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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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See No Evil

Pairing: John Price x F!reader

Synopsis: The flowers came every week -- Tuesday, two O’clock, two minutes after your break. The only problem was that you knew they weren’t coming from John.

Word Count: 17.5k

Warnings: Stalking, violence, intense gore, blood, abduction, angst, fluff, protective!John, not quite smut, swearing, stereotypical ‘Bad Guy’ character who gets his ass beat, minor character death

A/N: Finished this at 3am so forgive the absolute deterioration of the plot near the end.

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

The flowers came once a week – Tuesday, two o’clock, two minutes after your scheduled break. The Triple Twos your coworkers would joke, slapping you on the shoulder with wide smiles and questioning eyes as they continued by asking if John had done something to piss you off. That was the only excuse to spend so much money on flowers every single week; the man had to have done something absolutely unforgivable.

You always found yourself fake chuckling at the accusations with a tense jaw and flickering eyes, looking to the empty corners and the glass front doors as the delivery man exits the building; whistling a tune. Choking down the bile in your throat.

The problem was that John hadn’t done anything wrong, and the tightening in your chest had told you that something more sinister was going on even if you didn’t know exactly what. Another part of you, the common civilian voice in the front of your mind, hissed that you were just being paranoid.

But something was just off.

There was always a note that came with the gift, and it was always stuck on a cardholder; the metal shimmering in the white light. It was a stark contrast to the black paper trapped in it, keeping your eyes transfixed like a void in the earth. You could feel your heart drop every time your gaze locked onto it and the blood-red lettering, like the fibers were bleeding with every stab of a long-gone fountain pen.

The flowers themselves made you pause the first time you had gotten them. Jess, the kind old woman who works the front desk, had come and gotten you herself, and that alone was unusual. Like a man wearing shorts during winter – not entirely uncommon, but still surprising when you saw it happen to say the least.

“Why,” Jess had muttered to you as you gave her a confused look as to why she was in your department in the middle of the day, “That John of yours is just the sweetest. The hydrangeas are the prettiest shade of blue, Dear. The man of yours was an absolute God-send. A pity I’m married – I would have tried to snatch him up!”

“Flowers?” You frowned, running over thoughts about presentations and powerpoints you still had to get done by the end of the day. Already you were at the edge of your rope, “What are you talking about, Jess, I don’t think that John…”

Jess had already bounced ahead, quite limber for her old age, you had thought before you followed after; sucking in a deep sigh. Turning a corner with the clack of your work shoes, you saw a flash of color in the otherwise dull gray of the lobby, kissing the sides of your vision.

“Woah,” Your eyes widened, taking in the sight in front of you as a hand lifted to your lips in shock.

The arrangement was massive – bigger than any you had seen except for one other place.

The first official date you and John had gone on was at a fancy restaurant downtown with similar gargantuan bouquets – a really nice place with candles and red tablecloths.

Throughout the course of the night, both of you had gotten to know each other exceptionally well, but it wasn’t like the two of you were unfamiliar in the first place. If anyone would have asked, many of your coworkers would have told about how, months ago, you had first started gushing about the most handsome man you had ever seen leaving the local library once more. Through many fake threats and warnings that if you didn’t snag the brown-haired Brit soon, they would steal him from you, you shoved down the nervousness in your throat and went to the library on your days off.

It was a week before you gained the courage to even look in his direction, and when you did, you had already found him sneaking glances back. You had offered a friendly smile, albeit a nervous one, and had flushed when he had given you a twitch of his lips and a tilt of his head back.

For six weeks you had gone back, borrowing books you had no intention of reading just to have a chance to speak to him – and when you did, you had both become infatuated with each other. John had asked you about any history book recommendations and you had laughed and said you only read fiction; the man had looked offended, but slyly commented that he would have to change your opinion over dinner.

It was easy to admit that you had agreed right away, body fuzzy and warm.

But on that first official date, you had told him something that you never imagined would come up again when the waiter had put the first-course dish in front of you. Blue Hydrangeas and pure white Orchids. Your favorite flowers.

“John sent these?” You had wondered aloud at the first vase of flora on the granite desk-top, blue and white immediately catching your eyes. Your chest had lightened with love. This was so kind of him.

“Look,” Jess had squealed, placing her withered hands on her cheeks. It was almost like she was getting the gift instead of you. Your lips had quirked in amusement, “There’s a note too. Quick, read it to me! I want all the juicy details.”

That was when you realized something was wrong.

Note? You had raised a brow, John left a note?

Your boyfriend was many things – loyal, brave, an absolutely lovely person to hug because of those muscled bear arms, and hard-headed when it came to you walking nowhere near the edge of the road – but a note writer? No.

If John wanted to tell you something he would tell you – whisper it into your skin as he leaves gentle kisses behind, mutter it into your hair as he brings you into a slow dance in his house’s living room. Smugly grunt it into the hot air as he leaves you sobbing from pleasure, his fingers curling inside of your heat.

Your nose had twitched at the smell of the flowers, but your digits had gravitated to the black note card and its red writing.

‘Thinking of you now,

Long to be with you always,

Morning, noon, and night.’

The paper crinkled as you held the edge slightly tighter, but other than that no outward expression told anyone how confused you were. This wasn’t like John at all and your feet fidget a bit as you try and think if you had missed a massive date on the calendar to elicit such a break in character. But no, you tilted your head, there was nothing going on today.

How did John even order these? You had raised your free hand and brushed one of the white Orchid pedals, He’s out on deployment, not down the street standing in the floral shop.

Jess was gushing at your side, and a few other coworkers come by and say how happy they are for you.

Maybe I’m just overthinking this – John can send flowers and notes whenever he wants. He’s my boyfriend.

Looking over to your coworkers you agree to a comment about how attentive John is, “Yeah,” You force a laugh and shove down the swirling in your gut, “He’s really great – you have no idea…Did you know he makes the best waffles I’ve ever had? He even brings them to me in bed when he’s home!”

Then the whistling delivery man, named Don as you had found out the second week deep into this strange event, had become just as familiar as your coworkers.

Which leaves us in the present.

Tuesday, Two O’clock, two minutes into your scheduled break. The Triple Twos.

You’re already waiting by the front desk, leaning back into it with the granite top digging into your back like a heavy hand. You try to stop the way your stomach twists when you hear Don whistling – Jess laughs to your left.

“Like clockwork, Dear.”

You don’t answer, only tighten your lips into a line; tap your foot on the floor. Your arms crossed.

If you had the option to contact John this would have been easier – ask if he was responsible and finally put this to rest. But your Lover had told you right before the relationship was made official that his job was demanding and that it could even put you in situations that would be less than enjoyable. John had long hours, few breaks with stretches far in between where he would be able to see you. No contact when he was away overseas unless you were in a life-or-death situation – too many possible variables of who could be listening over the line if you called.

“It’d make me feel better if I know there’s no chance of anyone coming back to London to mess with my girl, eh?” He had said, pressing a scratchy kiss to your forehead as he was about to leave your apartment to gather his gear at his home. John would be away for months this time, you knew, “Put my mind at ease about it. But don’t you worry, Love. I’ll be back soon, yeah? We’ll watch that movie you wanted to see when I’m home.”

Don opens the door, holding another damned vase with blue Hydrangeas and white Orchids sticking out of the top. Your eyes find the note all too quickly and your fingers tighten over your biceps.

“Hell,” The delivery man snorts at you, “I’m starting to think this guy is going to buy up all the Florists’ stock at this rate! The hell did he do? Cheat on you?”

You roll your eyes, not replying to the comment and never doubting John’s loyalty to you in the slightest. Muttering a soulless ‘thanks’ before moving to help Don, you take the object from him with a grimace. The vase is like iron in your hand – heavy and cold to the touch akin to a corpse. Like death gripping at the slim vines of life, petals blooming through its fingers.

“I still wish you’d tell me the name of the person who ordered them,” You utter, moving to drop the vase with a plunk on the front desk. It was like you were repulsed by even touching them.

Jess narrows her eyes, “What?” She comments, tone exasperated that you were bringing this up again, “Do you think someone else is going through all this effort? Come on, Dear, no one but John would send these. They’re your favorites!”

“See you next week!” Don calls behind his back, already sneaking out the door to continue his work.

“I don’t know, Jess,” You run your hands over your face, pushing back the hair over your forehead with a groan, “Something just seems off about it. This isn’t like John – if it was I wouldn’t be making a big deal over it, I mean, why would I? I like flowers as much as the next person, but really? This is a bit much.”

“So what I’m hearing in the man never gets you gifts?”

“No!” You snag the black paper note with your fingers, huffing, “The flowers aren’t the problem – It’s the damn note that throws me for a loop.”

“The note?”

“It’s a fucking Haiku – since when have I ever mentioned John writing poetry?” Your voice turns into a gruff imitation of what it once was, “The man is romantic, sure, but he definitely doesn’t take his time to write out poems. He writes so many reports he barely picks the pen back up after he throws it down.”

Jess hums.

“Oh, maybe he’s just trying out a new pass time – perhaps he’ll come back to London as the next William Blake, hm?” The older woman waves her hands around, creating grand gestures as you watch with a blank face and a raised brow.

“Now that’s funny.”

John had hobbies – reading and cooking being two of them. The only time he wrote was when he was working on reports from an Op. and locked away in his office to make sure you never saw what he was getting red, tired, eyes over.

“There are some things that I never want you to see,” He had told you when you had asked what he was working on once. You had come to his house to visit, and he promised to go out with you when he was finished with a report to Laswell, “Images that have no right living in that beautiful brain of yours.”

“Why should you have to see them, then?” You muttered, gazing into his eyes with concern. He put so much on himself, “Don’t they make you sick?”

“Yeah, lie of the century, that is,” He had smiled stiffly, dragging you into his arms as you melt. Your hands wrap around his tapered waist, sighing, “But it’s the mission. Someone has to get their hands dirty. And I’d rather it always be me than anyone else – least of all you, Love. I’ll be ready to go in half an hour, copy?”

“Well,” Jess sighs, typing something on her computer, “Is the note the same as the last four times?”

You blink, and look down at the tiny paper you had been strangling in your grip. Black and red – just as always. Freezing you look at the letters and numbers written in that fountain-pen script. It takes you a moment of realization before it feels like a knife hits you in the heart, breaking open your ribcage and splaying the bones into the light.

Your lungs chill over, air stagnant and unmoving so that your breaths are reduced to gasps. The pulse inside of you increases so suddenly that your feet stumble and your skin vibrates as your veins work overtime.

The red script burns the exact address of your apartment building into your retina.

“Call the police.”

—

“Hello, this is Kate Laswell,” The voice over your phone wafts into the lifeless air of John’s home, and your skin crawls as it bounces off the walls. It felt wrong to you – taking refuge in John’s place without telling him first. But going back to your apartment wasn’t an option, “...Hello?”

With a start, you realized you had forgotten to reply. Placing a finger on the drawn curtains to the front window, you peak outside with tense shoulders, eyes roving the empty street.

“H-hi, Kate, I know this is probably stepping over a line, a big one, but I found your office number in John’s house,” You give your name tersely and clear your throat before stating you were the man’s girlfriend. Laswell stays silent, letting you explain yourself even if she was overwhelmingly confused. You appreciated that immensely. If she were to start asking you questions you might start crying, “but I would be really appreciative if you could tell him – if John’s even working with you on this deployment, that is, that I have to stay in his home for a few days… o-or a week…possibly.”

