#vertical take off and landing

[flyingprivate]

Alef Aeronautics' Model Zero E Flying Car !

Alef Aeronautics’ drivable flying car takes its maiden flight in a city field.

The development team has introduced the Alef Model A, the dubbed production version of the drivable flying car that has vertical take-off and landing capabilities.

On February 19th, 2025, its test model takes off, even flying over another vehicle.

In a LinkedIn post, Alef Aeronautics CEO Jim Dukhovny writes that the video showcasing the flight is ‘the first documented, verifiable flight of a flying car (an actual car, with vertical takeoff, non-tethered).’ 

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Xpeng AeroHT ‘Land Aircraft Carrier’, 2024. Presented at the CES, a prototype for a 6-wheeled vehicle capable of accommodating 4-5 passengers with an extended range electric powertrain capable of multiple charges for the air module. The air module itself is an electric piloted vertical take-off aircraft capable of low altitude flight with 2 seats. Xpeng plan to open orders in the 4th quarter of 2024

video

[stone-cold-groove]

VTOL for the masses!

[flyin-shark]

*Carpet bombs your inbox with serotonin*

*Crackles into radio*

"We got him boss!"

*Crashes my jet nose first into the floor*

God dammit why is there some weird chemical on my carpet I thought i got it cleaned last week

Nooo not my toy jet I paid like 60 bucks for that thing. It even had vtol…

[yourlatesttrik]

Flying 150+ Miles with Joby's Electric Vertical Take-Off and Landing Air...

An electric vertical take-off and landing (eVTOL) aircraft is a variety of VTOL (vertical take-off and landing) aircraft that uses electric power to hover, take off, and land vertically. This technology came about owing to major advances in electric propulsion (motors, batteries, fuel cells, electronic controllers) and the emerging need for new aerial vehicles for Advanced Air Mobility and Urban Air Mobility that can enable greener and quieter flights. Electric and hybrid propulsion systems (EHPS) have also the potential of lowering the operating costs of aircraft. -Wikipedia

This was 3 YEARS ago!

[ajaymoreadreport]

VTOL UAV Market: Projected to Hit USD 10.0 Billion by 2032

Vertical Take-off and Landing (VTOL) UAV Market Outlook

The Vertical Take-off and Landing (VTOL) UAV Market is witnessing an unprecedented surge, cementing its role as a critical segment of the global unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) industry. With a market size valued at USD 1.652 billion in 2023, this sector is projected to skyrocket to USD 10.0 billion by 2032, demonstrating a staggering compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 21.96% from 2024 to 2032. Driven by an expanding range of applications, favorable government policies, and technological advancements, VTOL UAVs are transforming operations in military, commercial, and consumer markets.

Browse Report – Explore the report’s contents, sections, and key insights by browsing through its detailed information.

Understanding the VTOL UAV Market

VTOL UAVs possess the unique capability to take off, hover, and land vertically, eliminating the need for runways. This versatility makes them ideal for use in diverse environments, from dense urban landscapes to remote and rugged terrains. VTOL UAVs are often categorized into fixed-wing, rotary-wing, and hybrid models, each catering to specific use cases across industries. These systems are increasingly sought after due to their ability to combine the benefits of traditional drones and helicopters, offering improved operational efficiency, precision, and maneuverability.

Key Drivers of Market Growth

The exponential growth of the VTOL UAV market is fueled by several key factors:

Increasing Adoption Across Military and Defense Sectors

Military applications remain the largest driver of VTOL UAV demand. Governments worldwide are investing heavily in UAV technologies for surveillance, reconnaissance, intelligence gathering, and combat operations. VTOL UAVs, with their ability to operate in confined and unpredictable environments, are invaluable for modern warfare strategies. For instance, they can be deployed for border patrols, target tracking, and delivering supplies to troops stationed in inaccessible areas. The growing focus on minimizing human casualties and enhancing operational capabilities further accelerates their adoption.

Expanding Commercial Applications

The commercial sector is witnessing significant VTOL UAV integration across industries such as logistics, agriculture, energy, and infrastructure. E-commerce giants and logistics providers are actively exploring VTOL UAVs for last-mile delivery services, reducing delivery times and costs. In precision agriculture, these UAVs are used for crop monitoring, spraying fertilizers, and assessing field health, improving productivity and efficiency for farmers. Similarly, industries like oil and gas rely on VTOL UAVs for pipeline inspections, minimizing downtime and ensuring worker safety.

Technological Advancements

Rapid advancements in UAV technology, including improved battery life, autonomous flight capabilities, and enhanced payload capacities, have bolstered the growth of VTOL UAVs. Hybrid VTOL models that combine fixed-wing and rotary-wing features offer extended flight ranges and longer operational hours, making them ideal for applications requiring both vertical take-off and long-distance travel. Additionally, innovations in artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning are enabling smarter, data-driven operations, enhancing UAV performance across applications.

Favorable Government Policies and Regulations

Governments globally are recognizing the potential of UAVs and implementing favorable policies to support their development and deployment. Streamlined licensing procedures, relaxed airspace restrictions, and funding for UAV research and innovation are creating a conducive environment for market growth. In regions like North America and Europe, regulatory bodies are collaborating with UAV manufacturers to establish clear guidelines for commercial UAV operations, further boosting adoption.

Market Segmentation and Regional Insights

The VTOL UAV market can be segmented based on type, application, and region:

By Type: The market includes fixed-wing, rotary-wing, and hybrid VTOL UAVs. Hybrid models are expected to witness the highest growth due to their versatile applications and operational advantages.

By Application: Key application areas include military and defense, logistics, agriculture, energy, construction, and media.

By Region: North America dominates the market, driven by significant defense spending, technological advancements, and strong support for commercial UAV applications. Europe and Asia-Pacific are also emerging as major players, with increasing investments in UAV infrastructure and applications across industries like agriculture and energy.

Challenges and Opportunities

While the VTOL UAV market offers immense potential, challenges such as high development costs, limited battery capacities, and regulatory complexities in certain regions may hinder growth. However, these obstacles also present opportunities for innovation. For instance, advancements in lightweight materials, alternative power sources (e.g., hydrogen fuel cells), and modular designs are expected to address these limitations and propel market expansion.

Future Outlook

The future of the VTOL UAV market looks promising, with continued investments in research and development expected to unlock new capabilities. Emerging trends such as drone swarm technology, urban air mobility (UAM), and autonomous delivery systems are likely to redefine the possibilities of VTOL UAVs. Additionally, partnerships between public and private stakeholders will further drive innovation and create robust ecosystems for UAV deployment.

Conclusion

The Vertical Take-off and Landing (VTOL) UAV market is on a trajectory of remarkable growth, driven by its unparalleled versatility and expanding applications. With a projected value of USD 10.0 billion by 2032 and a CAGR of 21.96%, this market represents a significant opportunity for businesses, governments, and innovators alike. As technology continues to evolve and regulations become more supportive, VTOL UAVs are set to revolutionize operations across military, commercial, and consumer sectors.

The rapid adoption of VTOL UAVs signifies more than just market growth; it reflects a transformative shift toward smarter, safer, and more efficient aerial solutions. Companies and stakeholders investing in this dynamic industry stand to gain a competitive edge in shaping the future of UAV technology.

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[techninja]

Urban Air Mobility Market: Trends, Challenges, and Future Prospects

The urban air mobility (UAM) market is poised for significant growth, driven by the need for sustainable and efficient transportation solutions in urban areas. The market size is projected to exceed USD 15533.29 million by 2028, growing at a CAGR of 11.13% during the forecast period. This growth is attributed to the increasing demand for fast and effective transportation, rising environmental concerns, and advancements in technology for the UAM industry.

Market Size and Growth

The global UAM market size was valued at USD 3.8 billion in 2023 and is expected to reach USD 28.5 billion by 2030, growing at a CAGR of 33.5% from 2023 to 2030

This rapid growth is driven by the need for fast and effective transportation, rising environmental concerns, and advancements in technology for the UAM industry. The market is driven by factors such as growing smart city initiatives, a rise in environmental concerns, and increasing advancements in technology for UAM Industry.

Key Players

The key players in the UAM market include Airbus SE (Netherlands), Lilium Aviation Gmbh (Germany), EHang (China), Eve Holding Inc(Brazil), Vertical Aerospace (UK), and Textron Inc(US)

These companies are investing heavily in research and development, product launches, mergers & acquisitions, collaborations, partnerships, and refurbishing of existing technology to stay ahead in the market.

Challenges

Despite the growth prospects, the UAM market faces several challenges, including higher initial investment required for research & development and for developing required infrastructure development for UAM

The industry players are investing a lot of effort in the research and development of smart and unique strategies for sustainable transportation systems. However, safety concerns and public trust are critical factors for UAM adoption, and the market growth is expected to be hampered by these challenges

Future Prospects

The future of UAM looks promising, with the market expected to reach USD 30.7 billion by 2031, growing at a CAGR of 30.2% from 2022 to 2031

The UAM market is expected to transform the way we commute, deliver goods, and experience cities. The concept of UAM has taken flight in recent years, promising a revolution in urban transportation. As cities continue to expand and traffic congestion worsens, the need for innovative solutions for efficient, fast, and sustainable transportation within urban environments becomes increasingly pressing.

Infrastructure Development

One of the most significant challenges in implementing UAM lies in the development of a comprehensive infrastructure

This includes the creation of landing pads, charging infrastructure, and air traffic management systems. The development of infrastructure is critical for the widespread adoption of UAM.

Regulatory Landscape

The regulatory landscape is also a significant challenge for the UAM market. Governments and regulatory bodies need to establish clear guidelines and regulations for the operation of UAM vehicles, including issues such as noise pollution, air traffic control, and safety standards.

Public Acceptance

Public acceptance is another critical factor for the growth of the UAM market. The public needs to be educated about the benefits of UAM, including reduced congestion, reduced emissions, and increased efficiency. Public acceptance is critical for the widespread adoption of UAM.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the UAM market is poised for significant growth, driven by the need for sustainable and efficient transportation solutions in urban areas The market size is projected to exceed USD 15533.29 million by 2028, growing at a CAGR of 11.13% during the forecast period The key players in the UAM market are investing heavily in research and development, product launches, mergers & acquisitions, collaborations, partnerships, and refurbishing of existing technology to stay ahead in the market. However, the market faces several challenges, including higher initial investment required for research & development and for developing required infrastructure development for UAM The future of UAM looks promising, with the market expected to reach USD 30.7 billion by 2031, growing at a CAGR of 30.2% from 2022 to 2031The UAM market is expected to transform the way we commute, deliver goods, and experience cities.

[xtruss]

Chinese Private Space Company Completes Vertical Takeoff, Landing Test For Reusable Rocket

— Fan Wei and Tao Mingyang | January 19, 2024

The VTVL-1 Test Rocket Photo: Courtesy of LandSpace

Chinese Private Aerospace Company LandSpace completed a vertical takeoff and vertical landing (VTVL) test on Friday, the Beijing-based firm told the Global Times, laying the foundations for its self-developed ZQ-3 reusable rocket.

