyish grin as if he truly was quite pleased. Needless to say, it didn't seem as if he particularly minded Fang decided to draw him cosplaying as Junior. "Thanks so much, baby... I will cherish this forever! Can I give ya a hug?"

@badheart

[videostak]

also dude kept calling jeff bezos ‘steve bezos’ idk if it was supposed to be a dig at steve jobs and jeff bezos or just  a genuine mistake but he also kept trying to convince me just how cooler elon is compared to jeff bezos since jeff bezos has a supermodel wife or something “kept using the phrase “is smashing a supermodel” and then mentioning on the side that he would do the same thing to if he was rich and saying that elon is better than him cause he doesnt own a mansion  apparently but rents one out and is .. divorced? v strange actually arguing with an elon fanboy i mean alot of it was exactly what i’d expect but also was a  bit surprised at the overtly racist angle of tellign me i have to support american cars made in america and not buy japanese cars lol. like that was definitely a bit leftfield. anyways it was insane but also kinda like productive to argue w/ someone with those stupid viewpoints for sure liek productive for my brain to kno i can not go crazy talking to some psycho abt something like that but can actually keep my cool and like respond to all their counterarguments right away without having to prepare in advance or anything. atleast in that particular scenario and knowing i dont fall for bait when he’d try to catch me in contradictions like i could take his bait but then point out how his supposed contradictions of mines arent really actual contradictions and then the conversation would move along.  anways it was weird as hell seeing someone so just completel 100% buy into the pr image elon tries so desperately to create for himself like this guy just thought how down to earth elon was compared to other billionares particularly bezos and also how he just kept giving elon full credit for things that he didnt even invent but just profitted on. it was funny that he like legitimately thought elon has done more for the environment than like environmental groups and activists. and then when i mentioned how elons flies private jets which is like the worst for the environment like just so many excuses poured out it was rly insane seeing someones brain just try to work like that

[finns-fandom-blog]

for anyone who is also having a bit of trouble reading all of this because that text is wildly small:

FNAF, Dandy’s World, Sprunki, Warrior Cats, Wings of Fire, voltron, Kipo: the age of wonderbeasts, My Little Pony, My Hero Academia, Sanrio, Demon Slayer, Bendy and the Ink Machine, poppy playtime, Yandere simulator, Mouthwashing, Minecraft, Hollow Knight, A Hat in Time, Detroit: Become Human, Borderlands, the promised netherlands, bleach, oyasumi punpun, rick and morty, don’t hug me I'm scared, love is war, asobi asobase, Bee and Puppycat, Sekai Project, Vocaloid, Bones, Dress to Impress, Kirby, Heathers, Miraculous Ladybug, Danganronpa, Object Show Community, Total Drama Island, Disventure Camp, Brawl Stars, DSMP, cartoon cat, strawberry shortcake, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Touhou Project, Serial Experiments Lain, Super Mario, Pokemon, Regretevator, Webfishing, madoka majica, Arcane, jiujutsu kaisen, Stardew valley, murder drones, Dandadan, Death Note, how fish is made, marvel, DC superhero’s, hunter x hunter, Attack on Titan, amphibia, owl house, star vs the forces of evil, gravity falls, sailor moon, South Park fans, country ball, omori, Hamilton, k-pop stans, wolf 359, Azumanga daioh, Nichijou, cookie run kingdom, bungou stray dogs, sonic, bluey, Hazbin hotel, helluva boss, Alien stage, Haikyuu, undertale, deltarune, sims 4, rainworld, Celeste, turning red, genshin impact, honkai starrail, zenless zone zero, mr beast, baba is you, Amazing digital circus, v-tuber, roblox, Naruto, spy family, smiling friends, plants vs zombies, persona 5, Identity V, Lion King, One Piece, Home Stuck, furries, villainous, parappa, ace attorney, doki doki literature club, needy streamer overload, creepypasta, song of saya, romantic killer, ranma, chainsaw man, higurashi when the cry, elden ring, red dead redemption, yakuza, Harry Potter, Hungergames, twilight, game of thrones, sherklock Holmes, bambi, yuri on ice, Doctor who, invader zim, Star Wars, SpongeBob, Steven universe, amazing world of gumball, adventure time, mega man, portal, avatar: the last airbender, other avatar with with the blue guys, over the garden wall, jojo’s bizarre adventure, spooky’s jumpscare mansion, super smash bros, The Last of Us, Life is Strange, little witch academia, valorant, overwatch, wonder egg, Ergo proxy, perfect blue, Haibane Renmei, cowboy bebop, land of the lustrous, league of legends, goat simulator, dragon ball, night in the woods, little nightmares, terraria, disco elysium, binding of isaac, cuphead, baldi’s basic, shovel knight, don’t starve, cult of the lamb, fear and hunger, lackadaisy, fundamental paper education, dogman, many Disney princess movie, you and me and her, class of 09, ghost stories, SMG fans, tom and jerry, Garfield, simpsons, family guy, GTA, yume nikki, in stars and time, garten of banban, Skibidi Toilet, kintopet, Amanda the adventurer, balatro, fortnite, call of duty, just shapes and beats, block blast, fall guys, among us, half life, the dance of fire and ice, ENA, Until Dawn, candy crush, resident evil, The Quarry, Bocchi the rock, walking dead, phasmaphobia, animal crossing, silent hill, world of horror, cooking mama, geometry dash, incredibox, crossy road, Tetris and Puyo puyo tetris, bob’s burgers, subway surfers, spider man, disenchantment, futurama, dead end: paranormal park, big mouth, paw patrol, inside job, ghibli studio, beyblade, how to train your dragon, slay the princess, minions, outlast trials, Taylor swift, cookie run ovenbreak or actually any game from them, fever, spider man, yu gi oh, black clover, from me to you, miss kobayashi dragon maid, Saiki K, school babysitters, Ouran host club, sound of the sky, Welcome to the NHK, Cardcaptor Sakura, wicked, barbie, mean girls, legally blonde, 

everything copied down exactly as written above, including the comma at the end lol

Impressive.

[holdingmyworldsdestiny]

@rathalascendant​​  wanted a starter <3

“Do you see it? A sun shower!”

The woman had merely been walking along the outdoor garden, when out of seemingly nowhere, there was a rainfall. The water was gentle, and the sunshine was still very much making itself known.

“In Hyrule, a sun shower is a sign of great luck. It has been some time since I have seen one.”