It didn’t take an expert to know that you were shaken, your voice cutting out at the wrong times as the phone picks up the static of your constant movement and fidgeting. Your eyes follow a white car as it drives down the street outside, pupils small and eyebrows drawn in. You drop the fabric and take a step back, sucking in a deep breath.

Focus.

A pause over the line makes your heart beat faster as you begin to go and pace the front hallway. There’s a paranoia in your blood that oozes out into the lines of the hardwood and around your socked feet as you zip back and forth.

Kate utters your name over the phone slowly. She doesn't ask why you’re in John’s house or why you're staying there, just gets to the root of the problem, “...Are you alright? Do you want me to mention anything else to-”

“No!” You gasp out, waving your free hand in front of you, “No, I don’t want to make him distracted. I just…” Your voice trails off, air getting harder to suck into your lungs.

A gentle sigh flows out over the call, and the sound of a body shuffling closer to the landline. Feet sliding over the floor.

“What’s going on, Dear?”

You stop pacing.

Laswell was a good deal older than you, you knew, and the tone she was taking reminded you of a mother who was trying to console a child; particularly one who had just hit their head after falling to the ground. Smooth, calm, and with a kind insistence. It made your chest tighten as you swallowed down saliva in your closed throat. Your eyes sting.

“I-” You rub a hand up to your cheeks, feeling the heat enter your clammy palms as a glassiness coats the back of your eyelids. Before you knew it, everything comes spilling out in a spew of hiccupped breaths and tears, “Something’s been happening at work for a while and the police are involved,” You try to steady your voice, “But…but they can’t do much because there’s no imminent threat to my safety. Yeah, well, the problem is that this fucking freak knows my address and I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your story jumps around, telling of the flowers and the notes. You take no linear path and instead you have to go back steps and explain that you didn’t even know who was doing this. By the time you had finished, you were sitting on the floor, knees drawn to your chest and sniffling. Your clothes were ruffled from you constantly flattening them down, wrinkles like veins visible in the fabric.

Kate coughs over the line as you come to a sobbing stop, trying to muffle your panic with a hand to your mouth as you tilt the phone down parallel to your chin. Tears drip from your face one by one.

“I’m sure John won’t mind you staying in his house,” Laswell speaks slowly, trying to ease your nerves and stop the panicked breathing over the call, “I’ll call my contacts in your local police force, alright? We’ll get someone on this; just take a breath for me, okay?”

“Please, don’t tell John,” You gasp, wiping away the waterworks with your hand, “It’ll make him worry too much.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that.”

—

John had gotten a text from Laswell just as he had finished taking off his gear, the small bleep from his phone distracting him from the straps of his leg holsters. He blinks, furrowing his dark brows and looking at the black device as it sits on the bench. The changing room lights fizzle for a moment, and the bear of a man spares them a grunt.

The Captain’s athletic shirt is neatly folded under the phone, the fabric creased and drowned with sweat and dirt. He walks over with only his cargo pants on, liking the way the chilled air felt on his flushed skin as the adrenaline from the latest step in the mission wore off.

AC, he decided, was one of man's greatest inventions. His dog tags clink over each other around his neck as a trail of sweat dripped down his abs.

John’s fingers snatch the phone, one hand going to unbuckle his belt so he can take a shower and wash all the grime from his body. The lights bounce off his physique, biceps becoming more prominent as he brings the phone up, but before he looks at the screen the back of his hand travels to his forehead. He takes a moment to wipe at his slick skin before sighing and itching at his hairline. Bringing the phone down, John looks at the screen absentmindedly, preoccupied with the thoughts of warm water to ease his aches and the forming bruises over his skin.

Laswell: “Get to my office. ASAP. It’s about your girl.”

John stops, his pants only held up by his tense hips; his free hand at the front zipper about to send the slider down the tiny metal teeth. He utters your name with a grunt of breath, eyebrows furrowing as a concerned frown overtakes his face.

It takes half a moment for him to shuck his pants back up and grab his nasty shirt from the bench. John shoves his feet into his mud-slick boots without a second thought; he doesn't tie the laces, instead, he shoves them into the sides. Sending a reply with one hand, he’s rushing out the door in under fifteen seconds, heart taking off like a plane and pulse being re-set alight. His jaw clenches and his tags bounce as he thunders onwards.

Price: “On my way.”

His feet hammer the floor, sending small shockwaves over the ground as the man rampages on. John sprints past room after room and runs down multiple hallways before finally getting to where he needs to be with stiff limbs. He grasps the side of the open doorway with a heavy hand and all but swings himself into the next hallway before he skids to a stop at the first door on the right. An all-encompassing grip is slammed onto the metal handle, and he mercilessly twists before opening it with his other hand on the woodgrain; his shoulder ready to ram the barrier open if it happened to be locked.

It wouldn’t have been, but John’s mind isn’t thinking straight. In his head, all he can do is come up with the worst possibilities. You, dead back in London, or severely injured due to a freak accident, maybe on life support with no hope of waking back up. There were too many options – John had simply seen too much, he knows that if the worst could happen, it will. But fuck nothing was ever meant to happen to you. Not you. Anyone but you.

You were supposed to be safe – always.

The Captain doesn’t bother to knock before the door is swung to the side. Your voice is the first thing that John hears, high-pitched and strained as you sob into the landline on Kate’s desk. Papers had once scattered the woman’s workspace, but all are pushed to the side as Laswell’s hands are clenched on the metal top; full attention on the hysterical lady a world away.

Kate snaps her hardened eyes up to John watching as his chest heaves before bringing a finger to her lips. Her expression twists into a frown.

Clenching his jaw, John feels his heart sputter at the sounds from the landline – what were you saying? His ears strain as he pushes the door closed with a muffled click, feet unconsciously carrying him to your voice like you were in the room with him. He wishes you were. John stops by the edge of the desk, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides before he crosses them over his chest; fingers digging into the meat of his arms.

His feet shuffle and he picks up the sniffled words of ‘don’t know him’ and ‘figured out where I live.’

Laswell sends him a glance as John’s eyes widen, beginning to paint a picture for himself of what was going on. A heated rage flies through his bloodstream, lips pulling back in a snarl, but he stayed silent so he could let you speak.

Has her address? Where is she now?!

“I’m sure John won’t mind you staying at his house,” Kate mutters calmly, slowly, and John is thankful that the woman was who you had decided to call – even if he felt bad that you didn’t think you could get in contact with him directly for something like this.

I told her not to, He lays his hands on the table, leaning closer to the landline, and takes a deep calming breath to help his head from exploding, Bloody hell, I made her feel like she shouldn’t.

John’s face steadily gains a red sheen of self-hatred under his beard and over his cheeks. He would have made time for you – found a secure line and waited for you to call. So why hadn’t he done that yet? He should have checked in.

The man brings a hand to his face, running it over his beard and pulling at the strands. There was just so much going on with the Task Force that it must have slipped his mind. Laswell continues from her seat at the desk chair, not oblivious to John’s state.

“I’ll call my contacts in your local police force, alright? We’ll get someone on this; just take a breath for me, okay?” John hears your static-filled voice let out a muffled whimper and he suppresses a flinch, breath getting caught in his throat. He never wants you to make a fearful noise like that again.

“Please, don’t tell John,” You gasp out and the two in the office pause – John becomes as still as a statue, his face pained and eyes widening – they hear you wiping away tears with a ruffle of fabric, “It’ll make him worry too much.”

Against his better judgment, the man lets a small, emotionless, quirk of his lips grace the tense atmosphere.

She’s the one being stalked and she’s concerned about me worrying about her? Damn this woman. If only she knew how much I actually think about her when I’m away, regardless. I couldn’t not think about her well-being if I tried – halfway around the world and I can’t get it together.

“I think it’s a little too late for that,” Laswell speaks after a moment. John hears you suck in a quick breath and he takes a deep intake of air in turn, filling his chest and trying to ignore the scent of his own stench. God, he really needed a shower, but warm water was nowhere in the vicinity of what he was thinking about right now. Not anymore.

You took precedent. Always.

“...John?” Your voice wavers out, thin and cautious.

“I’m right here, Doll,” The Captain utters, speaking softly as Laswell grabs her personal phone from the top drawer of the desk and slinks away – going to make that call to her contact no doubt. She sends him a close-lipped smile, nods to the exit, and walks out of the room. John tilts his head in her direction as the door closes, “I heard the last half, alright? Don’t you worry about a thing, it’ll all be sorted. Stay at my place long as you need and don’t worry ‘bout making a mess,” He nods his head even if you can’t see him, body wanting to hold you to his chest, “Even have your favorite snacks in the pantry for you, Love. Stocked up a few months ago just in case you ended up staying over…lucky guess on my part, yeah?”

“The chocolate ones?” You snort wetly, and John smiles in contentment at the noise of your slowing breath. Hearing you calm down was making his own pulse return to normal. You were okay – for now at least – and that was enough to make the tension in the man’s shoulders subside; the clenching of his fists on the table loosen. But there was a special section of his heart that held the knowledge that someone had made you fearful for your life – left you crying and desperate to have protection from the unknown. And here John was, not able to even press a kiss to your head. He can’t help the sliver of self-resentment at the thought, “But I…I thought you hated those?”

“Hm,” John grunts, conceding just for you. He tries to push his anger aside and force out his teasing comment, just focus on her, “The bloody things grew on me. How can I hate something you love so much? Especially when you’re making fun of me for not liken’ ‘em.”

A content silence falls, with your body shuffling occasionally as your try and find your bearings again. The man knows your mind will come back to you if you just focus on him; just like his own would. John’s lips fall into a line.

“Darling,” He whispers, but knows you can hear him by how you make a small noise in the back of your throat, “I need to ask you, how long has this been going on?”

John's ears pick up a sigh, “A little more than a month,” The Captain’s eyes close, head slightly turning down into his chest as his fingers drum the desktop, “I just…I thought it was you at first - even if It felt a little off, you understand? Then the most recent note had my apartment address on it and I-I panicked. I didn’t know where else to go except to your house. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for that,” John firmly states, eyes flaring as he moves to sit in Laswell’s chair. A slight creak echoed out as he puts his weight on it, leaning forward intently, “Never apologize – this is some pathetic Muppet’s fault and will never, for one moment, be yours…Now, you stay at my home and lay low for a while. Did they give you time off from work? If not, I’ll send a call to your boss and–”

“You can’t just do that!” Your voice is coated with amusement, light laughter playing off your lips as you interrupt his methodical and soldier-like rant. John stifles a deep chuckle, closing his eyes and listening, “I already took a week off, I promise. I was just planning on staying here and letting things cool down...Just wanted to let you know first.”

John’s lips release a hum before he runs a hand over his beard and scratches the skin under the bristles. Dirt and flecks of ash fall to the floor, but he doesn’t notice.

“I’ll see if I can’t finish up here within the next few weeks. Come back to London early and help you figure all of this out. Look into it myself if I have to.”

“You don’t have to do that, John. I know your work is important.”

“You’re important, Love,” The man teases, “The Op. over here has run dry, the leads have gone for the moment and there’s no reason for Laswell to keep us here cleaning the empty rooms; I know for a fact I’m able to make sure you’re safe far better than anyone else back home. I can be back soon,” He growls, and his accent becomes thicker as he continues on in the ‘Captain Voice’ you had grown to love, “I’ll bloody make sure of it.”

“How have things been, by the way?” You ask, steering the conversation away from you, worried about how his efforts had affected him. He sounded tired, “Everyone’s alright? No new injuries, I hope. I don’t know if I can deal with you coming back and having another gunshot wound right now – you know how I get when I’m doting over you.”