The flight test was completed with the VTVL-1 test rocket at the Jiuquan Satellite Launch Center in Northwest China's Gansu Province. The rocket landed at the scheduled landing point after staying in the air for approximately 60 seconds and reaching 320 meters high.

VTVL-1 is a liquid oxygen, methane-propelled single-stage test rocket designed to develop the vertical takeoff and landing technique for LandSpace's ZQ-3 reusable rocket. The VTVL-1 has a total length of 18.3 meters and a diameter of 3.35 meters, with a launch weight of 50.3 tons and 68 tons of take-off thrust.

VTVL-1 is equipped with three sets of two-stage buffering landing legs that are capable of handling 50 tons of landing weight. The test also proved the performance and stability of the landing system, which will facilitate ZQ-3's takeoff and landing from land and sea.

The ZQ-3 carrier rocket is China's first reusable steel rocket. It was unveiled in December 2023, and is scheduled to conduct its first commercial flight in 2025. The first stage of the rocket can be used at least 20 times, reducing the launch cost by 80 to 90 percent compared to regular carrier rockets, according to LandSpace.

A representative from LandSpace told the Global Times that the test proved the matching performance of the rocket's control system and throttle engine as well as the guidance algorithm. "The later tests will involve greater speed and height, and will further facilitate the maiden launch of ZQ-3 in 2025," said the representative.

Multiple Chinese private aerospace firms have conducted VTVL tests. The Hyperbola-2 rocket from Chinese private aerospace firm iSpace completed its reusable flight test on December 10 2023.

CAS Space, a commercial spaceflight firm that is partly owned by the Chinese Academy of Sciences, revealed that it successfully carried out a launching-from-land and landing-at-sea trial in Haiyang, East China's Shandong Province, in April 2023.

[hybridaircraft]

The Difference Between Hybrid-Electric vs. Battery-Electric Aircraft

The future of aviation is looking brighter than ever as new technologies emerge to make the industry greener and more efficient. Battery-electric and hybrid electric air travel is paving the way for a new era of advanced air mobility, creating exciting new ways to move passengers, cargo and more.

There are two different technologies innovators continue to explore as the aviation industry moves to achieve its decarbonization goals. These include battery-electric and hybrid-electric propulsion systems. While they both work to make aircraft more environmentally friendly, how do they differ?

Battery-Electric Aircraft

Battery-electric aircraft could be the future of short-range travel. These aircraft do not use conventional jet fuel or sustainable aviation fuel (SAF). Instead, they run entirely on batteries to produce zero emissions.

Typically, all-electric aircraft have a far shorter range than their hybrid or fuel-powered alternatives. But that doesn't mean they don't present many exciting use cases. Experts see battery-electric aircraft as a viable option for short hops. For example, it can be a great solution for air taxis moving people within city centers. Alternatively, it presents a compelling use case for commercial delivery, emergency services and more.

Hybrid Electric Air Travel

While all-electric aircraft presents many unique opportunities for short-range travel, hybrid-electric aircraft opens up more possibilities for cleaner air travel. This technology still uses batteries for more efficient operations. But, aircraft has the added benefit of fuel-powered combustion.

Hybrid-electric aircraft is a more flexible alternative to all-electric aircraft. They can handle short-range travel using nothing but battery power. But when long-range travel is necessary, the propulsion system will automatically move to fuel energy sources. As a result, hybrid-electric designs can handle long-range regional trips, moving through existing air corridors or creating new ones for more efficient travel.

Hybrid technology is also changing current airplanes. Many heavy hitters in the aviation industry are exploring hybridization to improve efficiency for commercial air flights. The hybrid-electric systems can handle tasks like taxiing, pushback and wheel operations. Once the aircraft hits cruising altitude, other power sources can recharge the batteries, enabling them to assist during landing.

Read a similar article about VTOL here at this page.

[moonstruckme]

He would never take those bracelets off 😭 now I kinda want a fic of counselor James and counselor reader how cute

Hi, I've lowkey been hoarding this for months because I wanted to wait until I felt summery enough, thank you for requesting!!

camp counselor!James x fem!reader ♡ 693 words

“Land ho, boys!” A familiar voice reaches you over the water. Your eyes are closed towards the sun, but you feel your lips twitch upward. “Thomas, if you don’t help Callum paddle you’ll fall behind, and the last one to shore has to buy me a popsicle after dinner. Hey, look, we’ve got a mermaid on our beach!” 

You turn your head to the side, squinting your eyes to see James and his cabin of boys paddling toward you in kayaks over the lake. You lift your hand in a lazy wave. 

“Oh, false alarm, it’s just y/n. Hi, y/n!” He raises an arm to wave back at you, wrist stacked with string bracelets made with care by small hands.

You swear he’s got more from your own campers than you have, but you don’t mind; James is a hero to most of the kids, the goofy gentle giant who lets them ride on his shoulders when your manager isn’t looking and deals temporary tattoos out of his cabin during mealtimes.

“Careful, Archie, mate, if she catches you rocking your kayak like that she’s going to hang you from the lifeguard stand by your toes.” The boys laugh, and James protests, “No, really! I’ve seen her do it, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You roll your eyes and close them again, turning your face back towards the sky. It’s not until you hear the shushing of kayaks against the coarse sand and a shadow falls over you that you say, without opening your eyes, “Spreading rumors about me again?” 

“They know better than to take me seriously.”

James’ shadow moves as he sits beside you on the sand, and you turn your head again to see him. He’s looking over his shoulder at the boys, the lean muscles of his abdomen stretching and dusky skin shining with sweat in the afternoon sun.

“Hey, whoever puts my kayak and paddle up, I’ll buy them a popsicle after dinner.” Shouts and bickering ensue, and James turns back around with a smile. “Where are your kids?” he asks you. 

“In arts and crafts,” you say. “Figured I’d catch a nap while they were busy.” 

He hums, setting his hands on the warm sand behind him and leaning back. “So you didn’t just come here to see how fit I looked dragging a paddle through the water?” 

You know James is only playing, but embarrassment tingles down to your toes anyway. “Not this time, sorry.” 

“Mm, don’t believe you.” He shoots you a grin, and you look away under the guise of rolling your eyes. That thing is more glaring than the sun. “You coming to the bonfire tonight?” 

“Don’t we have to?” you ask. It’s the last night of this session, and camp always closes out with a bonfire and s’mores for the kids. 

“I mean the other bonfire.” At your blank look, James continues, looking rather too pleased to know something you don’t, “After the kids’ bonfire, when they’re all watching a movie in the cafeteria, some of the counselors are planning to go out into the woods and have a grown-ups’ bonfire.” 

You giggle. “Grown-ups? What are we, twelve?”

James bobs his head. “And we’re gonna have s’mores, and tell ghost stories, and maybe play truth or dare,” he says in an exaggeratedly animated tone. “It’s gonna be super cool.” 

“It sounds super cool,” you agree, laughing. “I’ll be there.” 

“Excellent.” James casts a look over his shoulder and starts standing up. “I should get back to my kids before they injure each other.” 

You check the time and sigh. “Yeah, me too.” 

“Want a hand?” 

You reach up and James takes your hands in his, hauling you upright. Your head lightens once you’re vertical, a combination of your sun-warmed skin and James’ touch making you woozy. 

“See you later?” he asks, releasing your hands and starting to back away as the shouting behind him grows more boisterous. “I’ll come find you in the cafeteria, we can walk together.” 

“That’d be great, thanks.” You start walking away, too, ignoring the pleasant buzzing in your chest. “I wouldn’t miss it.” 

[strwbrychffoncke]

"ive got my love to keep me warm,, 1.7k words synopsis: cozy mornings with xavier contains: afab!reader (cleavage is mentioned once ,he squeezes ur boob lol) ,fluffy to slight nsfw?? (veeery suggestive but nothing explicit) ,teasing ,kissing ,playful xav ,sleepy xavier (when isnt he) ,he calls you 'miss hunter' teasingly ,playful banter at the end ,reader is wearing a cami + panties (im projecting) ,i think thats it *gulps* note: this is my first lads fic (yay?) here's my peace offering while i try to unravel all of my other ideas into comprehensible stories.. i hope i did him justice for the xavier kissers here :x

-

peaceful.

thats how you would describe these mornings in a single word.

when the sun has yet to fully ascend beyond the horizon, its warm light slowly reaching down to the ground below, slowly enveloping every building— a gentle wake up call— its effort is futile to chase away the thick blanket of snow that's encased every inch of the city.

the world was silent, peaceful, taking its time to slowly wake from its slumber before the usual bustle of the day would settle in.

but today was different for you.

today was your day off.

something you were ever so grateful for as you cracked your eyes open, quickly being reminded that you didn't need to roll out of the warm confines of your bed, reach for your uniform in a haste, and decide what the quickest breakfast option would be this time while brushing your teeth—

but instead, you close your eyes once more, basking in the quiet calm of the morning, sinking further into the comfort of your soft mattress and warm comforter.

"..."

a shifting movement causes you to peek an eye open again.

you look down, met with the face of none other than xavier, still sound asleep, arms wound around your waist and head pressed against your chest.

you grin, bringing your hands up from under the covers, brushing up his back before trailing over the nape of his neck before landing on the top of his head, fingers tangling in his soft locks.

at your ministrations, he nuzzles deeper into your chest (his favorite pillow), a look of satisfaction spreading across his lips in his sleep.

you can only smile at the sight, admiring him.

xavier was beautiful; this was a well-known fact and something that you couldn't help but to think the first time you laid eyes on him back then.

even in his sleep, his beauty only multiplied. his breathing calm and even, cheeks soft (right one cutely squished from being pressed into your chest), his pretty long lashes stemming from his unmoving eyelids, his slightly-chapped pink lips....

you move your right hand from his hair down to his face, tracing the outline of his eyelids, his cheekbones, the curve of his nose—

he scrunches it at your touch, causing you to pause, but he still doesn't wake.

you cant help but to admire his serene expression. even if he always appeared calm and put together, there were moments where his worry, anxiety, or irritation bled through (namely on more difficult missions together— though, whether you realize it or not, in these moments he's always concerned over your safety and being able to help you out, should you need it) so seeing him like this was an especially pleasant sight to you.

you trail your index finger down, tracing his upper lip back and forth. when you go to trace vertically from his cupids bow to his inner bottom lip, your finger is met with a kiss, making you freeze.

"is my face that strange, miss hunter?"

he peeks at you with one eye from his spot as you snatch your finger back, startled by his cute, sleepy (yet equally attractive) mumble, not realizing he had woken up, having been too lost in your thoughts.

he only laughs softly at this, both eyes open yet half-lidded as he reaches a hand out from under the covers to grab your hand and drag it back towards his lips, planting a kiss onto your knuckles.