“Hm,” John huffs, amused. He remembers how, when he had come back once with a shot to the thigh, you had practically restrained him to the bed as you ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. You had cooked, cleaned, and even helped him into the bath as his humongous body had towered over you. But it wasn’t like he was complaining about the last one, “Nothing to twist your hair over.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Only scrapes and bruises on my part. Should’ve seen the other guy.”

Laswell enters the room silently as you giggle, heels not making a sound as she lowers her personal phone from her ear and closes the door behind her, “My contact is en route to your house, John. He’s going to check in and get a statement. With any luck, she’ll get a security detail to bring her to and from wherever she needs to go.”

“You hear that, Love?” John shifts his narrowed eyes to the landline after nodding.

“Yup,” You muttered, spirits now higher and the waver in your voice noticeably gone. There was no doubt that over the line you were calmer than you had been in probably over a month. John just had that effect on you, “I really can’t thank you enough, Laswell. And I’m so sorry for invading your privacy by calling you like that.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Anyone important to John is just as important to everyone over here. We take care of our own…The man that’s going to be coming to your door is named Mahdi Karim – black hair, tanned skin, and a cut just above his right eyebrow. Should be in a police uniform.”

“I’ll be on the lookout. Thank you, Kate. Truly. If you ever find yourself in London, I make a great casserole – just ask John. My door’ll be open.”

Laswell smiles softly, wrinkles disappearing for a brief second, and John can’t stop the wave of love that sweeps his gaze. He stops a lovesick sigh just before it enters the air.

“Be safe,” Kate tells you, “I’m sure John will be in touch with you soon and I’ll be sure to have a secure line ready to go.” Laswell nods before turning to John, “You were needed in building five for a debrief fifteen minutes ago. Gaz has been asking around for you…sorry, but you’ll have to make the goodbye quick.”

John looks away, jerking his head into a firm nod and groaning out, “Affirm. Tell the Sergeant that I’ll be there in a minute for me, yeah?”

“On it.”

“I’m sure Gaz is ripping the place apart for you, Love,” You laugh, and John’s eyes snap to the landline to give his attention back to you. Like a wave in an ocean, “Don’t keep him waiting. From what you tell me the boy can get into a startling degree of trouble when you’re not with him…something about falling out of a helicopter?”

John feels his chest jerk with chuckles. What did he do to deserve you? Someone who could make him forget about the aches in his shoulder muscles from the stock of his M13 – forget about the layers of sweat, blood, and dirt seeping into his pores; death lives on him like a second skin. But, strangely, you either didn’t notice or didn’t care. That was the part that struck John every time you barreled into his chest when he came home – you stayed by his side so adamantly; waited every time he left and was over the moon when he returned.

You love him, and he doesn’t think he deserves it. But like the selfish man he is, he’ll keep you at his side as long as he’s able, and love you back just the same. You were one in a million. And the thought of someone reducing you to something other than a god-send – to a mere object someone could prey on was enough to reduce the Captain to a feral rage.

If I ever get my hands on the prick that made her feel like this, he’s as good as dead. Mark my fucken’ words – he’s dead.

“I’ll call you tonight, Love, you alright with that?” John clears his throat, grunting as he stands from the desk chair, “Around 0900 your time?”

“That’s nine O’clock, yeah?” You continue not waiting for him to answer, “...How late is that for you?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m still ‘gonna call.”

You seemed to know that trying to sway him on this was pointless by the way you muffled an exasperated laugh, “Alright. Nine O’clock. I’ll answer.”

“You better,” John huffs, “Goodbye, Love. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, John. Be safe – Love you.”

“Love you, too. Be safe for me.” He whispers, letting you hang up the phone instead of him. Kate and he stand in silence for a moment before John growls, eyes suddenly burning. It was like his only tie to being civil was severed after your presence – even as limited as it was through a call – disappeared, “I want whoever’s doing this put in cuffs before I’m back in London, Laswell, yeah? Otherwise, it’ll be someone else's bloody problem to pick up the pieces I leave behind of whatever bastard is responsible for this.”

—

Mahdi Karim was perhaps the only person in London that listened to you. He had told you in a soft tone as the both of you sat in John’s dark living room that he would work on the case you had brought forward personally – with the influence of Kate Laswell giving him all the jurisdiction he needed.

You had briefly wondered how far Laswell’s hand reached into the inner working of the city’s police force but had decided it was probably better if you never figured that out. For just one American CIA agent – she sure knew how to play the game to her favor.

“I’ll make sure to have another officer with you when you need to leave the house – Mrs. Talley – whenever you need to go somewhere she’ll be just a call away.” Mr. Karim had told you as you fiddled with your fingers in your lap, “And I’ll be at the station working on leads. Kate told me that you had handwritten notes?”

“Yeah,” You cleared your throat, nodding as you stare out the window; the street lights come on outside with an automatic timer. Your lips flattened, whispering out, “They’re all in my work bag.”

God, you wished John was here. He would have held you to his chest with a firm hand on the back of your head; all-encompassing and steady as his heart beat directly over your ear with a steady thum-thump, thum-thump. John’s heart was always something of a comfort to you. When he was with you, staying the night, you wanted to keep your head on his chest and feel the melody of his pulse lull you into a slumber – like your own personal lullaby.

It reminded you he was here; alive, and in turn, it kept you steady. His gentle kisses to your hairline were just another perk along with his fingers carding through your locks. Whenever he did that you swore you turned to mush, just like a cat letting out vibrating purrs. There were so many things that John Price did that could calm you down without even trying – the way he slow danced with you when you put his vinyl records on, his fascination with old movies to the point his eyes would light up when he explained them to you, and the press of his gargantuan body laying on top of you.

That last thought brought a smile to your lips. He was always worried he would crush you.

“You sure, Love?” He would ask when you smiled smugly from your position lying on the couch, “I’d hate to have my girl suffocate because she asked me to lay on top of her. You trying to get me arrested?”

“John,” You had laughed, “I’ll tell you if I can’t breathe. I just want to feel you. It’s like a weighted blanket – just more you shaped! Come on,” You whine playfully, arms outstretched and making grabby hands, “Please?”

The man huffed, smirking before shaking his head and sending you a warm glance. He stalks over to come and lay on top of you, his thin shirt letting you memorize the press of his abs and pecks sliding over your body; the dig of his biceps over the small of your back as they circle behind you. John lay in between your legs, forcing them open and around his fitted thighs before your limbs slip down his legs. Your hand had gravitated to his soft brown locks, messing them up lovingly with a chuckle and a soft smile. The Captain’s head was tilted up, beard itching your neck as his grip over your waist lightly squeezed over your shirt. You stared down at him with that look on your face – the one you reserved only for John.

Against better judgment, you feel a heat enter your body at the heavy press of his pelvis slotted perfectly into you. And the way he was staring up at you, his large nose just by your chin…

A cheeky smile filters over your boyfriend’s bearded face as you caress his forehead with your thumb. John’s eyes crinkle.

“This what you had in mind, Doll?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t enjoy this, Captain.” His eyes had sparked, narrowing as he paused a moment.

A deep chuckle rattled against your body, and John tried to press you tighter into him; leaving you softly yelping in surprise, eyes widening, even though the glee stayed. The action was incredibly soft and left a deep yearning in your compressed lungs. As you sucked in small breaths, you found John’s dilated eyes watching you closely; like a deep blue river around a circular black rock. The gaze left a heat flowing to your face and neck – a pulsing in your lower body. You resisted the urge to roll your hips as your legs tighten around his own.

“Hm,” The man grunted, making your breath stutter for a moment. He felt it and smirked.

“Hm, what?” You ask breathlessly, John’s nose moving up your neck and tilting your head back.

You open the skin to him readily; your skull falling back to the arm of the couch. Gasping, John’s lips pull apart, teeth grazing your pulse point before finding the one spot that makes you whimper. He lays open mouth kisses and swift nips, leaving the area red and pulsing causing your eyelids to flutter shut with pleasure. The heavy set of your boyfriend’s build makes the sparks that he leaves behind with his mouth increase tenfold. The man’s fingers dig into your waist, kneading the flesh.

You let out a breathless whimper as your hand trailed through his hair, pulling at the roots and leaving John grunting as they get messed up. Suddenly, with a sharp and confident bite to that perfect spot behind your ear, his hips lightly jump up into you; pelvis bones digging into the skin of your inner thighs as the fabric of your shorts hitch up.

A breathly keen escapes your lips before you can bite onto your lips to stop it. Burning, your face moves closer to John’s as he licks the hickey he made and blows on it. You shiver as his lips pull in a smirk against your skin.

“This your plan all along, Pet? Get me to give you a good fuck?” John clicks his tongue, “Naughty girl. You know what you do to me – just had to bloody ask if you wanted me stretching you open.”

His accent always became more pronounced when you both were horny; rutting against each other like animals. John sends another thrust up into you and your eyes roll back, eyelids snapping shut at the steadily growing feeling of wetness staining your panties. Fuck, you needed him – now.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. If you like me pressing into you so much, maybe I’ll take that cunt of yours right here, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucken’ hell I think I enjoy this just as much as you do.”

“Please…” You sigh, gasping as John grabs your hips and starts to force you to move in tandem with him; fingers digging into your bare flesh. Fuck that felt good – all his weight on you as your breath was forced to puff out when his chest bore down on you with every orchestrated pump of his pelvis.

“Please, what? Use your words now…Hm,” He angles deeper, and your nails dig into his back, sliding under his shirt and attacking his skin, “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you? You’re trying so hard to get me in that cunt of yours, might have to hurry this up.”

“Please, C-captain.” Your face burns, words coming out muffled as his lips smash to yours and forces his tongue down your throat.

“...There’s a good fucken’ girl.” One of his large hands moves to your abdomen, just about big enough to span the entire area of your skin before traveling down slowly to enter your shorts. His callouses burn so perfectly.

Shaking your head, you realize Mr. Karim was waiting for you to give him the notes. Startling, you stand and send him an apologetic glance before rushing to the kitchen and grabbing your bag off the counter, rifling through it with a quick hand.

Pulling out all of the black paper notes, you turn back to Karim and shuffle up to him, “Here.”

Holding out the notes and trying not to look at them, the man takes them from you with a gentle pull. Mahdi gave you a pitying look.

“I’ll get these dusted for prints and try and see if we have any records of the handwriting in our database.”

“Okay,” You mutter, nodding, “Do…you need me to come with?”

Mahdi shakes his head, hair moving around his head, “No. You’re free to stay here and get your bearings.” The man stands, his officer uniform’s badge glinting in the light from outside, “How about you order out? Get some food and take a nap, yeah? Leave the rest to me, Ma’am.”

He makes his way over to the front door and you trail behind, flicking on the outside house light for him but leaving the interiors pointedly off.

“Stay safe. Lock the door after me, okay?”

“Yeah,” You lock your fingers together in front of your stomach, “No problem. Drive carefully, Mr. Karim, and thank you for coming by.”

“Anytime you need something done and no one’s listening – come directly to me. Sleep tight.” With that, the officer opens the door and disappears, going to his car in the driveway. Closing the door immediately after his departure, you watch his vehicle take off into the dark night with a tight chest.

Clicking the double locks and turning off the outside light, you suck in a deep breath before turning around and falling back to place your spine on the woodgrain. You slide to the floor, eyes turning glassy.

Mahdi said to order out – not strain yourself. But you had no appetite, even if you hadn’t eaten lunch today. Your stomach was in twists, intestines clogged with bad thoughts and concern. Closing your eyes, you waited for John’s call tonight at nine, tension living like a weight over your shoulders and neck.