"is this a new mandatory inspection?" he grins sleepily at you as he drags your hand closer, placing his left cheek into your palm. "please, take as long as you need," he says, nuzzling into your warmth.

beginning to feel the edges of guilt creep up on you, you try to explain yourself.

"i didn't mean to wake you—"

"hmm?" he hums, closing his eyes.

you stare for a moment before letting out a laugh.

does he not mind after all?

"go back to sleep, xavier," you urge, still rubbing his head with your free hand.

"what 'bout you?"

he releases your hand, eyes still shut as he lowers his right cheek back down, curling his left arm back around your waist, head plush against your chest once more.

"im still a little sleepy myself," you yawn.

"didn't seem that way to me," he mumbles.

you huff out a breath. xavier giggles.

a comfortable silence envelops you both until you decide to speak up again.

"your face isn't strange."

"hm?" he was still awake.

"your question. your face isn't strange.. its the opposite, actually. seeing such a peaceful expression on your face is always... a relief," you admit sheepishly.

xavier cracks an eye open at that.

feeling his stare, you push a hand towards his face to cover his eye and turn your head away, bashful under his gaze.

"stop that.."

he responds by grabbing your hand, easily moving it down from his eyes, and kissing the inside of your palm down to your wrist, making eye contact with you all the while.

"xavier..."

something about the way you show your care for him, your embarrassed expression as you try to hide from his gaze (along with the way a strap of your cami slides down your arm, revealing more of your pretty skin) seems to wake him up and make something snap within him all at once.

"on second thought..."

you don't have time to process his next move.

one second, he was nestled comfortably against you, and the next, he was hovering over you, the hand he was kissing now pinned down above your head on the mattress below.

"i'm not sure i feel so tired anymore..."

your breath hitches, surprised eyes locked with his as he stares down at you.

your pretty, surprised eyes stare up at him, your breathing picking up at the growing tension as his eyes drag over you, from your messy bedhead, your silk cami— wrinkled and showing just enough of your cleavage now— riding up at the bottom to reveal your soft belly peeking out from beneath it, your pretty panties, lace embellishing the edges, hugging your hips so nicely, the beginning of your plush thighs pressed together...

he thinks you look so pretty like this.

"xa—"

"beautiful."

you don't get to respond as he swallows up any words you had within the next second.

the kiss is needy, his tongue quickly overtaking yours and slipping between your lips, breathing you in, taking everything you're willing to give him.

he loves how willing you are to give yourself to him.

always.

when you separate, you're both gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting your now spit-shined lips together.

he frowns down at you suddenly, still catching his breath.

"xavier?" you whisper, puzzled at his sudden change in expression.

you reach out for him with your left hand but before you can reach him, he catches it with his free one, pinning it down over your right hand, adjusting his grip so both your wrists are restrained with his left hand, leaving you helpless while his right begins to trail down your body.

"you woke me up..."

his eyes are darker as his fingers drag slowly down your neck, your collarbones, your shoulder.

did i upset him?

"i said i didn't- oh"

your breath catches in your throat as he squeezes your breast suddenly.

"its only fair you take responsibility,"

he trails lower, touch light over the skin of your stomach before trailing over your panties stretched across your hips (oh, how he loved that you didn't sleep in any pants, even when the weather was as cold as it was), fingers dancing around between your inner thighs.

"right, miss hunter?"

. . .

winter mornings with xavier were something you started to anticipate ever since getting your first taste of one.

at night, you never had to fear going to sleep shivering under layers of blankets, and oftentimes you'd wake up so warm and cozy (thanks to your human-cat like blanket) that you never wanted to get up.

other times, even when a chill permeated through the room, xavier would always take matters into his own hands and warm you up using his own methods, conventional or not.

winter mornings with xavier were peaceful, cozy, warm, and always something to look forward to.

and as small, pretty snowflakes began to float down and meet with the city below, all the world was none the wiser to the sounds of your lovemaking.

more snowflakes began their descent, a light frost enveloping the windows, the blanket of snow concealing the messy kisses, sinful moans, gasping breaths, the way he bent your body to his will, the slapping of skin and the confessions of love amongst everything else.

and by the time most were out and about, running errands or on their way to their respective jobs, you were already spent and shaking, cuddling up to xavier, still nude and stealing each others body heat, marks running along your necks and chests as you slipped into the comfortable embrace of slumber once more.

-

"are you cold?"

you look up at him.

"why do you ask?"

"you're shaking"

you stare at him, unimpressed.

"well, maybe if someone wasn't so needy, my body wouldn't be reacting like this."

he laughs in response, pulling you closer before planting a kiss on your head.

"sorry," he muses, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "you just look too good in the morning, can you really blame me?"

you sigh, cuddling closer to him.

"i don't think i'll be able to walk for the rest of the day."

"it's a good thing i didn't feel like going out anyway," he lets out a contented sigh as he hugs you close.

yes, winter mornings with xavier were definitely something to look forward to.

. . .

extra:

"so... you're not cold?"

you don't answer.

"because i can always warm you up—"

you can't fight the urge and hit him with a pillow. he laughs.

"actually, i think i have something to do," you tease, rolling away from him, almost reaching the edge of the bed before he latches onto your waist.

you yelp as he pulls you back against his chest.

"hey!"

"you may not be cold, but i am. stay here and warm me up for now." he shuts his eyes, getting comfortable with you.

you sigh, nuzzling into him.

"i'll have to get up to cook later, and you're going to have to move me."

"we can order takeout."

"xavier that's..."

"sleep," he murmurs, holding you close.

you can only surrender, sinking into the warmth from your beloved.

-

authors note: yes i wrote xavier as a freak in the morning i think it suits him.. was so tempted to turn this into an actual smut but my only experience is reading 'x reader' smut w fictional characters sigh. maybe ill try writing christmas sex or something but hopefully this will do for now.... dunno if its noted but the title is inspired by laufey's winter ep + other inspos w the other lads li's are on the way ,please look forward to it :x > editing one last time after drinking if there's any typos idk what ill do....

[lostintransist]

This Bunny Bites | Part 5

Part 1 | AO3

You fling your head back, knees bent to absorb the motion. A black gloved hand pops into existence catching the back swinging knuckles before they make contact. Ducking under Ghost’s arm you haul ass to the side of the main stage. Dodging around men fighting each other you are able to get a singular ass cheek onto the stage before spinning your legs up and launching to standing. Two large steps and you have hands on the pole. Swinging your legs up and locking your left one tight to the bar you straighten and push your hands against the ceiling.

The terrible foam-looking nonsense that looked like it belonged in an office lifted easily. Someone had painted the tiles black, the color flaked off on your fingers. You slapped a hand around until you found the air horn you had hidden up here after a particularly scary night. Still perched high on the vertical bar you aimed the horn towards the concentrated clump of men and pressed the button.

The volume shocked you. Why did people use these for fun? You watched as men flinched and started to cover their ears. A few still got clipped by swings started before your noise assault. You didn’t let up on the button until every pair of eyes in the building looked directly at you.

“Unless you work here get the fuck out! You have two minutes, or I will be calling in the local PD,” your voice scrapes through your throat as you yell at the room.

No one moves. You buzz them with the blast of the air horn again.

“Out!”

Your yell startles enough of them into moving. Like the herd animals they are, the men shift en mass toward the exit. When the last of the bodies trickles out the door the rest of your girls appear from the back, side rooms, and even from the backstage. You see Misty behind you and toss the air horn to her. Hands free you let yourself down the pole. Once your feet touch the stage you see Todd storming up the steps at you.

“What the hell was that!” He flings a hand towards the exit, face flushed.

“That? That was crowd control! I was with a client for ten minutes and you let a fucking brawl break out!” You match his volume, loud.

“How was I supposed to stop it? Huh? An air horn from the fucking ceiling?” Todd talks with his hands, pointing at the dark void above the stage.

Thankfully the vertical pole had been bolted into a beam in the ceiling

“No! You are supposed to be clocking who is causing trouble before another patron feels the need to help their favorite girl themselves!” You cross your arms, anger telling you to lash out physically.

Todd mistakes the act as one of self-protection and takes an aggressive step forward.

“You don’t know what happened you said it yourself you were with a client,” he snarled in your face.

With your heels on you tower above him, it doesn’t prevent him from trying to intimidate you.

Eyes boring into Todd’s you speak to the room.

“Ladies, what happened?”

Misty speaks up from behind you, “Exactly what you said happened. Someone without a wristband was getting really handsy with Cierra and a regular took offense to it. He told the guy to knock it off and when he didn’t the regular threw a punch. Turns out the guy was here for a bachelor party and he and his twelve bachelors’ didn’t like being told what to do.”

You lift both brows at Todd. You had been in this business long enough to know what happened without being there.

“And then it probably spilled over,” you continued the story familiar with the flow of a drunken fight. “Men not involved got hit and started throwing punches and suddenly it takes a woman with an air horn to stop a problem that should have been prevented by a manager paying attention.”

Red flushes upwards from Todd’s collar, almost cartoonish in tracking the rising tide of his anger.

“That’s it, you are fired!” Spittle flies from his lips, landing somewhere on your chest.

You broaden your stance and your shoulders, placing your hands on your hips.

“First off, you don’t have the authority to do that. Second, I have the owner on speed dial, and she will be reviewing the tapes in the morning like she always does, and third you are going to do the general cleaning, and the girls and I are all going home for the night.”

The girls, at hearing your decision, scrambled for the dressing room. They hardly got a night off, and a night off with time actually left to party for themselves? They were not gonna pass that opportunity up.

Todd spun, trying to stop everyone from leaving.

“Hey! You can’t go!” He spun back to glare at you. His fists balled at his side.

Keeping your eyes on Todd you watch Ghost joins you on stage in the edges of your vision. He moves, silent as a specter.

“Unless you want to lose those hands you will keep them to yourself,” Ghost stands tall behind Todd, arms loose at his sides.

The vocal fry and dispassionate promise of violence send shivers down your body.

Todd is surprised by the man at his back. He tucks it beneath his anger quickly.

“We are closed, all patrons need to leave the building.”

Ghost just lets his head drift to one side and gives one long slow blink. He reminds you of a barn owl. Many cultures find owls to be harbingers of doom; you can see why.

Todd’s gulp is audible. “This one is your responsibility. You can leave once he is out of the building.”

He skirts around the large man and hustles down the stairs. You watch Todd flee to the back office before turning back to Ghost.

“I had that handled.” You relax your hands from your waist. “You didn’t need to get involved.”

Ghost pays you the respect to keep his eyes on your face as he replies.

“Part of the job will involve letting our team play security for you, might as well get used to it now,” he answers by way of not answering at all.

You heave a deep sigh and wish you could just rub your eyes. Between the make-up and the fake lashes, you knew better than touching your face.