You would have much preferred your boyfriend’s mass holding you down instead of this, but no matter how much you wished you knew he wasn’t coming back to you for a while. But you’re patient. You can wait.

—

You still hadn’t gone back to work even after Jess had told you the flowers had stopped – about two and a half weeks later. The older woman had said over the phone that Don had come by the building to explain that no more requests for delivery were coming in, either. That had made you breathe a sigh of relief.

Maybe this is coming to an end, You had thought while pulling John’s green comforter closer to your chin, fixing the position of the phone over your ear as Jess comments on the handsome officer that had come in and asked about you.

You blinked, cocking a brow.

“I told him you were staying at your boyfriend's house – had to give him the street too – though I don’t know why he had to ask me, Dear. He seemed quite pushy too. Such a dreadful boy. It’s a good thing you found that John of yours, I–”

Your ears started ringing halfway through the word vomit, eyes stuck onto the ceiling as the whites show like snow in the corners of your orbs. The quivering of your lip was the only part of you that moved – frozen over with frost and piloting stiff limbs. The comforter was suddenly suffocating you.

“Jess,” You calmly spit out, breath hitching as you interrupt. The woman pauses over the line, and she asks if you were alright. Ignoring her, your fingers turn numb, “Did he show you a badge?”

“Why, yes, of course, he did – it was a silver…oh…oh my…”

Silence falls, a tense rope being tightened over your throat as you sit up slowly, pushing the covers off of you with a shaking hand.

“Police badges are gold.” Dropping the phone from your vibrating fingers onto the bed, you rush to the dresser, pulling on John’s gray sweatpants over your underwear and grabbing a stray t-shirt to sit on top of your thin tank top. Nearly tripping over your feet, you huff out uneven breaths as you hang up on a blabbering Jess, quickly finding Mahdi Karim’s contact information and slamming a finger onto the green call icon.

It takes three rings before the man picks up, and hot adrenaline is lighting your nerves; telling you to run and hide. John’s scent – gunpowder, pine needles, and smoke – is ingrained in the clothes you wear and yet you can’t bring any comfort from it. Your bones weigh more than lead, one hand going to cover your mouth to stifle a ragged inhalation as Karim’s confused voice comes through the receiver. You jump into an explanation with a waving hand, and the man says he’ll be over himself in just fifteen minutes while another officer goes to your work to get a statement from Jess.

He hangs up first.

Fifteen minutes, You think about calling John but don’t want to phone him on his flight. He had said he should be back today or tomorrow the last time you both had spoken – when he was boarding the C-17, the whirling of the large plane’s engines blocking out everything else besides his voice. Carrying yourself into the living room, you reach up and close all the curtains; double-check the door locks, and clutch your phone in your hand with white knuckles near your hip, I don’t even know how long this guy has had his head start on me. What if he’s already outside the door?

Licking your lips, your mind runs with scenarios – what if this deranged person broke down the door? Ripped the window off its frame and jumped in? Your eyes snapped to and fro as your feet shuffled back over the hardwood; trying to figure out if you should go wait for Mahdi somewhere not near the front of the house or stay to make sure no one suspicious was walking outside.

You chose a middle ground, moving into the kitchen and pacing with your bare feet as the morning light streamed in from under the fabric barrier over the window. Fifteen minutes passed far too slowly.

A knock sounded on the door, and you rushed to the entrance to sneak a look out the sidelight. Mahdi stood shuffling in his uniform, peering behind him and speaking into a radio on his vest with tight features. You open the door with a shaking grip and usher the man inside with fearful glances behind him.

Mahdi takes a few steps inside, keeping the door open behind him and frantically grabbing you by the arm. His eyes are wild.

You yelp.

“We have to get you to a secure area – quickly.”

“B-but I–” You send a glance behind you, not entirely willing to leave John’s house and the familiar solace it brings. You only utter half a sentence, not even able to explain your hesitance, before a sound like a great boom echoes into the morning air. Some type of liquid splatters the side of your face, dripping down your forehead before falling off your chin and your eyes snap shut instinctually.

Only able to flinch with a slight yell, you turn back just in time to lock onto Mr. Karim’s face. Or lack thereof.

Half of the man’s visage was gone – white skull visible to the naked eye as the eviscerated tendons of his jaw leave the orientation off; hanging off his face and only on the unmarred side. Mahdi’s brain matter was splattered over your face, and your eyes widen in horror at the realization that you can see what remains of the officer’s cerebrum in the now half-circle of his skull. His remaining eye was bulging like an egg – nearly popping out and bouncing on the floor.

All of this happened in only half a second – the gunshot, you getting bathed in perhaps more blood than you initially realized, and then the limp body of kind Mahdi Karim falling into you; dead. His weight hits your numb body, your eyes wide, and your mind a thousand miles away as your arms snap to steady him. Your phone falls to the floor, with a deep thump, and at this point, you don’t register the fact that the man’s dead in your arms until it’s too late.

His head hits your shoulder, and your ears twitch at the sound of a wet splat – something mushy hits the floor before you stumble a few steps backward. Baptized in blood. It coats you like a second skin. How could a human body hold so much blood?

“...Mahdi?” You whimper, ears ringing and body shaking so badly you feel the man slide off you. The corpse slams to the floor, vibrating the hardwood.

Your hands are held outstretched, fingers clenching and unclenching in shock. You don’t notice the shadow running up to you before the man has you by the wrist. The phantom utters your name into the air just as you notice the neighbor across the street rush to her front window.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry – I’ve got you.”

Reality comes to you in the thin moments between the realization that Karim’s body was bleeding all over John’s foyer and the knowledge that you were being dragged outside. For everything that was going on, you can’t help that your first coherent thought is ‘John’s going to have to replace the hardwood. That’s so expensive…I’ll have to pitch in.’

When your heels get skinned on the hard concrete is the exact moment you felt a shred of sanity come back and weave its way into your brain.

“What the fuck?!” Screaming, your arm jerks back, eyes borderline feral as the adrenaline finally prompted you to consciousness. Looking up as the stranger's grip only tightens to a painful degree you stifle an enraged wail.

The man was familiar to you – not in a ‘this is my friend I've known for years’ type of way but more of a ‘this is a man I’ve seen in passing’ you think to yourself.

It was the waiter.

The fucking waiter from the restaurant you and John had gone to for your first official date. He had heard you talking about your favorite flowers while he poured you wine…

But that was upwards of a year and a half ago. Your skin crawled, feeling violated in such a way you had never experienced before.

As you feel your heart bursting through your chest, you bring your opposite hand up and clench it; trying to land a sucker punch to the bastard's smug face as he stares at you with dark eyes. Your fist grazes his cheek, bearly causing a reaction.

His other hand holds a revolver, glinting in the light.

Before your shock-filled brain can attempt to understand what's exactly going on, the Waiter’s gun raises as your nails scratch at his face, peeling back skin and leaving red lines behind. As the butt of the weapon slams into your temple, the last words you hear are uttered right next to your ear – foreign lips whispering the sentences and making you want to throw up. Maybe you do, but you can’t be sure at that moment.

“I’ll take care of you, Orchid. Better than John Price ever could. Steady now. I’ve got you.”

Hands drag you by the arms, and you hear the opening of a rusty car door before you’re thrown into the back seat. Images swirl in your vision, and blood makes your skin taunt with gore.

Your last thoughts are of John’s blue eyes.

—

The first sensation you feel is the tight bindings over your wrists and ankles. They weren't rough – and you instantly knew the restrictions didn’t have the fibers belonging to hard rope. Keeping your eyes closed as the pulse in your head pounds to a degree that leaves your hands shaking, you strain your ears. The wooden chair keeping you up leaves your neck limp; chin compressed into your collarbone.

To your left, your ears twitch at a noise. Classical music wafts like wind off walls you choose not to open your eyes and see. But based on the echos the room is small – not large enough to allow the tune to carry far. Your feet shuffle, and in the process your knee slams into a hard object that leaves you clenching your jaw to stop a yelp of pain.

The jolt causes a reverb of wood sliding over the floor. Lightly peaking an eye open your blurry vision lands on the tall table in front of you – the stain is patchy, with paint flecks living on the legs as you look down. A morbid curiosity flows through you, and your horrified gaze jumps from one object to another; your chest palpitating.

Everything in this room was worn down, old, and ancient. A radio sits to your left on a nightstand with one duck-taped leg; the momentary static that overtakes the eerily playing tune shows that the device was having trouble receiving the channel.

Where am I? You ask yourself, looking at the table with a set of dust-layered plates and utensils. Two wine glasses glint in a single overhead light attached to a roof that comes to a sloping stop. This looked like a dingy attic room – the type where the Christmas decorations were shoved away to rot for a whole year and where young children were terrified to enter. Sniffing as your hands experimentally clench, you catch the scent of rotting wood and water damage.

“...What the…?” Your lips grunt out, shaking your head to dispel the fog as you notice the blue silk bindings keeping you tied to a white-painted wooden chair. No one else was in here except for you, “What is this?”

Jerking your arms, your mind runs over the obscure facts that John would drop – either calling attention to the true crime shows you would watch in your free time or simply because of his extensive service career.

Most people who are abducted are killed within a short amount of time from when they’re taken…three out of five women who are in this situation are sexually assaulted, abused, or exploited, You pull more heavily at your binds, feeling one on your left leg loosen as you let out a wavering sigh of achievement, Only 0.1% of people are abducted by strangers.

“Fucking hell,” You whimper as a pulse from your blood-stained temple leaves you light-headed, “Add me into that percentage, I guess.” Your thoughts border on hysterical, sweat coating your hands as a humorless chuckle shakes from your throat. You have to bite your lip to shut yourself up from divulging into loud barks of laughter.

The silk digging into your skin holds, and you don’t dare make any more noise than you already are. Looking around frantically, your flickering eyes land on the twin forks on the table; tantalizingly out of reach and mocking you.

“Oh, screw you,” Growling, you throw your head back and try and look behind you, straining your neck to a point you start restricting your airways – maybe there was something of use?

Nothing. Just a window covered in newspaper and the faint glow of a setting sun. You hadn’t even thought of the time. How long had you been unconscious? The blood staining you from head to toe was all dried and made your clothes hard and stiff; the wound at your temple had stopped bleeding. You licked your lips and couldn’t stop the sting in your eyes.

Hours had passed. Precious hours.

John has to be back in London by now, You reason, hoping against hope, He knows I’m gone and’ll be on it in no time. I have to hold out until then.

Gasping at your lack of air, you turn your head back around and cough into your shoulder raggedly; sucking down breaths. Black dots fly over your vision in squiggly patterns.

In that moment of trying to get your lungs to understand you weren't dying, a sound had started up from below your feet in this decrepit house. At first, you hadn’t noticed it – the thumps so muffled your mind had mistaken them for your own skipping heartbeat, but then there was muttering.

Someone was speaking to themselves downstairs. Your body froze; becoming so still that not even your hair moved with the shallow puffs from your nostrils. It was like your nerves had turned to stone, and your ears strained to hear.

“...hope she likes it…worked so hard to make it perfect…” Footsteps bounce off the wood as your eyes stay locked onto the door directly across the room. It wasn’t long before the handle started to jiggle.

Keeping a scream locked in your throat, John’s voice comes to you from between the racing of your mind.

He had been telling you about how he was captured by Russian Special Forces on one of his Black Ops. – totally alone and unable to contact his team.

“But I had to play their game,” John had muttered into your hairline; laying gentle kisses as you caressed a long scar up his abdomen and right peck. He grumbled his appreciation, shivering as your nails raked through his chest hair, “Make them think I was giving them what they wanted until I could loosen the rope.”

“That sounds stressful,” You had murmured, pressing your lips to his raised skin and feeling his mustache nuzzle your forehead with a delicate scrape, “How did you manage it, Love?”

“Well, I had years of practice under my belt.” John’s eyebrow rose with a smirk, “But they also knew what to expect from me right off the bloody bat – I just had to surprise ‘em; to keep them on their high horse. A little white lie is better than a punch to the gut, eh?”

The door opens, and a plan already starts to form before it closes with the click of a lock.

“Orchid!” You flinch, your body throwing itself back into the chair as your head snaps to face the entrance. The Waiter’s head of blonde hair was greasy with a product – slicked back and trimmed. Red marks are traveling down his face from your nails.

He was handsome, tall in a lanky sort of way, and in a suit; holding a handful of blue Hydrangeas and white Orchids. Even looking at the flowers causes your stomach to roll; bile to fill the base of your throat and burn to be expelled.

You decided at that instant that you never wanted to see any type of flower again for the rest of your life.

“You look stunning, My Love!” The man exclaims, rushing into the small space; placing the flowers down on the table delicately, and grabbing you by the cheeks.

You let a small sob, trying to move farther back but his fingers only dig deeper and threaten to break skin. Something flashes over his dark gaze, irritating perhaps, or pleasure from seeing you finally in front of him? You don’t like either option.

Play the game; buy time.

But could you play it correctly with all the raging blood pumping through your veins? Hot sweat slithering down your spine like a snake? Would John find you before something horrible happened?

“What’s the matter?” The Waiter asks you, caressing your cheek with one of his thumbs, “I’m sure I didn’t hit you so hard you forgot me? Right?”

“O-of course not.” You choke out, voice hoarse. If your chest was any tighter it would implode on itself.

The Waiters eyes brighten.

“But,” The light overhead sways, and a slight pattering over the window hints at a coming rainstorm, “I think I must have forgotten your name – my head hurts really bad.” Stifling a yell, the man’s head rears back in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” He gasps, removing his hands and shuffling back a few steps. You move your wrists experimentally, but the silk was still tight over you, “I was just so concerned you might start screaming,” The bastard dares to laugh, a sultry bark of a sound – nothing like John’s deep grumble, “I’m Colby, there, now you must remember me.”

Colby was speaking so normally it made you even more afraid of him, but you still made a smile flicker over your quivering lips.

“That’s right,” You say, “Colby. I remember.”

He smiles with all teeth, but his eyes hold nothing inside of them; his dress shoes click over the floor as he shuffles to the opposite end of the table to the empty chair. Colby moves the plates and utensils. One is placed carefully in front of you and after a moment the position is fixed by his slender fingers like he had envisioned this moment millions of times over.

“I’m making dinner downstairs – Honey Roasted Duck. One of your favorites. You told,” Colby grumbles, venom leaking into his tone. His digits tighten before they slam a fork down on your plate. Your legs jerk, knee once more slamming into the table leg and making you hiss in pain. Colby doesn’t notice, thankfully, “John Price when we met for the first time, but I always listened better than him. He’s never made you Honey Roasted Duck before.”

“Yeah, I know.” You try and reason, body shaking violently; your leg starts to struggle as you attempt to loosen the already slack silk of your left leg, “But, uhm, how am I going to eat my favorite food if my hands are tied?”

“I’m going to feed you myself. Don’t worry, my Love.” Colby looks up and shakes his head, locks flying. He sets the glasses down and takes a step back, looking at the scene with roving eyes.

“Oh,” You swallow the saliva in your throat, “But I don’t want to be a burden. I just want to–”

“No!” Colby suddenly yells, eyes flashing and making you release a yelp in fear, “I’m going to help you – what don’t you understand about that?!”

“Okay!” You appease, waving your hands up as far as their able. A panicked look crosses your face and your eyebrows draw in, “Okay, but c-could you at least loosen them a small bit, please – I promise you I want to stay with you but my arms are losing circulation. It’s hurting me, Colby.”

Colby’s expression is hesitant, lips taking a downturn as the storm outside starts to pick up, the wind hitting the house and shaking the walls. Rain slaps the window like tiny bullets.

You try not to think about Mahdi Karim – about his body laying in John’s foyer. But he had been so nice to you. Your head starts running, running over possibilities about the officer's life. What if he had a family? A spouse? Kids?

Fuck, Your throat tightens, and your nose scrunches right after. Tears burn the side of your vision and a slight sniffle enters the stale air. Everything becomes blurry in a vile vale of waterworks. The agony at your temple increases as you tilt your head up to the ceiling, don’t cry.

“No, no, no, Orchid,” Colby pleads, “Don’t cry! I’m sorry it hurts but It’s for your own safety.” He rushes over grabbing onto your shoulders, digging his fingers into the meat of our skin over John’s bloodied shirt.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You scream, your voice echoing off the walls as you begin to struggle. You weren’t John. You couldn’t play this game, “You goddamn freak! You killed Mahdi! I’m-I’m covered in his blood!”

A clammy hand snaps over your neck, restricting your airways.

Your eyes bulge; body stiffening as your mouth gasps open like a fish. The grip is hard – firm – and you already mark the way your legs try and break out of the silk from under you in desperation. Your mid-section dances around, arms bounce, and hands splay.

Colby only stops when you feel your own saliva drip down the side of your mouth, and the struggle has left your body until dark dots nearly swallow you whole.

His hands fall, and your head does as well. Wheezing and feeling the burning in your throat, above the ringing in your ears, you make out the man’s sobbing snarl.

“Why would you make me do that?! God, can’t you see I’m trying to make things work?! God this is all that John’s fault. He’s the one that got in the way!” He stomps out of the door, slamming it so loud that everything on the table either falls to its side or hits the floor. The click of a lock is heard a second later as you try and will away the burning in your lungs as lightning cracks outside.

Gasping and feeling your tears slap your sweatpants like a river, you whimper under your breath but find that speaking only makes your neck hurt ten times worse, “John.”

You stay in that room for two days. No food. No water. Colby had all but disappeared except for his muttering from downstairs and his shuffling; the occasional shadow would stand in the hallway just behind your door. In all that time the storm hadn’t let up and from what you could tell there was a leak in the attic ceiling because the constant drip of water was sounding off from behind you.

Drip-drop, drip-drop, drip-drop.

You don’t know when the idea first pops into your head – maybe it’s when Colby finally peaks inside on that second day near suppertime – but since seeing the broken pieces of the plate on the floor a grim silence had settled in your bones.

Colby doesn’t linger and with a promise of coming to check in on you later and ‘make up’ the deep swelling bruises along your neck pulse. It felt like your entire throat was held under a knife that was slowly being rocked back and forth like a seesaw, peeling back the blackened skin until your tendons and nerves were open to the air.

Swallowing a thick glob of saliva and mucus down your dry throat, your foot catches on one of the longer plate fragments which ends with a razor-sharp tip. You know the sharp edge bites into your flesh, piercing it as your toes angle it just right but silk was an easy fabric to rip if you got the right angle, and pain had now become secondary.

Survival was all that mattered – not how, just that you made it out of this with your head screwed on.

What would John think about all of this? You numbly wondered, hunger and thirst working their way through you as your foot tilts up, heel hitting the floor. With a tooth biting into your lip, you drag the fragment back and begin pinching it into the flesh of the front of your upper ankle – right where the top edge of the silk skins you. Struggling the last two days had given you nothing but weeping wrists and ankles; blisters that leak puss and stain the blue fabric a nasty yellow.

Sucking in a quick breath that leaves more tears gathering in your eye sockets, your lashes flutter over your cheeks just as you hear a small tear. You jerk your leg up, and the silk completely falls from you, ripped with the sound of a zipper playing like a melody in your ear.

The plate piece clinks to the floor nearly soundlessly and the storm covers for you as a bewildered smile cracks your lips open.

I did it!

You look down, and with your free limb, you go to pull the knot on your other ankle, eventually just getting to a point where you pull so hard one of your toenails completely rips off. Not even noticing, your continue until the floor is pooling with your blood, nails having completely torn into the flesh of your restrained leg until, once more, the silk tears with a blue glint.

Yes!

Pushing yourself up, you stop yourself from passing out by focusing on the broken wine glass on the table, stumbling forward, and nearly falling right into the table in the process. A moment later your fingers are all cut to hell, having grasped the glass and moving the pieces in your hand until one the right size cuts your palm open. Panting like a dog and whimpering, you tilt your mangled hand and use the piece to cut away half of your remaining restraints.

Just like that, You tell yourself, just like that.

The chair clatters to the floor just as you free your last hand.

Remaining frozen, stilled into shock, the house goes silent in an instant. No shuffling. No muttering. Stale air and a storm that rages outside.

You take a breath…then two.

Maybe he didn’t hear–!

Running footsteps are coming up the stairs. They slam into the wood, and an enraged shout spurs your leaking body into action. There was only one way out of the house from this level – one exit that Colby wouldn’t take even if you were stupid enough to. But what choice did you have? By the time the door was blasted off its hinges by a rampaging man with a revolver, your body was disappearing from the attic window – the one once covered by newspapers that you had spied the first time you woke up. The storm pounded, and for a moment you imagined you were a raindrop, falling from the clouds to hit the earth and shatter into a million invisible pieces.

In essence that’s exactly what you did. You fell. You hit. You broke.

But adrenaline is a powerful drug.

As Colby stands awe-stricken in what remains of the window, not even able to aim his revolver. Your body jolts up from a three-story drop into a dead bush and peels out over the abandoned neighborhood; old houses falling apart and more broken down than the last.

You pant and sob, knowing that many of your ribs were broken even if you had never experienced the sensation before, and push on with failing legs. Glass sticks from our skin like porcupine quills, leaving stains of gore behind you as our blood footprints are washed away by the rain.

It’s completely dark out – not a single street light on or able to illuminate your flooded concrete path.

Slamming into the side of a house, you scream, knowing your arm shouldn't be hanging like that by your side but not there enough to care. Rain pelts your head, cleansing you of the blood and puss and everything else.

Taking a confusing path through the alleyways and open backyards, your feet dig into the mushy grass until you zip around a corner. Running so fast and banking so suddenly you don’t have time to stop yourself before you’re slamming into a wall. The solid mass causes your body to reel back, a wet, strangled, gasp ripping from you. Your clothes only add to the weight of your limbs as you fall a weak outcry meeting the air.

But before your body can slam into the ground a weight snaps to your wrist and a frantic voice meets the air. Not a wall, then.

“Holy fucken’ shit!” The masculine voice coated in surprise meets your ringing ears above the downpour, British in accent, “Ma’am?!”

The world is blurry, but with your flickering eyes you can make out a dark face, a ball cap with the British flag embroidered on the front, and wide brown eyes set into a visage with light stubble. He wears gear that you had become familiar with – John wore something similar; a beige vest with packs and straps down his arms and legs. An M13 hangs over his chest, his other hand holding it steady by the side.

“Ma’am?! Are you alright?” The world snaps back into focus, a great snarl of wind ripping down the alleyway and ruffling your frame, “Can you tell me your name?”

Wait, You blinked sluggishly, Didn’t John show me a picture of his teammates? Why does this guy look familiar?