“You’re going to hang out here until I leave, aren’t you?” You ask, exasperated already.

He doesn’t reply, just staring at you.

“Okay well if you are going to be a pain in my ass tonight you can at least walk the girls to their cars. Might as well keep any men away from them if they haven’t cleared out of the parking lot.”

Cierra steps out of the dressing room in her matching pink Reebok sweats, purse tucked under one arm.

You wave as you call out to her, “This big fucker is going to walk you to your car.”

Cierra looks Ghost up and down. “My taser is fully charged if he doesn’t behave.”

Laughing you catch his eye and tip your head to the door. “Well get to it. If you’re going to pretend to be security I get to be in charge.”

He waits an extra beat to prove he is only listening because he chose to. You smirk down at him as he follows Cierra to the door. He at least opens it and holds it wide for her to step through. You blow out a breath as the door shuts, scrubbing your scalp with your nails.

You leave the stage, catching more girls as they exit the dressing room. You tell them the plan that a big man in a skull mask will walk them to their cars tonight they all look at you a bit sideways but accept the help. The walk between safety and safety would always be one of the scariest parts of the job. You take your time changing, stretching out your feet and legs with the removal of each high heel.

You finally slip into your own sweat suit as Misty leaves the room. You can hear her flirty voice as she encounters Ghost. You roll your eyes and fish your socks out of your shoes. Once everything is stored back in your locker at the lock secured you leave to find Ghost.

He stands near the bar, eyes scanning over every inch of the room. Stepping up next to him you look it over as well.

“Not much to look at for how much money passes through the door.”

“I was thinking more about how many deals to fuck over soldiers happen in these seats,” he replies dryly.

You hum, “Probably more than one would hope. War is profit masked in politics.”

He turns his head to look at you, you meet his gaze with a raised brow.

“Oh, sorry I meant,” you flick at hand out and back to touch your chest, an American Valley girl accent coloring your words, “Oh those poor soldiers.”

Thanks, Elle Woods, you will forever be the voice to emulate when one needs to prove a point to a man about acting dumb.

Ghost snorted a laugh, “Not a brainless bimbo, got it.”

“You better.” You couldn’t prevent the yawn that cracked your jaw. “Alright, your final gentlemanly deed for the night. Let’s go.”

He follows you as you lead the way. Neither of you speaks as you head to your car. The lot is empty except for a few scattered vehicles. You unlock the car with a key in the door and plop into the seat without any decorum. Ghost prevents your door from shutting the door, leaning down to be level with you.

“Stay out of trouble.”

“No thank you, I prefer when it follows me home,” you deadpan.

You would have sworn he smiled under his mask. The hints of movement in the dim light were not enough to confirm though.

“We’ll chat soon.”

“Any other sparking revelations for me or can I go home?” you glare up at him.

Ghost closes your door gently but with just enough force that the latch catches. You start up the engine and drive away without a backward glance.

“How did it go? Did she agree?” Soap jumped up from the couch as Ghost opened the front door of the flat they were renting.

Price sat on the balcony smoking a cigar and Gaz had headphones in playing a video game on a handheld.

“Fine, she agreed after I got her alone. There was a brawl at the club. She broke it up.” Ghost began emptying out his pockets on the kitchen table.

“Is my baby sister okay?” Soap’s concern is a bit overblown. “How did you get her alone?”

Ghost mutters to himself, “Never seen a baby with moves like that.”

He didn’t see the fist coming. Soap had caught him right under the edge of the jaw. Ghost swung back without thought, clipping Soap’s cheek. Only three more blows were exchanged before Price and Gaz were able to pull the men apart.

Price got Soap into a headlock and yelled at him. Gaz pushed back on Ghost, who didn’t pursue the fight.

“Soap that’s enough! You can’t react anytime someone says something about your sister.”

“The hell I can’t!” He strained against Price’s hold, fingers digging for purchase in the arm around his throat. Price took out his knees, bringing Soap down.

“If you keep it up, I will reassign you off this mission,” Price grunted as Soap pulled particularly hard against the hold.

Soap froze once the words processed. “You wouldn’t.”

Price looked down at him, disgusted, disbelief dripping from his features.

“The hell I wouldn’t, you can’t keep reacting like this. She is a grown woman who two days ago you hadn’t thought about in years. Put the chivalry back on the shelf or go home.”

This took the fight out of Soap. He slumped forward, hands falling into his lap.

“Fine.”

Price glanced up at Ghost, who nodded. He didn’t think Soap would pick the fight back up. He let him go. Soap stayed on his knees, face downcast. Ghost left the man to fight his demons. Friends who chose fists first deserved to battle alone for a night.

Part 4 | Part 6

Masterlist | Bunny Masterlist

[ranticore]

I wanted to keep drawing some pern dragon stuff because I'm now writing a full AU set in weyr but I didn't want to put this stuff on my main blog or patreon due to it being basically for my own reference, though i felt others would like it too! so here is My Take On Dragon Wings By Type...

It's no secret I love drawing bird wings and prefer them a lot over traditional dragon wings. Growing up, I read the pern books featuring cover art of dragonfly-like wings with lots of little translucent panels, which I always loved. So I thought I'd try to nail down some wing shapes & structures by blending those two things i like together. I am aware dragons fly by telekinesis but I prefer a more realistic type of creature design so I will be choosing to ignore that fact. I do not care about strict canon compliance but I do like to keep some of that framework there as well, for fun.

The wing is made up of three main sails, as well as a propatagium sail (in front of the elbow). They are relatively polymorphic and can expand or contract to an extent to change the shape of the wing in response to flight demands, like the wing of an airliner. The trailing edge can expand and the slots between the spars of the 1st wingsail can deepen or become shallower (where those are a feature). The main structural matrix is opaque, while the membranous 'sails' are translucent and let light through like stained glass. These are a bilayer of membrane with air sandwiched between, which forms part of the air sac & respiratory system.

It makes sense for the original engineers of dragons to diversify dragon wing types by colour so that when fighting Thread, there's a dragon for every conceivable aerial job.

[individual descriptions under the cut]

Queens have the longest wings, though the largest bronzes can rival them for surface area. Gold wings are high endurance - a queen can fly further than any other dragon in active level flight, leaving even the swiftest bronzes behind if they can't muster up the energy reserves to catch her. She is an effective flier at all elevations and can pass very low over terrain without issue as well; she is an expert at taking advantage of the ground effect, where extra lift is generated within one half of a wingspan above land. This way, she can pass low below the main wings fighting Thread to catch any stragglers without expending too much energy. However, she is not very agile and may need a bit of a run-up or cliff-edge to get airborne.

Bronzes are suited for command positions during Threadfall, rising highest and maintaining that altitude effortlessly by soaring on thermals. From this vantage point they can easily survey the wings of riders below and make tactical decisions to direct the tide of battle. They have the size and stamina to chase queens, but might find it difficult to keep up on the flat, so they continually select for fitter hatchlings as only the best manage to mate. It takes a very clever and agile bronze to catch a green, if they are so inclined.

Browns are swift, highly agile, and the fastest vertical fliers, ideal for diving through the Thread mass from top to bottom while the other types pass horizontally. During earlier Passes, browns were capable of using their speed to catch queens, but as queen & bronze endurance gradually increased, browns struggle to keep up if they haven't managed to immediately catch their mate in the starting scrum, which is unlikely due to the bulkier bronze dragons being able to shove the browns aside.

Blues are fast on the flat and nicely manoeuvrable, with enough endurance to last a full Threadfall. Good all-rounders with a characteristic vertical take-off, they work best in the horizontal plane in battle but really they can do a little bit of everything. They often beat browns to catch greens, being very precise in flight and almost as manoeuvrable as their green mates.

Greens make up for their low stamina with their extreme manoeuvrability. Their short and elliptical wings let them turn on a dime, hover, and even fly backwards if they are sufficiently skilled. They have the fastest wingbeats, flying with a distinct thrumming sound. Of all the types they are least likely to be hit by a stray Thread, but they tire easily on the flat and have no soaring ability at all, often tapping out midway through battle in favour of replacements. In battle, greens excel at catching odd and skewed clumps of Thread that don't fall as predicted, or ones that are missed by the other riders. Green mating flights are a whole different beast to gold mating flights, where extreme aerial acrobatics are favoured instead of endurance and altitude, and these flights may be over within seconds. You need to be able to withstand a Lot of G-force to be a green rider.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Undead! Knight! x Princess! Reader Headcanons

Ko-fi link: ☕️

It was horrible enough to always be in your room in your family’s castle as a normal princess.

It was even worse when you were a cursed princess and had to be drugged so your curse didn’t spread.

In reality the curse wasn’t really a curse. Just a consequence of genetics.

Simply put, it was your parent’s fault. You see your mother had never told your father that her parents were some of the most evil sorcerers in the land.

It was easy for your mother to cover up the horns and bat like wings with her magic. She thought your father’s human genetics and royal divine blessings from the castle’s magicians would rid any child of hers of her shameful lineage.

But unfortunately, life likes to play the games, and the truth always come out one way or another.

So imagine your father’s surprise when his divinely blessed baby girl came out with black and purple hair, dark purple eyes with vertical slit pupils and black nails. Looking exactly like her maternal grandmother.

It was then your mother was forced to tell her beloved husband the truth.

Your parents still loved you, but you were to be kept inside the castle at all times.

Very few were trusted to be around you. You never had a true childhood celebrating festivals like the other nobles and village children.

Then, puberty hit and your magic started to develop. It started off small like levitation, purple auras, and energy balls. Then it increased to your presence killing flowers and plant life, and a more bat-like shadow.

Finally, the royal sorcerers developed pills for you to take to reverse your progress. It came at the price of your emotions and very sanity.

And so one day, when you were 13, you skipped taking a couple of them and ran away from your personal knight, and into the village . It didn’t last long, but it felt good to touch grass and have wind brushing your skin.

This cycle of running away from the different personal knights your parents got you continued until you were 20. That’s when the royal sorcerers divulged in a dark magic, and revived your kingdom’s greatest knight who had tragically died as a young man defending your kingdom to be your personal knight.

Sure, he’s been dead for over 100 years and missing an arm, but that can easily be fixed with a regeneration spell.

That night, Benedict Solomon, arose from the grave with orders to protect you.

Still in the armor he was buried in, he barged into your room and got on one knee.

“Here..to serve…you…”

You were surprised your family would go so far as to make an undead knight for you, but at least he looked tolerable.

The long dirty finger nails and extremely cracked lips were unnerving, but at least his body and skin seemed to be doing ok.

Besides, you’d run away from him again just like you did all the others so it doesn’t matter what he looks like.

That night, you sneak away into the night and head towards the village.

You cross the bridge, and you feel a strong hand on your shoulder.

“No…bad! Stay..in castle.”

You push his hands off you and continue onward.

Your back hits the ground as Benedict pins your body.

“I said no!”