Your boyfriend had a single picture of him and all of his Task Force buddies put in his living room above the fireplace – when you had asked about who he worked with he had grabbed it and told you. It put you at ease to know that in the field he was surrounded by the impressive caliber that the sill image had shown. John had been all too happy to tell funny stories about incidents in the field; careful to leave all the bits that he didn’t want you to hear, out.

“Kyle Garrick?” The words sound like nails on a chalkboard; eyes narrow on both sides, yours in fatigue and his in confusion. You shiver and shake before weakly trying to pull your hand away from him. His grip remains firm, but not enough to hurt. The soldier moves his gaze down your body, eyelids lifting.

“Fuck.” After the exclamation, Kyle brings you into him, just as you feel your legs tremble and buckle. Collapsing into his chest and feeling your body press uncomfortably into his pouches as you let out a bleat in genuine agony that most would only hear in a movie.

The man utters your name breathlessly into that air and you resist a sob that bubbles in your chest.

“Bloody hell, Sweetheart, you’re coming with me. I’ll get you out of here, just keep your eyes open a little longer.” Kyle’s arms travel down wrapping around the backs of your knees and lifting. You yell, eyes scrunching, as waves of heat travel down your spine, “I’ve got you.”

The sentiment was nice, and the man that John calls ‘Gaz’ is incredibly kind, but you don’t want his arms around you – you want your boyfriend’s.

Where’s John?

Gaz huffs as he stares down at you, cataloging the bruises and cuts – the dislocated arm that hangs uselessly out of his hold. Your head is pressed into his neck, the Sergeant’s reliable body suddenly taking off at a quick pace through the alleyway, boots rushing over puddles and garbage with surety.

Off farther down the street, enraged screaming echoes out and you force yourself deeper into Gaz’s grip. The man curses under his breath, taking a turn out into the road and booking it with his long legs. Over the pounding of his heart in your ear Kyle’s fingers dig into your clothes, keeping you tight against him. After a minute of jerkily bouncing in his hold, Gaz’s feet stomp up a set of old wooden stairs, causing your body to flinch up and down. He utters a soft apology and shoulders his way into an abandoned house.

The decaying door smacks the far wall as the man drags rainwater all the way into the front hallway.

“Ghost! We have a problem - A big one – where have the other two gone?”

A voice wavers in from upstairs as Gaz sets you on your feet, guiding you by your shoulders to lean against the wall as he takes frantic glances outside. He shuts the door quickly; letting darkness once more descend in the sheltered area.

“What you mean ‘we have a problem?’” Gaz brings a flashlight from his front pouch, coming up to you and grabbing you lightly by the chin.

“Careful, Love,” He mutters, clicking the light on, “I just need to shine this in your eyes, yeah? Won’t take more than a second.”

You swallow and send a small twitch of your lips in approval but even that hurts. Your eyes squint when the man finally angles the flashlight right in front of his face, moving it back and forth from one of your orbs to another. It makes your eyes water, but you can’t tell if that’s from the heavy realization of what’s happened to you or if the light only agitates the sensitive makeup of your optics.

“Sergeant?” That same voice flows from upstairs, and footsteps suddenly thunder from above. The sound makes you flinch back, snapping your head away from the light and locking to the staircase at the far end of the hallway. Gaz clears his throat ahead of you.

“It’s just Ghost – a-a friend. He’s here to help you.” Your lips thin but you nod carefully.

A hulk of a man comes down to the ground floor, clothed in the same attire as Gaz beside a half-skull mask that covers his face. Under the covering, a black sheet sits over his head. You can only see Ghost’s eyes – blue and numb. Much colder than John’s…like ice rather than a Blue Bird’s underbelly.

He stops for a moment and the two of you lock eyes. Shuffling, you look away first, gaze flickering to the side as Gaz stands to his full height.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost monotones, “That her, then?”

“Get the Captain and Soap on the radio, I need to stop the bleeding,” Gaz barks, grabbing you around your shoulders and practically dragging your body into the adjacent room – the living room, “Tell them I got her and that we need Medical Evac!” He sets you down on the couch and kneels on the floor; digging through his equipment and sending quick glances from under his cap at your rapidly deteriorating state.

You never registered Kyle’s sentence – already the veil at the edges of your vision is taking over. Your pain had begun to dim. In your mind, you knew that was bad but couldn’t, at that moment, care. The glass still sticks out of you, your bones still broken and arm dislocated; feet bleeding and neck more black and blue than any other color, but the euphoric feeling in your brain was enough to block it all out. Mahdi Karim’s life, at that moment, had never ended and you don’t wear the evidence in streaks down your face or on John’s clothes.

“Hey,” Gaz lightly taps your forehead with a finger, making your eyes refocus for a moment before they blur again, “Hey, now,” He attempts to smile, forcing out a chuckle, “Come on, keep those eyes at me. I know I don’t look like John but I don’t think I’m that bad to stare at.”

A pressure is settled on your ribs, and with a sharp inhalation, you pull back as bile fills your mouth.

“Easy,” Kyle whispers, pushing the rag he holds deeper into a long cut over your side that weeps crimson. You blink down at it – you had never even noticed. Had you gotten that in the fall?

“Tell me about how you met John.” Your eyebrows furrow, body beginning to slump forward as your hands shake violently in your lap; the clothes over your skin sticking to you uncomfortably.

“Library,” You slur, voice gravely. Oh, that hurt.

“A library?” Gaz presses his hand tighter, smirking up at you, “Well, can’t say I’m too surprised. I’ve seen the man go through five books in a single Op. over in Egypt. Never understood that, to be honest. I can’t focus on one for more than an hour.”

Weak amusement filters over your expression.

“Garrick,” Ghost’s voice sharply enters the room, his presence making itself known as it lightly jogs into the room, “Mark’s near the kitchen window; coming around clockwise.”

“Shit,” Gaz hisses, about to stand up before Ghost stops him.

“I’ve got the curtains, keep pressure and make sure she doesn’t pass out.”

“Affirm.”

Ghost rushes across the room, grabbing the moth-eaten fabric that was swinging uselessly over the living room and snapping it shut. His hands hold his Grau 5.56 Assault Rifle firmly as he angles his body on the wall next to the window.

Watching his eyes flicker, his gaze once more finds yours. Blinking, both of your orbs stay locked for a minute or two until he looks away, going back to guarding the window. His feet move, legs angling themselves onto a ready stance.

Clenching your eyes shut, your lips pull down – pins and needles making your skin itch.

A shadow moves from outside, leaving a melting outline that slithers past like a serpent.

“Where the fuck are they,” Gaz snarls under his breath. Adrenaline was making the man’s hands vibrate over your side, and your eyes were becoming heavier. The hypnotizing sound of the rain puts you into a trance.

Your body slips forward.

“No!” The man ahead of you harshly whispers – grabbing the limp form of your frame and rearranging you until you were on your side, body lying on the couch. His hands quickly return to your still-bleeding wound, setting his shoulders so he can bear more weight down on you.

Your lips release a small exhale of air that wheezes from you and the squelching of a blood-soaked rag makes your eyelids flutter and skin wrinkle.

“Gaz get the woman’s bloody eyes open.”

“I’m trying! Come on, Love…please–!”

Gunshots ring out from outside, yells growing out over the thunder and lighting – a static sound enters the living room. At this point, the only part of you working property was your ears; in the thin bits of reality you could make out voices that leave your ears twitching in familiarity.

“--outside! We’re coming in…Cover us!”

“Copy!” Ghost yells, rushing away from the window to thunder his way to the front door.

The echo of running feet from outside suddenly became closer and the sharp ring of “MacTavish – Go!”

That voice was so familiar, but why couldn’t you place it?

Multiple feet storm inside, thumping over the floorboards, one continuing down the hallway as Ghost and the other stay to shut the door and stand watch.

“Where the hell is she!?”

“Here!” Gaz calls and a groan exits you at the loud voice so close to your sensitive ears. A heavy body can be felt moving rather than heard as it rampages closer. A shadow moves behind your eyelids just as a strong bout of wind makes the house’s windows rattle. There’s a pause, and then a slow breath inhaled.

A deep voice, layered with grit and dipped in urgency.

“How bad is it, Sergeant?” Your body tenses and with a flickering eyelid, you force your consciousness to come back to you. Opening your eyes halfway, the blurriness only peels back enough for you to notice a looming figure broader and more built than Gaz – a wet bucket hat sitting on top of a beard-covered face. Concerned blue eyes bore into you as the man knees down.

“John?” Your voice wavers, a strangled tormented type of imitation of normal speech. Gaz’s hand leaves your side and your boyfriend replaces it. Your entire abdomen had lost feeling. Was this a dream?

“Garrick, where’s the fucking Evac?” John hisses, wild eyes falling from one open wound to another. His body orients itself next to you, free hand coming to grip your cold cheek. You breathe out a sigh of relief, familiar scared fingers and calloused palms wiping away rain, blood, and tears.

John was in the state he always was when he was on missions and a teammate was struck down – he had to be. If he thought about you too hard, or the blood that stains his grip, he would put you in even more danger; lose his edge. He would panic.

“Ghost contacted them, Sir. They’re ten minutes out – police are fifteen.”

“We need to move.” The conversation continues, but you space out every once and a while, at least until the hand on your cheek shakes your head.

“Love, I’m going to move you,” Your eyes refuse to stay open as John calls your name getting increasingly louder, “...Shit...!”

Gaz’s voice warbles from across the room, “The Mark’s still out there – you sure we should make a move? We don’t have eyes on him, Captain.”

“What else do you bloody suggest I do, then, Sergeant? Let my girl bleed out? Not on my fucken’ life. We’re making for the Humvee. Guns hot…I’m going to need you on my six.”

Arms go to wrap around you, dragging you to a warm chest that you go to limply and without protest.

“Stay with me,” John’s breath hits your cheeks and you feel his breath stutter, his panic growing as your body grows colder in his grip, “please, stay with me.”

But the Captain was an experienced man – praying for a future event was worthless to him. He had to act for it.

So the man tightens his hold, hiking you farther into his sheltering grip with a brief and shaky kiss on your forehead that leaves your nose wrinkling.

“Muppets,” John barks, looking up and stalking out of the living room, “we’re making a run for it. Gear up.”

Your boyfriend doesn’t know if he’s carrying your dead body in his arms, but as Ghost opens the front door and rushes out with his weapon at the ready, John doesn’t stop to think. Soap takes up a stance near his side, sending concerned glances at your non-responsive form, and Gaz settles on taking the rear.

The street is silent besides the rain, and the entire Task Force rushes out with snapping eyes and tight chests. It was a dead silence – one where the air is quivering with tension.

John looks once more down at your face, pulling to memory the panic he had felt when he found Mahdi Karim’s body in his foyer. He had entered his house, gun drawn, when he had noticed the front door was open; a specific type of agony he had never felt before constricting his throat.

Of course, he had relationships before you, but never had he felt this strongly before – never felt this level of anger and hatred for someone who had caused harm.

You were so vastly important to him that it made him sick to think of you dead before him.

Grunting, John increases his pace over the ground, now sprinting in complete distress.

“I promised you we would watch that movie, Love,” He whispers, rainwater weighing down his hat, “Go for a walk down in Green Park so you could see the baby birds.” A wet laugh bursts from his chest and he plays off the tears in his eyes as he clenches his jaw. John doesn’t care about the rain, or your blood staining his vest, not even the water in his boots. All that matters is getting you back to the Humvee; getting you immediate medical attention and making sure that the son of a bitch that did this is–

A shot rings into the night and John lets out a strangled shout. Burning pain erupts from his right shoulder. He falls, but conscious of the precious cargo in his arms, the man twists his body to shield you as he connects with the ground; water flies around as he lands in a puddle. John’s breath is momentarily expelled from his lungs.