His feral golden eyes dilate, focusing on you like prey.

“Alright! Alright! I’ll go back to my room!” You exclaim, pushing him off you.

His hand is tight around your wrist as you walk back to the castle. You look back at the village and see the dancing people in the tavern.

Benedict throws you into your room, locking the door behind him. He opens the drawer and pulls out all the pills you threw away.

He puts four in his hand and shoves them down your throat.

You scream as the pills go down your throat, almost choking you. You cough and Benedict strokes your face.

“Good..girl..beautiful.”

For the rest of the night, you face the window because Benedict has been staring at you like a statue making sure you don’t make a run for the door.

You hear the floors creak, and Benedict closes the window and curtains. He then sits on the bed, and starts spooning you. His arms tight like a corpse’s grip.

His cracked lips kiss your cheek.

You try to move away, but he wraps his legs around yours.

“No escape.”

For once, you realize that you can’t get rid of him like the others.

And so you spend the night with his split and cracked lips on your skin. Wary of his mouth opening up and sinking his teeth into your neck.

[girl-lostconnection]

Continuation to this, Happy Easter, everybody

You come to pray, Easter is right around the corner — violets blooming all over the yard of your apartment building, silver cross darkened from time feels April-cold on your neck at night.

You come to pray and light up a candle or two and for some reason he is there — so obviously out of place and out of his depth, unsure of who to turn to.

Good catholic boy with his pretty rosary, stranded in a church. 

Like he got out on the wrong floor, but the elevator disappeared behind him as soon as he stepped out. 

He eyes warily the glass-covered remains of saint Barbara, fingers tightening on a rosary of his, eyes flickering back and forth like he isn’t sure if he can stare. 

Actual remains right there, right under the glass with people praying nearby like it is nothing special. 

Or nothing unusual. 

It would be a bit rude to say that your saint is nothing special when she is anything but. 

But then his eyes land on you and you have the carelessness to look right back at him, making up his mind right then and there (when everyone else probably did the smart thing and ignored him). 

Because the stranger starts walking towards you, charting the course through the innards of your church, blue jeans of his ripped and so painfully out of place. Even more so than he is. 

You notice his eyes before you notice everything else. Before the mohawk, before the star-shaped scar on his temple, before the hand tremor.

His eyes — azure of old gravures, his eyes — the biblical shine people would usually leave to God's messengers. 

Seers of divine, heaven’s favourites, prettiest angels of the Allmighty.

He awkwardly smiles at you, rolls his shoulders, silent overly friendly “can you believe it?” of the gesture makes you cringe a little. 

But then he opens his mouth and god, no. 

He is babbling so quickly that it takes you a minute to understand which language he is speaking.

Stranger stands haunching, tries to be smaller in the close vicinity to the golden walls of your church, his shoulders curling like he tries to fold vertically right in half. As if he wants to curl in on himself under the heavy, too realistic (too human) painted eyes of your painted saints. 

“You need help?”, you finally ask, interrupting the flow of his consciousness and he gives you three quick blinks as if unsure how to respond to that. 

The blue of his eyes makes you mentally come back to the phrase you said, translating it back and forth. 

Your English is rusty but it is not too bad. At least, not enough for him to not be able to understand you. 

But, maybe it’s the accent that catches him off guard — rolling and clear, too hard for someone who looks like you. 

Phonetic cracking down of consonants as if they were walnuts in your mouth reminding him of the similar melodicity that his own harbours. 

Well, here is something for you two to bond over later.

He blinks at you one more time and you chew down the urge to roll your eyes at the man. 

Not a good thing to be too prideful in the temple of God and it’s another 30 meters to the exit and down the stone stairs until you are free. 

Whether to walk away without looking at him another time or snap something in a sharp enough tone and unfamiliar enough language for a stranger to get the hint and leave you alone.

You aren’t in the mood for pleasantries. 

Easter is right around the corner, thin wax candles in your grip smell the same sweet way that most old things in your grandmother’s home did. The way your grandma herself did. 

Wax and honey and dust. 

Could be a holy trinity of your every nostalgia, but nothing seems to stick well enough in the constantly foggy mind of yours. 

Wax of entirely different candles still drips molten heat on the nape of your memory. 

Rough hands and heavy gazes and off-handed “same time next month” rub the burn of it in and you almost space out before the stranger starts speaking again. 

You always remembered sensations better than you did faces.

(Doesn’t help that your usual “same time next month” never shows his.)

“Ahm lost”, the stranger finally manages to choke out, his hands shaking in a way that reminds you of your mother’s bottomless wine glasses and immaculate covers of nail polish that she never could put on herself.

But the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to be drunk and doesn’t have the same muted look in his eyes, the same glossiness, the same reaction coming just seconds too late. 

Stranger in front of you doesn’t smell like the usual cocktail of urine, stale sweat seeped through the clothes and covered with deodorant of choice. 

No smell of ethanol — days old and persistent. His tongue doesn’t dart out to lick too dry lips.

He doesn’t ask for spare change either. 

Just for directions. 

This much you can surely provide, eyes of the Holy Mary burr in the side of your head — heavy and disapproving of your tone. 

“Where…”, you start before pausing, the sentence formation melting into goo inside of your head, proper words escaping you like you are going to eat them if they don’t. 

Like your accent cracks them down - linguistic melodicity of a working Nutcracker that scares them shitless. 

“What do you…find?”, you ask awkwardly, brain tossing up all your folders of phrasal verbs and you are tongue-tied and annoyed in front of a stranger. 

The man looks at you quizzically and you choke out the urge to roll your eyes (again. and harder). What exactly does he not understand when…

Shit.

You rewind the phrase you just said and click your tongue, your head shaking from side to side. 

Trying to shake out the red ink of false-false-false shining on your old English tests. 

Fuck, it’s not “find”, it’s “look for”. 

You take a deep breath and settle for the lesser of two phrasal evils and toss the politeness out of the window. Stained glass of your propriety cracks and yeah, no word cathedrals for the gentleman with blue eyes and annoying downturned smile.

You are not in the mood for a nice chat, you come to your church specifically so no one would try to have a conversation with you. But here you are, your vocabulary in disarray and your frustration climbing. 

“What do you need?”, you reiterate and the stranger's whole face lights up with relief.

There we fucking go. Finally, thank you, God. May your blue-eyed wayward sheep not be abandoned under your watchful eye, amen. 

“Catholic church.”, he quickly blurts out as if nervous that you will forget your English (again) and you have to fistfight the urge to smirk.

Of course, he does need a catholic church. As if it wasn’t obvious enough. 

The man clearly needs some good prayer and maybe a sacrament before he can be sent on his way.

Something to calm the tremor of his and the nerves oozing off the tips of his outgrown greasy hair. 

You tilt your head to the side, sudden urge to put your fingers in his mouth and press down on his tongue pulsing through you at a concerning intensity. 

Stranger has a beautiful mouth. 

You spend a second too long looking at it and catch the glimpse of his teeth when he starts talking again, his lips curling in that “could you believe that” smile and you push down the urge to pry his jaws open and rummage around, pressing your fingers to the sharp ends of his teeth. 

How inappropriate would it be if you asked the man to bite you? Outside of your church, obviously. Wouldn’t want to scandalize anyone in the Lord's house. 

“It was somewhere ‘round here. Could’ave sworn.”, he says apologetically and you rummage through your memory for an adequate translation of the “sworn”, but all that comes up is knight’s armour and swords. 

So you just nod and force down the mental image of a stranger as a knight. 

On his knees. Panting-

“Go.”, You huff out command and nod, turning away and fishing a hand in your bag.

Thin wool of your scarf is getting thrown over your shoulders like a shal and stranger gets thrown off balance by your immaculate ability in oratory. 

He pauses, looming awkwardly just behind your shoulder — a big dog too used to someone taking his leash and getting confused when you don’t. 

He starts moving only when you do, making a beeline to the heavy wooden doors of your church, slight limp in gait that would make you slow down normally. 

But when you tried just a moment prior, he sent you a glare so heated you had to actually smirk. 

Prideful. 

Not a good thing to be in the Lord's temple. 

In your defence, he started first.

Thankfully, you are already outside the church, giving yourself a pat on the back for good control of facial muscles. 

Lord cannot judge what Lord cannot see. 

And whatever transpires beyond your routine hours of church visit is between you and you. 

And, hopefully, also between you and a blue-eyed stranger with a beautiful mouth you’d probably enjoy licking into. 

“Ye ken where tah go?”, he asks after a few moments and it’s so tentative that you feel like smirking again.

That’s a good catholic boy right there — follow first, ask questions later. 

“No”, you say, drinking in a way his eyes widen and he stops in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at you like you just kicked him. “You are pretty. I take you home with me”, you add, stone-faced and it feels like a little more and stranger will either tackle you to the ground or condemn you right next to your church for a very unchristian-like behaviour. 

But he sends you a glare instead and stumbles back, cheeks of his burning and oh, he is angry with embarrassment, won’t you look at that? 

Angry and so obviously lost that he has to tuck himself to the gates of your church. 

Heavy set of his jaw and his head purposefully turned the other way from you do absolutely nothing to put out the fire of insistent “ask him to bite, ask him to bite, ask him to bite’ in your head.

The stranger stays silent and angry, not looking your way so diligently that you can’t help but smirk again. 

Wounded pride, was it? 

Asked for directions from a lonely bird in the foreign church and got some nonsense thrown in your face.

So mean of you. 

Almost enough to make you wonder what God would say if he saw it. Probably nothing good, but that would also be nothing new. 

Religious guilt is not something you practice, religious atonement on the other side…

Lines from yesterday’s shibari pull on your skin with satisfying tingling. Every movement is a live reminder of how you sought absolution. Amen to that. 

You shiver like a well-petted dog and roll your shoulders, wrapping tighter in your shal. Your fingers (sticky with wax and sweet with devotion) softly tug on a stranger's sleeve.

When he refuses to turn around, stubbornly staring away, you just sidestep, putting yourself in his direct line of sight.

The man is too ragged to snap his head from side to side every time you move, you are pretty sure he’d pinch a nerve and refuse to admit forever staying turned to the left. That would be fun. You’d love to squeeze the nape of his and get a whine. Or a hiss.

You aren’t too picky in that regard. Just a sneer would also be lovely, maybe he’d snap and sink his teeth into something. You, for example.

“You look so sad”, you start with a tone so sympathetic that he glares at you with suspicion of someone who got a taste of your Christian hospitality and not only haven’t gotten fed but was also robbed of his dignity in the process. “So very sad.”, you continue in the meantime, your fingers wrapping around his wrist and maybe he should have shaken you off, should have snapped at you for getting touchy.

But he doesn’t, his pulse pumping under your fingertips, his head tilting to the side.

Big lost dog, unsure whether to snap his jaws at you or nuzzle in.

“A little more time and people will throw you coins.”, you finish with the most innocent look on your face and the stranger looks at you like he cannot believe your audacity. 