“Contact! Contact!” Gaz screams.

“Steaming bloody Jesus!” Soap yells out, moving into a circle of John and your’s bodies, “Captain’s been hit!”

“I’ve got him! Johnny, Gaz, flush ‘em out!”

John groans, cursing under his breath and drawing your body closer to him.

Keep her safe, He thinks as he blinks away black dots, get her back home.

“Come on,” Ghost’s shielded visage appears above him, gripping him by the uninjured shoulder and forcing him up. More shots ring out over the night, but far off in the distance sirens start to breach the night, “Now, you want to explain to your bird when she’s awake why you’ll be off on leave for a bloody month, or am I going to have to do it?”

John clenches his jaw to stop the waves of pain. Ghost offers to take you from him, but he snarls, forcing himself to his feet as his blood splashes over his clothes.

“Fuck off, Lieutenant.”

—

The beeping was becoming too annoying to ignore, like a fly buzzing around your head. With a groan, your eyelids flutter and it takes a few minutes for you to open them fully. Squinting, the dim white lights meet you and a small breeze from an open window makes goosebumps ripple up your arms.

You first notice the fuzziness around your body – strong pain meds making you loopy and floating. Twitching your fingers, the mattress under you shifts as you do; you test the mobility of your limbs with gentle movements, a rotation of your ankles, which are all heavily bandaged, and a rolling of your shoulders. All actions spark a numb shiver of caution.

It would be unwise to move.

Lifting your now re-set arm and tilting your head down, the tight bandages around your neck make you pause.

John was there, Your eyes widen; body messing up the cover over your lower body. The beeping of medical machines suddenly increases as you strain yourself to sit up. Just as you do, a voice from across the room causes you to halt, veins freezing under your skin; your heart skips a beat before you recognize the voice a second later.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Gaz whispers, “I just got him to fall asleep, you know.” Blinking, your gaze goes to the window across the hospital room there the tall man leans near the glass. He smiles lightly, and bags take shape under his dark eyes, “I’m sure you know how stubborn he can be. Especially about you. I’ve never seen him so damn restless.”

Your brow furrows, not trusting your voice to speak your confusion. Gaz points, and you follow his gaze to an uncomfortable-looking chair mere inches from your bed.

It’s made of wood and a small blue cushion, a hard backing that you could see someone getting a stiff neck over. But you focus on the man sitting there instead of the dented frame – the slumped build in a hospital gown and an IV in the left hand that’s held down by two pieces of medical tape. John’s face and neck are slack, small eyes shut as his chest rumbles with soft snores that put your heart at ease like listening to a cat purr. His skin was illuminated by the gentle glow of a new morning, but under his eyes, there was the heavy burden of black and blue bags.

Had no one gotten any sleep beside me? How long have I been out?

“He wouldn’t let the nurses force him out,” Gaz mutters, but you don’t move your wet gaze from John, “Nearly punched the bloody Doctor, too – Laswell had to sort it out, or else he would have been discharged. Decking a Civvy isn’t a good look for a Captain, now is it?”

The man shakes his head, releasing a highly amused chuckle, and walks to your opposite bedside; grabbing a glass of water he taps your shoulder and causes you to turn forward. Unwilling to stop looking at the ethereal image of your sleeping boyfriend, you keep him in the sides of your vision as Gaz brings the glass to your lips. You’d be unable to hold it – the nearly inch-thick gauze over your hands and wrists was incredibly restrictive.

You gulp down the liquid thankfully and tap on Kyle’s wrist when you’ve had enough. He pulls back and your wipe the droplets from your chin before you delicately smile at the man as thanks.

Gaz nods, placing the glass back on the table.

“...The staff had to just about rip him off of you. They said you had to go into surgery for your ribs and he ‘bout lost his head. But he had lost so much blood himself that it was easy enough for Soap to drag him away.”

Lost blood? Your head snaps his way so hard you sway lightly.

“Woah, careful, Love,” Gaz holds out a hand and hovers it above your arm, but looks sheepish and spares a silent glance to John when your boyfriend grumbles in his sleep, “Yeah,” He scratches the back of his neck, “Cap. took a bullet to the right shoulder.”

You turn and look at John more carefully, landing on the afflicted side and spying the extra bulkiness under his garment.

What do you mean he took a bullet?!

John shifts and your eyes widen in horror when he flinches in pain. His chin had hit his shoulder, forcing his eyes to flutter open in retaliation.

“Sergeant,” He grumbles, the huskiness of his voice making your cheeks heat, “I told you not to let me fall asleep.”

“Sorry, Sir,” Gaz smirks, taking a step back and sending you a wink, “Must have spaced out.”

“Hm.” John shifts, moving and running a hand over his face and down his beard, scratching at the wire hairs and stifling a yawn. Your heart is in your throat as he blinks his eyes. Blue so momentarily being glimpsed in between flickers of dark eyelashes. You briefly hear the sound of receding feet and the door closing.

The sting of tears makes itself known to you.

“Gaz?” Your boyfriend questions, face squinting, and body shaking in a stretch, “Where did you–” He sees you sitting up and stops, eyes locking onto your own with shock.

Your head tilts and a slow smile creases your face, making tears dribble down your cheeks. John sucks in a quick breath, immediately trying to stand, but you hold out a hand – stopping him.

Just calm down, You want to tell him, Everything’s alright. You’re hurt too.

“Doll,” He breathes, hand coming to grasp the side of your face and keeping you there with a relieved smile. It looks like a weight had been lifted from his body, “There you are…How are you feeling? If there’s any pain just say and I’ll go grab the nurse – she’ll fix you right up, yeah?”

You want to tell him that you love him, but settle on kissing his palm instead, feeling the heat of his skin on your own and wanting nothing more than to disappear into his hold. You don’t want the nurse, you want a hug.

John’s eyes weave over your bandaged temple, and he runs a thumb over it as if his touch could make it better. If you had your voice you would say it did. Silence reigns for a few long moments.

“I thought he killed you, Sweetheart,” He whispers, vulnerable as his eyebrows turn in, and your hand comes up to run through his locks; dragging him closer until his face is slotted into your neck. Your heart breaks as John’s beard presses into the gauze, “I heard the glass from the attic window break, just about scared me half to death, that did,” John had never admitted to being scared before – not even when he was captured by the Russians. The realization has your heart skipping beats, nose going to press into the side of his head, and stifle a sob in his hair. Your vision was blurry, but not from the fatigue, “I saw so much blood but I searched and searched. I couldn’t find you. Then when Gaz had you in the living room, pressing that bloody towel to your side…You were so lifeless that I didn’t…I didn’t know if–”

“John,” You force out through gritted teeth, “Stop.”

He was shaking just as badly as you were. You were both quite the pair, it would seem. Your Captain pulls back and begins pressing kisses to any skin available to him – your forehead, cheeks, eyelids, and finally your lips. You revel in the feeling of his soft kiss, leaving you breathless as he pours himself completely into you.

You don’t know if you had ever met anyone as perfect as John Price before, and you would be content if you never did again.

He pulls back when you both feel your hearts slow and you look at him, eyes sliding over his face until they land on his right shoulder with a glint of guilt. But he notices. He always does.

“None of that, now,” John whispers, placing his forehead on yours and swiping your tears away. His tall frame blocks everything beside him and he smells of gunpowder, pine needles, and smoke, “You are so incredibly brave, you know that? You’re absolutely bloody brilliant, you are…but everything’s been taken care of – just leave the heavy lifting to the others for a little while. The only thing you need to do is rest for me, Love, can you do that?”

Your brow teasingly raises even as your heart bursts at the praise.

“Please.” You smile and point to his chest, poking right into the middle and huffing.

Only if you do too.

John grunts and a chuckle makes his body rattle in the way only his could, “Won’t find me fighting you on that.” He disconnects your foreheads.

You haven’t been sleeping, You brush the bags under his eyes, watching his eyelashes flutter, Oh, John…when will you stop being so stubborn? Your body was fighting with you to drag itself back to the mattress – lay down, it seems to say, go to sleep and rest.

John’s heavy presence is like a weighted blanket, and although you knew there was much to talk about – when you were able – he gave off waves of comforting heat that made your muscles loosen. You seemed to have the same effect on John because he lays all of his body against the bed frame breathing deeply.

“Wanted to be awake when you came too,” He whispers, and you smile, nuzzling into his neck, “Didn’t want you to be scared.”

I never could be, You think, not when you’re here.

Getting an idea, you pull back and shake John’s head from side to side with your hands to get him to watch you. The man grumbles, opening his eyes with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, Love?”

Your body moves, and John’s tired eyes widen, “What are you–!”

Scooting to the far side of the bed, you only release one grunt of uncomfortableness when you have to place weight on your reset arm. Around your middle, you feel the telltale pull of stitches and stop sooner rather than later. You pat the empty side and send John a look.

“Alright,” He groans, “Just stop moving around.”

John’s large body barely fits in the bed, leading you to mold into his side and him to wrap his arm around your shoulders. Wanting to show your disapproval as John clenches his jaw in pain as he moves his right side to give you more room, you slap his chest.

“What else do you want me to do, woman?” He looks down at you, raising a brow and laying his hand on your arm; running a thump up and down, “Let you fall off? This was your bloody idea.”

You roll your eyes at his grumble, moving your head to rest on his peck. Already your eyes were drooping once more, and John presses his lips into the top of your head. A sigh rises his chest.

“Sleep, Love.” He whispers, beard getting caught in your hair as a deep rumble enters his body, “You’ll never have to worry about that Muppet ever again. Made sure of it.”

Smiling, you fall asleep to the sound of his heart and the feeling of his large hands creating patterns along your arm; not long after he follows, small puffs of breath from his snores moving your locks as the morning light enters the room.

Gaz would return not fifteen minutes later with two trays of hospital food, Soap tailing after and talking to Ghost about what Laswell was going to do with Colby. The Manchester man only slides his eyes down to the Scot from over his lower-face covering and hums; scratching at his neck.

“Laswell? I’d be more cornered with what Price is going to do with the bloke. Bastard’s not going to be able to hide in his cell when the man gets discharged. Kate knows it too.”

Gaz peaked his head into the room and paused spying two softly embraced individuals holding each other as if they would disappear when their eyes would open. Light pays off your forms, and John grumbles in his sleep before shifting even closer to you and letting out a sigh. He had never looked so peaceful.

Gaz smirks before letting the door silently slip shut. He turns back to the pair with the trays raising as his shoulders shrug comedically.

“Sleeping.”

“What?” Soap raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest, “Not ‘gonna wake ‘em up?”

“Do I look like I want to be eviscerated by a certain Captain, MacTavish? I’d quite like to keep my bloody neck, thank you.”

#john price #captain john price #john price x reader #John price x you #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #kate laswell #cod #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod x you #MW #MW2 #Call Of Duty MW2 #mw2 2022 #captain price #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic

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tarjapearce · 9 months

Note

what if miguel and reader have a fight? and they're trying to keep the fight away from gabi and ben but they end up seeing some of it and get upset 😟🫶🏻

Oh god. *Trauma unlocked* 🫠🫠

Bit of angst and little longer than I intended

Make up here ❤️ ~

Gabi noticed how silent you and Miguel were. Her eyes noticed how your hand flinched ever softly from his, only for him to retract his hand and grip the wheel tightly. It had been like this ever since the soccer practice was over. Had something happened?