“Ahm not sad”, he spits out and you have to kick down a bubbling giggle. Of-fucking-course not. Just look at him sulking at the steps of your Orthodox Church like he’s an orphan abandoned at the wrong doorstep. 

“Very sad.”, you nod solemnly, cheeks flushed and hair bouncing, your lips trembling from how hard you try not to laugh. “Come. I show you the church.”, you peel him off the gates and tug the man to follow, masking your cackle with a cough when a granny actually offers him some change. 

Stranger sends you a glare so scalding that you have to pretend to cough again, pulling your scarf over your nose. 

Very sad, indeed. Like a big dog someone tied to the lamppost and left to wait for a thing that would never come. 

Stranger trails just half a step behind you, a little too practised, a little too intentional. Exactly far enough for you to keep holding onto his wrist and close enough for you to not drop it when you feel a pull of his arm. 

“Ahm John.”, not anymore a stranger introduces himself and you smile, glancing at him sideways. Good name. Strong. Rolls off the tongue. 

Old enough to rival yours. 

“Nice to see you, John”, you nod, dropping your own in his palm and force down a shiver when he holds it between his teeth, drawing out. His lips twitch in something very similar to a grin, almost wolffish in his satisfaction, not a trace of earlier puppy-like awkwardness. 

“I’s ‘nice to meet ye’, bonnie.”, he corrects you and you pause, part of you shrinking away, again small and again in fifth grade with your test returned. Older part just smirks and presses the nail on the tender inside of his wrist, poking him hard. 

“Maybe for you it’s nice to meet me. For me right it’s only nice to see you.”, you look him up and down, covering your own snappy defensiveness behind bluntness most would take for the lack of shame. “What do ‘bonnie’ mean?”, the sudden change of topic makes John grin wider, his eyes crinkling. 

Oh, fuck, he’s pretty. 

“Good-lookin’. Beautiful. Nice to see.”, he copies your accent, his eyes half lidded and shameless and you feel your lips twitching. 

Yeah, you can ask the man to bite you alright. 

You get him to the beautiful Catholic Church and wait outside, mentally giving the man half an hour before your toes would start freezing off inside of your beautiful thin-leathered boots.

Maybe if you knew God would send a beautiful man your way, you’d dress better for the weather but alas. Easter is close, you were out only to pray a little and light up a candle for saint Sophia.

Stranger is out in exactly 8 minutes, his head turning from side to side like he’s looking for someone. His eyes lighting up when he spots you loitering on the doorstep of his church.

Pretty bird with heavy glares and lips he’d like to bite until she yelps and tries to push him away.

Johnny grins, rasping out “ye come here often, bonnie?”, something inside of him swelling with warmth when her lips twitch and she wheezes out surprised laughter, her cheeks flushing.

Pretty-pretty-pretty, pounds in his head when she rolls her eyes at him, her lips curled in a smile, her hair in disarray from the cold April winds.

Johnny flirts with pretty bird on the steps of his church and forgets that his painkillers are shit, that he haven’t had a shower in god knows how long, that he got lost and laughed at for stumbling around like a fool.

She laughs and nothing else matters much, her eyes crinkling in a way that make Johnny want to ask if he can come home with her and sleep in her bed and maybe live in her skin.

As long as she laughs like that, as long as she’s this warm, as long as she sparks like a live wire.

And for the first time since getting discharged he feels like doing something with his hands.

What’s there inside of ya, if he cracks you open and takes a look inside? Would you blow up in his face, would you be patient with his wooden, trembly hands that once were as dexterous as they get?

Would you even let him get this close or have you been tracking the way he moves since he came up?

Johnny offers his elbow and to his absolute delight you take it, pulling him someplace nice and warm. Someplace with decent food and a drink stiff enough to dull his perpetual migraine.

Pretty bird, would you tell him why you are so mean to a stranger in a house of the Lord and so flirty with a man that looks like he’s falling apart?

What is it, questionable tastes or a kink for saving God’s most hopeless 2025?

Johnny grins when you scoff at him, not responding outright, telling him he’d see if he’s good.

Johnny licks his lips, nodding and leans to your ear, creature in his head eagerly wagging its tail when you hiss at him to fucking move. He can be good, bonnie.

Wanna see?

You roll your eyes at him, snappy and curt, accent too hard and consonants clicking off your teeth like you have a habit of chewing down suckers.

Johnny’s a sucker alright, you can chew on him.

The memory of you wheezing when he offers it haunts him as he sits in the quiet dark wooden box that is confessional.

Heart pounding, silence stretching, his tongue tying because he doesn’t…he didn’t want this. Not like that, never like that. But here he is.

“Forgive me father”, Soap starts, his hands clammy, migraine thumping in his temples, agitation setting on the inside of his jaws, tightening them together until it hurts his molars. 

You appear out of nowhere , you don’t even find him yourself – he finds you and it’s a little less cold out on the street of the city he is supposed to know, but doesn’t anymore. 

You, with your scarves and your horrible horrible jokes and your accent – sharp like the pieces of walnut that you crushed with the heel of your palm, popping it in your mouth right after. 

Crunch of it echoes in the way you pronounce “darling” and “ridiculous” when Johnny steps on his shoelaces because tying them up felt like too much work and bending down made him dizzy. And being dizzy annoyed the bleeding fuck out of him. 

You crush your walnuts on his kitchen table, always splitting in two piles so you can share with him the excess he kisses off your fingers. 

His whole kitchen still smells like spices and nuts, remnants of your baking all over the table. 

Johnny sits in the confessional and doesn’t know how to choke out that he wanted you to stay for more than a few more days or weeks, so you would sit in his kitchen and colour your bloody eggs for “your” Easter and shush him while the dough rises in a towel wrapped bowl.

Soap doesn’t know how to say that for the first time in forever, he cared whether someone leaves or stays, that he had so much fun with you that his cheeks ached, his lips now twitching on pure instinct when he thinks of you. 

He often heard that he must be the sun in the relationships, that he is the chatty shiny half to your moodiness and sharp tongue, but by god, you are the sun in his sky – merciless and radiant, your eyes burning-burning-burning him.

Yet he still stayed and later peeled off the charred layers of himself, your kisses between his shoulder blades left him shivering.

Left him wanting, because Johnny is from a place where sun shines only 60 days per year, so your heat left him greedy and raw. 

Sun comes into his life and he decided that he never want it to leave.

 “Forgive me, father, for ah was prideful”, Soap says instead, his grip tightening on rosary, your eyes looking back at him whenever he blinks, your “bye, John” aching in him with the shards of mirror he hit so hard, that he had to call himself a bloody cab and go to the urgent care.

16 stitches on his useless shaky scarred hands. 

“And seven years of misfortune.”, your voice grumbles in his head and maybe that was it, maybe his 7 years has begun. 

God finally delivered some proper divine retribution for the daftest of his wayward sheep. 

Soap got so used to you always being there, snapping right back at him, smacking him to keep going and keep moving and “don’t whine, John, you aren’t a baby, you are a darling” that when it went away with you and he felt like a shockwave finally hit him, deafening. 

Ripping him open and cauterising immediately.

Soap thinks of the way your lips twitched and brows furrowed as you silently got up and left because he is dumb-dumb-dumb, because you breathe out “you aren’t the only, you are just one” and he recoils.

Red haze of anger curling in his head, stuffing his throat with things he shouldn’t have said, not to you, never to you. 

“Ah’ve been selfish”, Soap says, his heart pounding because his hunger was always the size of him whole. Gnarly needy beast with gruesome ways and questionable tastes.

At least, Ghost always managed to make his own unhinged doors to the dark cavern of his head look like a gothic bloody lair that birds with big eyes and tastes as questionable as Johnny’s liked to explore.

Too many people had crushes on serial killers and it shows, but that’s just Johnny’s thoughts, not like someone asks him what he thinks on the matter. 

Not when Ghost got a bird of his own and Johnny – not used to this much free time on his head and head this loud and flat this empty bumped into his sun. 

And lost his mind.

Whatever was left of his rationality after taking a bullet to the head, flew right out the window when a pretty bird with heavy eyes and cold fingers dragged him through the street. Laughing and chatting in grammar she borrowed from somewhere else and orthography of English she butchered mercilessly.

Johnny’s hunger is a vicious wild thing that he kicked down for years (good boys don’t ask for anything, don’t cry loudly and don’t crawl back from an injury that should have killed them immediately), but the beast grows up and now tears him apart to get even. 

Suits him well.

Creature of aching shameful need kisses your inner thigh and Soap feels them merging into one, no longer separate sinful pieces, no more bad-wrong-stop in his head. 

You’d pull him in, smiling under his smooches and biting hit arms and spreading your legs and he wouldn’t feel wrong. He wouldn’t feel like a freak.

Like a sinner.

Not when he kissed your inner thigh and your legs opened for him like gates to Heaven, his absolution glistening at the apex of your thighs. Nor when he leaned in and kissed the soft mound, your coarse curls pressing to his nose.

“Ah’ve been selfish and…”, he tries again, his shoulder aching, his head pounding, hunger of his getting out of control. Because you’d sit on his lap and his head would finally get silent – your fingers in his mouth, opening it wider, prying open his jaws so he’d drool all over you, whimpering when you’d sink on his cock. 

Mean as fuck, bonnie. Not going to let him say even a word? 

You’d just just hum in a language he doesn’t understand, prying his jaws open and licking into the wet maw of his mouth, your hips rising and falling, rolling into him – the tides of your sea were coming up to wash him off of his sins. 

Your eyes – the storm, your eyes staring at him with the same heavy intensity he’d see in the eyes of your painted saints, your eyes – silent promise and question. 

What were you asking of him? What did you really want in the space between Johnny’s hunger and Johnny’s rage? What did you say when he was cut open and drooling all over your hands, the insides of his want showing, the edge of his delusion fraying? 

What did you want with him when he wanted nothing with himself even on the good days? Too moody, too drowsy, too broken and too slow. Not a match to his shiny talented brother in arms, not a match to his reliable ever standing captain, not a match to the heavy authority his L.T yielded. Not a match. 

He couldn’t keep up, he got sloppy, he broke down and now he was on the fucking bench. 

Why did you need to come and bring him down with your radiant merciless shine?

Why did you make him want for something he did not deserve and was never worthy of? 

He remembers asking in the delirium of his pleasure, in the aching raw need to be soothed, to be loved-loved-loved.

What did you say, Johnny couldn’t remember to save his life. He just remembers the way his teeth would press in the pads of your fingers. 

What did you want with him, m’eudail? 

Johnny laps at your fingers, presses down his teeth just shy of breaking the skin – your cunt spasming around him, almost unmaking him on the spot. 

Johnny whines when you pull your fingers out, babbling answers to the question you didn’t ask.

Yes, m’eudail, yes. Anything. 

His eyes are shining, tears rolling down his cheeks when you’d raise your hips and let his head slip out of the slick heat of your pussy with a wet sound.

Mean as fuck, bonnie. Not going to let him come for the third time in a row now? 

Soap aches all over on a good day, but this is aching of a different kind, his eyes half lidded and half feral when you’d roll out “wanna be good for me, John?”.

Yes.

Yes-yes-yes-yes.

Please, he wants to be so good, he can be so fucking good for you, bonnie. He’d do anything, whatever you ask, anything at all, please, m’eudail, please let him come. 

Corners of your lips twitch when he’d cry, drooling all over your hands. Dog of a man – aching for approval, aching for salvation. 

“No.” would seal his fate for another hour with Johnny groping your ass and hips, fingers rubbing in the touch of his in your skin like he doesn’t want to just leave bruises on you but fingerprints.

Greed of his almost as big as his hunger, his jaws closing around you the day you dragged him down the street to show that he had just missed a turn to the Catholic church, your eyes shimmering with laughter, your lips cold from winds and sticky with lipgloss. 

“Mine.”Johnny aches, his hips jerking up to meet yours, slick and lube dripping down his shaft and scrotum, sweat dripping down his face – star-shaped scar on his temple itching from salt. 

Johnny is selfish, he burns himself out from inside, slams down the nails with “dread-shame-guilt” written all over until he can’t feel anything but divine suffering, until everything else blurs out. So he can keep ignoring the tender flutter under his ribs when you kiss his jaw and murmur “darling John”, your accent thickening and your lashes casting long sharp shadows. 

Selfish-selfish-selfish, sneers the voice in his head but Johnny looks up at you, his thumb circling around your clit, his lips curling in a smile when you bite the inside of your cheek and glare at him. 

“Mean as fuck, bonnie.” Johnny breathes out, feeling so free he could breathe without hurting, his eyes warm, his whole face lighting up with tenderness he refuses to acknowledge. 

Nothing to look at there, nothing at-fucking-all.

“Gonna be guid fer me, m’eudail?” He murmurs, two of his fingers stretching you out, torturously slow, infuriatingly good, your pelvis practically in his lap when he pushes a pillow under your lower back and drags you closer.

He toys with you, taking every bit of pleasure from your reactions, no matter how small – his fingers curling inside of you until your breathing hitches, your eyes getting glossier, your mouth falling open.

That’s because you deserve it, bonnie.

That’s because the hunger the size of Johnny wants you pliant and trembling, wants you teary-eyed and babbling, wants you to fuck yourself on his fingers so he can watch.

Same fingers he’d use to sign the Catholic cross – forehead-chest-left to right shoulder – his thumb tapping your clit just so he can get all of your attention to himself. His middle and forefinger finger your fluttering dripping hole.

For the Father, the Son and The Holy Spirit, m’eudail. Isn’t it right?

“Amen.”Johnny breathes out, pulling your legs up, hoisting them over his shoulders so he can get closer. His thumb on your clit moving, slick sound of your own hunger scorching your face, your lids closing shut.

How inappropriate would that be if you asked the man to slap you right now?

“Амінь.”, you instead choke out, forgetting your English and Johnny grins, his head falling between your legs.

Silence stretches in the confessional, someone’s cough snapping Soap out of his daze, the feel of your legs on his shoulders is so vivid his headache backs off and he can see a little better. Thank God for that.

He sits in the dark, smell of wood and dust not soothing him like always before, rosary in his hands not clicking like it should, his face too hot and his pants tight when he forces himself to keep talking.

“Ah’ve been vain.”, Soap says and tries not to think to the way he sported your lipstick kisses all over his neck last time he met the rest of the team, feeling on top of the world, feeling like maybe he is not behind and he is doing something right.

Like he’s finally reaping the good stuff and not the usual “sorry about that, mate”, not the condescending advice of ever friendly Gaz, not the silent stares Ghost gives out, not the arched brows of Captain who acts like Johnny is 15 and can’t fucking see the way they act around him ever since he got discharged.

Soap tries not to think that he boasted about his bird to his team, grinning like a madman, hammer of his excitement swinging when he’d lean on the table sharing details, sharing things he probably shouldn’t have.

Sharing about his bird who is not really his.

Soap tries not to think the way Ghost at some point went out for a smoke break and he followed the man, still chirping away his lieutenant’s ear and trying to get…what was he even trying to get out of Ghost?

A rise? A reaction?

Pat on the back for being a good lad and adjusting all well and proper to civilian life even though three months ago he was clawing up the walls and calling Simon at the middle of the night, slobbering about his headaches and heartaches and asking for things he shouldn’t have?

Things Simon gave him with excess. Until he didn’t.

And then Soap really slipped, spiralling down, clawing at every excuse to see the team, to chat them up, to not feel like he’s being left behind.

And now…now that he got you, now that he’s sporting sticky lipstick kisses all over his throat and cheeks and grinning like a madman as he shares even more with Simon. Because that’s…that’s his L.T., right? That’s his Simon. That’s his Ghost. He can tell him anything, can’t he?

But just because he could didn’t mean that he should have.

Not when at some point Simon hummed, his eyes heavy with something Johnny didn’t fucking like, Simon’s hollowed out eyes crinkling when bastard’s lip curled upwards, when he leaned in and breathed out smoke sideways.

When he rolled out your name off his bloody tongue like he did it a hundred times before, the easy familiarity of it burning Johnny, hitting Johnny in the chest like a bitch of a recoil, deafening Johnny with rage-hurt-rage.

Because why did he have to say that?

Why did Simon need to go and take away the only good thing that appeared in Soap’s clusterfuck of a life after deployment?

“Ah’ve been selfish and prideful and vain.”, he confesses, shame and rage warring in him, his grip on rosary tightening, his face burning. Because bad-bad-bad. Bad fucking dog, Johnny, bad sergeant, bad boy.

No wonder you got up silently and left without arguing when he rained down on you like a hysterical wife, when he said things he shouldn’t have, when he got so fucking jealous he could hardly tell left from right.

The only thing in the empty cracked shell of his head is the way Simon grinned, rolling out the name of yours, easy affection — old and practiced, like Ghost was there before Soap even could dream up you in the painkillers-induced delirium and before God lead him to you.

The only thing in his brain is the way you shrugged off his initial snappy mean comments, not seeing a problem with the fact that you fucked with his fucking lieutenant.

That Ghost fucked Soap’s bird. Soap’s sun.

Soap’s you.

“Ah…pushed someone away. For guid. Dinnae ken how to take it back and…ah messed up.”, Soap continues and braces his forearms over his knees, his shoulders aching, his head pounding, his heart hurting.

Fucking hell, how did he even get into this?

When did he went from having your easy shine and sharp teasing to not having you at all? Not as a hook up, not as a friend with benefits, not as his bird. Not as anything.

Soap tries not to think about he way you dragged him out to hike after he finished up his fucking rehabilitation. God knows you were stubborn and dragged him to hell and back until he relented and went in.

Snapping and cursing and complaining all the way.

But he went and as the result you were driving out somewhere in the smack of the dab of the god of his own homeland to “see pretty places, darling John”.

Didn’t see much of pretty places, but got drenched in the rain and almost had a fistfight on some bridge, because you just don’t know how to stop and he just doesn’t know how to back down.

Too chatty for your own good, both of you are. No fucking wonder you both fucked Ghost. Seems like L.T. has a type.

Soap clasps his hands together, memory of you — sweating and groaning flashing through his mind like a lightning bolt. Some people are just not built for hiking but you refused to accept that you were one of them.

Dragging Soap up and down the trail so he’d get his steps for the day before you relented and started the journey down to the cabin you rented.

Also in the smack of the dab of the bloody gob.

But you’d grin at him a little too excited and suddenly it all would be worth it. The rain, the cold, the gloom and endless green-green-green of the hills because really, there was nothing else but like hell you’d let Johnny to just go back.

He can sit on his ass back in the city, out here you two are walking the trail up and down and sideways.

Didn’t help much that Johnny was evidently built incredibly well for hiking and tolerated the difficulties of it with infuriating ease.

“Speed down”, you’d huff out, tugging on a sleeve of happy and overly energetic Soap. He does, but grins with a little too much satisfaction for your liking.

You should get on his nerves more often, the man looks moisturised and well-rested, seems like you aren’t trying hard enough. 

“Ye meant, “slow down”.”, he points out, savouring every syllable. Big dog of a man, a little more and he will drool all over his sentences. 

And all over you if you aren’t going to pull the cut of your sweater a bit higher. 

“I meant, fuck you, John.”, you scoff at him, deliberately ignoring his energetic “wha’? right here, hen?” and smack his hands off when he attempts to pull your sweater lower to get himself some more cleavage to look at. 

Big bad dog of a man.

“You are so sad.”, Soap starts, grinning like the Devil’s prettiest henchman. “Very very sad.”

You groan loudly, trying to drown out his gloating with your wails as you walk away from him, people turning their heads at the two of you. But unfairly so, even post rehab Soap’s legs are faster than yours. 

“So so sad. A little more time and people will start throwing coins at you.”, he draws out in an infuriatingly good imitation of your accent.

“Ah will leave you at church step like ye are a bad dog. Or a bad orphan.”, you threaten in poor imitation of his and Johnny cackles so hard he has to stop walking and steady himself on someone’s fence. 

“They didnae take me”, Soap grins at you like it’s good news not even Catholics wanted him all too much and takes a turn to ignore your “i wonder why”. “Ye are stuck, bonnie.”

“I will leave you at a different church”, you grumble and he has the nerve to giggle again and louder, almost slipping into a full chested laughter, the one that makes blood flow to your face and he knows it a little too well. Fucker. 

“Like a wee bairn?”, Johnny asks with too much enthusiasm, the arch of his brow curious and effortless. He slings his sweaty arm over your shoulders and beams like a thousand suns when you hiss at him. 

“Like a wee saint”, you murmur, squinting at too bright and not warm enough sun. The weather is so atrocious that you risk turning into ash at this point. 

But Johnny cocks his head to the side — just watches you for a few moments like he is not sure he heard you right. He is no saint, he’s hardly the part of the wolf pack that 141 often feels like. 

John is a big mutt of a man. A stray that found you and refused to leave later. 

All coarse hair and big beautiful mouth full of teeth that you still want to touch. 

“Saint of what, hen?” 

You take a pause, eyes trailing star shaped scar on his temple and you grin again, like it’s something funny, like you could come up with a dozen jokes on the spot — each new worse than the last one. 

“Patron Saint of one-way trips”

Johnny blinks at you. Thrice. Quickly. 

Realisation dawns on him at the same time you start cackling and he gasps, smacking your hip. 

Wicked wicked woman you are. Mean as fuck, bonnie, mean as fuck. 

“Real dark, hen.”, he mumbles and leans in to bite the apple of your cheek for good measure. Just to keep it between his teeth, pretending to chew on the soft flesh so you don’t go getting chattier than you already are with him. 

“They won’t take you as anything else”, you laugh, your shoulders shaking when you add, “You eat too much otherwise.” 

“Now, THAT you gonna take back”, Soap gasps scandalised and tries to walk in the direction opposite from yours. 

As if either of you knows this trail well enough not to get lost. 

“John, come back! Come back, John, don’t leave me here, I’m no orphan”, you gasp out laughing, following him on shaky buckling knees and Soap starts walking faster. 

His shoulders also shake and maybe that’s why he refuses to slow down, only picking up his pace when you threaten to throw a rock at him.

Blue-eyed bastard.

“Ah took mah blessings for granted. Ah…did things I shouldnae have. And ah’m not sure I can take them back. Not sure she’d take me back.”, John continuous, dragging himself out of the memory that makes him ache just harder because he doesn’t fucking deserve to sit here and reminiscence.

He doesn’t deserve the warmth, doesn’t deserve to know how you laugh when you are so mad you could strangle him but he made just the right joke and now you are furious but doubled in half.

Johnny doesn’t deserve you. But God knows he wants you.

God knows he doesn’t know when to back down, so he sits in the confessional and the same evening packs his things up and takes off.

God knows he doesn’t deserve shit after stunt he pulled.

God also knows that on occasion Soap couldn’t care less what he deserves, what he’s allowed, what would be okay to take.

On occasion, Johnny gets why the wide-eyed perfect birds fall for bastards like Ghost. Because Simon always took what he wanted.

At times it was a fresh kill, at time it was Johnny, at times it was Johnny’s head he liked to fuck with.

Old affection of his destructive and poisonous, but as stable as a man like Ghost could ever get.

So in a rare moment of solidaric compassion Soap packs things up and sets off to go and see you again.

You don’t have to take him back, bonnie. Don’t have to do a single fucking thing, not after things he said, not after him being a daft fuck who couldn’t grow a pair and admit how much he wanted you.

He just…just wants to say that he’s sorry.

Though it doesn’t seem to make you any friendlier when your eyes cross with his.

Johnny stands in the middle of your church, awkward and out of place, his Mohawk freshly shaven, his eyes the impossible blue of old gravures and God’s wayward sheep, his legs long enough to walk him to hell and back.

You stare back at him, fingers clutching the wax candles, your brows furrowing, your defences snapping in place because what the fuck he is doing in your church, when you come to pray and not have a pleasant chat.

“What do you need?”, you cut to the chase, glaring and Holy Mary is behind your back and you are not going to feel guilty and you aren’t gonna cry.

But Soap steps closer, angles his head to look at you, shoulders spread out, his gaze unwavering when you try to make him look away-away-away.

“Ahm sorry.”, he murmurs quietly, not touching you. Not yet. Not when you are wound up spring that will uncoil and push him till he breaks. “Ah was a cunt.”

Your grip tightens on your candles, the smell of frankincense sweet and cloying, you rage simmering just under the surface when he stands there and has the nerve to look hurt.

Because he deserved it. Because he hurt you and you want to hurt him.

Your fingers twitch to scratch, to slap, to hit him again and again until he recoils, until he curls in on himself like a wet napkin of a mutt he was when you first met.

Because you don’t know how to stop and he never learned how to back down and doesn’t plan to start learning now, hunting you down in a city that should be as foreign to him as your language is.

Because you come to pray and not to have a pleasant chat.

And here he is, standing in your church in his blue jeans and blue sweater with his blue eyes.

What does he even want with you? After everything said and done what would he want with you?

When he made it so clear what he thinks of you and your past and your ways and your sins. When he condemned you and himself, his voice cracking, his eyes feral and hurt, his scarred shaky fingers curled into fists that he’d slam into the mirror as soon as you’d leave his flat. And leave him.

“Don’t swear in my church.”, you snap at him and Johnny nods, eyes impossibly soft, lips of his curled into the annoying downturns smile.

“Want me to step outside?”, he offers gently, having the nerve to joke when you are that mad at him, when you want to bash his head on the wall of your church and leave his star-shaped scar cracked open and bleeding.

New saint for your church. Saint of one-way trips.

“I can’t say what I want you to do, God wouldn’t approve of it.”, you grumble, turning away from him and light up a candle, your hands trembling when he sidesteps around you.

“Never stopped you before, m’eudail.”, Soap mentions off-handedly and you roll your eyes at him because yeah, maybe he is right but you have standards. No swearing in your church. And no sex in his.

Boundaries had to be drawn when you started…whatever the fuck that was. Not like you could call it dating. You just were together. Always and everywhere.

Until you weren’t.

“What do you want, John?”, you sigh, glaring at him sideways so he tilts his head to be able to look you in the eye, getting a little closer.

Half a step.

Not enough to make you pull away, but enough to make you notice that he is starting to fill the field of your vision. “You watch me like a big dog. It’s scary.”

“Ah’m not a big dog”, Soap corrects you automatically and steps a little closer, standing just a finger away from you, practically crowding you in the corner of your church. “And ah want ye. Always. Forever. As long as ye’d take me.”, he shrugs like it’s obvious and not a thing he remembered only after blatantly stating his need to have you.

“You are a massive dog”, you snap right back, smacking his hip when he gets too close, his hand snaking over your shoulders, his fingers plucking candles out of your loosened grip and silently lighting them up in front of saint Galina’s mural. “Stop pressing to me, you said yourself no sex in the church”, you hiss at him, feeling his smile when he leans lower, his lips ghosting over the temple of yours.

Wolffish grin of his sending flutter that you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t want him, you don’t need him and he doesn’t want to have sex with you.

What’s more here to say? The man is just wasting your time.

“Ah said, no sex in my church, bonnie. Whatever happens in your church is between you and God.”, Soap says with surprising diplomacy, your face freezing when you turn your head to him. Like you can’t believe his audacity.

“All this time I could have fucked you in a church and you were silent, MacTavish?”, the hiss of yours sends shivers down his spine, uncoils sweet aching in his lower abdomen, his nose pressing to the cheek of yours, teeth aching to sink in and drag you back to Scotland.

“You still can.”, Johnny murmurs, nuzzling in you, breathing you in like this is exactly what he needed. His mean bird, snapping her beak at him, threatening to leave him without his bloody fingers if he’s not quick or smart enough.

His sun, his soulmate, his wife.

There is a stretch of silence he feels acutely, breathing your smell in just deeper, trying to remember the way it makes him dizzy in case you smack him in the middle of your church and call the fucking police on his ass for harassing you in the house of the Lord. That would not be fun.

“Doesn’t mean im taking you back.”, you announce after a moment, your glare on him heavy and exasperated when he beams at you like Devil’s prettiest henchman.

Like God’s wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Ye dun have to, mo chridhe.”, Johnny rumbles, pressing himself tighter in you, your palm slipping under the hem of his sweater and shamelessly groping his pec. Someone’s been missing him just as badly, didnae ye?

Johnny lets you pull him under the stairs and pull his cock out of the pants, pumping it too rough and too quick, his tongue darting out to go over his lips, his eyes only on you.

Johnny doesn’t mention that you don’t have to take him as anything. He’s just going to be yours.

“Would ye be sad if ah broke Simon’s jaw?”, he murmurs quietly and rolls his hips in your stilled grip, your head snapping up to look at him.

Needy creature in his chest rumbling that he has to get you back home. Under him. Crying and babbling and spreading your legs and laughing at his smooches.

“Did you?”, you ask instead and spit on the head of his cock, smearing it over the sensitive flesh, rubbing it in, tightening your hold on him.

“Ah plan to.”, Johnny shares like it’s a good piece of gossip and you can’t help but kiss him, your tongue licking into his mouth, his drool dripping in your mouth and down his chin, his hips rolling into your touch. “Can take it as yes?”, he breathes out, breaking a kiss and gripping the wall harder when you growl at him.

Mean as fuck, bonnie. Won’t let him say even a word now?

“You can take it however you like, John. But you break his jaw and he’d break your spine.”, your throat works, the free hand of yours holding onto his shoulder when Johnny slips his palm under your skirt.

Touchy, cocky, bad bad dog of a man.

“You will just have to kiss it better.”, Soap smiles a little dazed and his fingers pull your panties to the side, finally getting to touch the wet heat of your pussy.

Aw, hello to you too, lassie. He’d missed you just as badly, not to worry.

“Can’t even leave you at church doorstep anymore. Fed you too good, now you are too big”, you breathe out, angling your hips so he can slide a second finger inside of your pussy, Johnny’s eyes hungry and dazed, Johnny’s eyes half lidded and half feral.

Johnny just nods at all your complains and stretches you until you drip down his fingers, choir singing something beautifully, his free arm wrapped around you. Holding you in the dark corner under the stairs.

Maybe he should lift a ban on sex at his church. Confessional booth would have been more convenient.

“Gonna be yers then”, Soap slips up and adds when you open your mouth to remind that you aren’t taking him back and aren’t letting him wiggle his way back in and he should go fuck off back to Scotland. “Could be yer saint, bonnie. Could be so guid to ye for being guid to me”, he promises, his thumb circling your clit, his middle and forefinger nestled inside of your fluttering needy pussy.

Hungry fucking thing, he can feel how much you missed him and his fingers and his unhinged ideas and his borderline insane lewd babbling during sex.

“Kinky.”, you murmur quietly and nuzzle in his shoulder when he hoists you knee up, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. “You have to know, I’m bad at praying”

Johnny laughs quietly, sinking into you like he never left, like he’s coming home and bringing you with him and calling his L.T. to fistfight the bastard until he breaks him something. At least a pinky.

His grip around you tightening, his lips ghosting over your cheeks and nose and temples and all over. Wherever he can reach, his smile imprinting on the inside of your eyelids.

Should be illegal for a man to have a mouth this beautiful.

“Think we gonna be alright, bonnie. Think we gonna be fine.”, Johnny breathes out like it’s a little more than just about your lack of praying knowledge or a little more than sex in your church or a little more than your tug of war ever since you two met.

You grip him tighter, your cunt spasming around him and Johnny has to count to ten and back. In Gaelic.

But you breathe out “yeah. Gonna be fine”, and Johnny pulls you up, pressing your back to the wall, letting you kick his lower back as much as you want.

He’d let you do just about anything.

Whatever it takes to be yours. Whatever it takes to earn another blessing of his sun.

Soap rolls his hips into you, his breath hitching when someone walks just above the two of you, adrenaline pumping through him when you pull the collar of your sweater down so he can get his mouth on your tits.

Forget what he said, bonnie. Next time you are gonna do it in a confessional booth.

He needs his better half riding him as close to God as possible. Maybe this way he’d show that he may be the worst wayward sheep there is, the saddest bastard in the universe when it comes to blessings and chances.

But he sure as hell knows a thing or two about devotion.

Even if it’s the one aimed only at you.