------

She didn't know. But the quietness didn't set up good on her chest.

"Papa? Are you okay?"

Miguel's eyes watched her from the mirror and nodded.

"Of course, Solecito."

"What happened to your hand?"

"I got injured" He nodded softly and maneuvered the lever.

"Oh..." That's all she managed to utter. You on the other hand were looking absentminded through the window as you were fetching Benjamin from Peter's home.

-------

Ride back home was quiet, you took Benjamin and took him to his crib, he was a year now. Rebellious and black curls perched on his little head, bounced as he was put to sleep. Miguel was unpacking and you had decided to just get ready to sleep.

The fight had surely surprised you, not that you were scared of Miguel, it was just a behavior you rarely, if not ever, that you saw in him.

Gabriela took a bath, not really wanting to dinner, after all she had been treated with a Happy Meal at McDonald's.

You took a shower and changed, Miguel entering the room.

"So... I'm getting a silent treatment now?"

His voice calm, a stark contrast as how he was hours ago.

"No. Just..." You sighed, "Didn't actually expect you to hit that man."

"He was harassing you. Someone had to stop him."

"But hit him?" He sighed. "I know you, and that is really out of your character. Is... something wrong?"

"No." He spoke as he removed his t shirt

"I know work has been hard for you, and the kids, the house renovations, it can be stressful-"

"Ya estuvo, sí? Déjalo ." (Knock it off. Just leave it.) His tone firm, your lips remained shut as tears welled up in your eyes. You just nodded but your eyes drifted to Gabriela. Your heart wrenched at her expression. Fear, concern and sadness. She rushed to her room, leaving you both behind.

Miguel's head hung and he rubbed his face, realizing how the tension between you two was affecting everyone around.

"I'll get it." You mumbled and left the room. Following Gabriela, you knocked on her door and she buried herself further in the sheets.

"Mi amor?" She remained laid down, her back facing you, your steps guided you to her bed and sat next to her. She looked at you with wet eyes. It caused you to almost cry on your own.

"Is Papa okay?" she turned to face you, and you couldn't help but caress her hair.

"I... I don't know, mi amor."

"Are you angry at him?"

You shook your head and cradled her head softly.

"No mi amor. I'm not. I'm just concerned about him."

"I don't like when you fight." Another stab in your heart.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, mi amor. Sometimes stress is too much for adults and... we don't really mean things that we say, or the things we do out of impulse."

"Victor said that Papa had hit his uncle. Is that true?" Her eyes looked at you, searching for honesty.

"He... did. But his uncle did something really bad."

"What did he do?"

"He... touched me without my consent. And Papa got angry."

"Are you okay, Mama?"

"Yes, solecito. Your dad protected me from that man."

"Then why you flinched from Papa?"

You weren't expecting such comment

"Are you scared of dad?"

"No, cariño. I know he would never hurt me or any of us. But I also know that fighting isn't the way to solve problems. And it worries me cause... he never fights or id violent."

"Is something bothering him?"

"I don't know. He won't talk about it. But it's fine. Maybe he needs some space." Gabriela frowned but sighed.

"Im really sorry you had to see that, cariño. Whatever is happening, it's not your fault okay? This is between Papa and I. Understand?"

She nodded and hugged you.

"Don't fight, ok?"

You nodded as you did your best to hold it together.

"We'll try, mi amor."

Miguel heard from outside the door, uncomfortableness setting on his head. He just needed to find a way to make it up to you and his kids.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #dad miguel o'hara #gabi o'hara #miguel o'hara angst #Soccer Family ⚽🕷️#asks and replies #t writes✨

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angel-of-the-moons · 5 months

Text

Small Surprises

Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Single Mother!Reader

TW/CW: Some mentions of past childhood abuse, cheating partner, mostly fluff

A/N: Like the Symbrock one I did, this one will be one whole fic with a few times skips here and there! This fic will also explore a bit more into the autistic side of Steven as a character, based off my own experiences with my autism, tics, habits etc! Also, once again, featuring snippets of the hobby headcanons done by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction! (I love those headcanons so much they are canon as far as I'm concerned asdfghjkl)

Taglist: @chrishy973 @katitakenway @queerponcho

EDIT: Part 2 is out now!!! Read it here!

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Another droll day at the museum, the same disinterested customers and more nagging from Donna. Honestly, Steven was lucky he got his job back at the museum--though he only surmised it was due to the fact nobody else wanted to work for Donna--but he was grateful for the extra income.

And it definitely helped provide a distraction from Jake's night activities for Khonshu, as well as Marc's from time to time.

But of course, even though it provided a distraction, it wasn't much of one.

That is... until the day a poofy mop of curls bounced into the gift shop, eagerly looking at the wares within with big sparkling eyes. The child couldn't have been older than four--maybe five--as she happily looked at the myriad of items available.

Contrasting to most of the little girls he's seen come in (which, were admittedly few) she didn't immediately run over to the cheap horse figures with the chariots or even the cat plushies.

She went right for things like the plushie scarabs, the statues...

This of course had Donna proverbially chewing her nails as she watched the unaccompanied minor scamper about the gift shop.

"I'm going back to do inventory," She warned Steven. "If she breaks anything, it's coming out of your pay, Stevie."

Steven ground his teeth when she called him that, and waited for her to walk away before muttering. "What little you do pay me, you bloody old biddy."

Steven fixed his name tag and walked up to the little girl, crouching next to her as her chubby little face scrunched in what appeared to be distaste.

"Hey there, poppet. What's got you upset, eh?" He asked, his big brown eyes meeting hers as she crossed her arms with a huff.

"They don't look right!" She complained.

"Oh? What doesn't look right?" Steven asked patiently, a warm smile on his face.

The child pointed to the small canvases and posters of the various Egyptian gods. Namely the ones of Bastet and Anubis, and in particular of the two, one of the canvases depicting Anubis surrounded by shrieking souls and flames.

He himself had raised a complaint with that depiction, as after his own time in the Egyptian afterlife (alongside Marc, and unbeknownst to them at the time, Jake) he knew the afterlife was not like that. While they hadn't met Anubis himself, they were guided and weighed by Taweret.

But he wholeheartedly agreed that the artwork of Anubis was entirely wrong, and frankly, offensive.

"'Nubis isn't like that." She said, stomping her little foot. "He's nice!"

Steven raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head as some stray curls fell over his face. "Oh?" He asked. "Then tell me little one, how is Anubis?"

"He's--!" She scoffed, rolling her eyes in the typical fashion a child does when they feel like they're explaining something painfully obvious to an oblivious adult.

"He's a good dog-man." She says to him. "He doesn't mess with skulls n' stuffs! He's nice, he helps people who might get lost when they die."

'That's a hefty subject for a kid.' Marc's voice spoke.

"No kidding." Jake remarked. "Where are her parents?"

Steven meanwhile, was positively thrilled that one so young understood that Anubis, while being the god of death, was not evil. And... naturally this sent him into info-dump mode.

"Why, yes! Anubis is good." He held up a finger as the little girl looked at him, awe on her face that he understood what she was saying and was willing to actually talk about it.

"He guided souls once they left their earthly bodies." He explained, grabbing a small replica of an Egyptian temple front. "Once their hearts were weighed, if they were good, he would help guide them to the afterlife. If they were bad..."

"They got ate by the crocko-lion!" The girl finished with a gasp.

Steven suppressed the urge to laugh at how she described Ammit. Jake and Marc meanwhile, held no such compunction and were laughing their asses off.

"I like this kid." Jake said as his laughter died down.

"Yes! They did. But did you know they also had to be judged? Not just with the scales?" Steven grinned at her as she bounced on her heels, the palms of her hands rubbing on her coveralls as she listened.

"Now that subject is very lengthy...." Steven leaned over on the flats of his shoes and plucked a small book about the Egyptian afterlife and mythos and showed it to the little girl. The cover was emblazoned with raised gold print; with images of sarcophagi, and motifs scattered on the front and back.

"But it's always worth a good read." Steven continued. "Now, if you want to know someone else who sometimes assists those who've passed on?"

The little girl plucked the book out of Steven's arms, nodding, her eyes tracking the way his mouth and hair moved. Not once did she make eye contact, instead settling for staring at other features instead.

Steven could understand, sometimes looking into people's eyes was... oof. It was difficult and frankly sometimes it made him uncomfortable, made his palms itch and the hair on the back of his neck tickle.

He stood up, and walked to another shelf, the little girl trailing behind him, the book looking three sizes too large for her tiny body as her little light up sneakers squeaked on the waxed linoleum.

Steven reached down, then, and grabbed a plaster statuette of a familiar feminine shape sporting a hippo head and kneeled back down, showing it to her.

"This is Taweret." He beamed proudly.

"She's the nice hippo lady." The child peeped, staring at the statue with rapt attention.

"Yes! Yes, she is! Very nice." Steven chuckled. "But she's also the goddess of motherhood and children, did you know? She protects women when they have their babies, and helps them."

The little girl nodded, "Yeah, I read a thingy 'bout her! She's--"

"Victoria! Oh my god." A breathless voice called from the front of the shop.

The moment Steven lifted his gaze, he could feel his heart catch on his throat when he saw you. Even Marc and Jake went quiet as you approached.

You were wearing some faded-out jeans and a t-shirt with a faded band logo that hugged your figure very nicely. You had a backpack slung over your shoulders and the keychains dangling from it tinkled and clacked as you moved, rushing to scoop up your child.

Steven could easily see that Victoria got her looks from you, those gorgeous inquisitive eyes, her nose, hair texture...

Jake had to give him the mental equivalent of a slap to stop his gawking as he stood up awkwardly, wiping the hand not holding the statue on his jeans as he gave you what he hoped was a charming smile, but judging by your wariness, you obviously weren't thrilled at the sight of your daughter talking to a strange man.

Steven was about to speak up, but Victoria did so instead for him, not reading the tenseness in the situation.

"Steven's my friend!" She beamed, holding the book in her pudgy little fingers, showing you. "He knows about 'Gyptian stuff, too!"

Steven blinked, feeling a blush creep up on his cheeks as you looked at him, raised eyebrows. It took him a moment of awkward glancing away to realize Victoria knew his name because she read his name tag. He hadn't once said it to her. Hell, he only knew her name because you said it when you ran in!

"Ah... Yes. I work here, in the gift shop. Egyptology is a major... um." He struggled to find a word.

"Hyperfixation?" You sigh, the tension easing from your shoulders as you smile tiredly.

"Oh! Yes. I s'pose!" He said, blinking his big doe eyes at you.

"Yeah, Victoria is... well." You chuckle, propping the young child on your hip with practiced ease. "She's obsessed with the stuff! I swear, the stuff she can shove into her noggin with how much she knows of ancient Egypt, it feels like she was born in the wrong era, I'm telling you!"

Victoria smiled happily and snuggled into you, rubbing her cheek on the soft fabric of your shirt with a content hum, almost like a happy little cat.

You didn't pay any mind to her as she rubbed her face on you, instead conversing with the man in front of you.

"Ah... A little scholar to be, eh?" Steven laughed awkwardly.

"Hah, more like she already is one. With everything she knows, I swear she outpaces me in the IQ department." You sigh fondly, brushing a stray curl from your daughter's face.

Steven's eyes anxiously tracked your movements, how your fingers curled, the way your eyelashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, the way your foot tapped on the floor...

"I'm surprised she talked to you. She's normally very introverted." You hum softly, raising those drop dead gorgeous eyes to lock with his before he awkwardly dropped his eyes to your lips whilst you spoke.

"But then again, if you started talking about this stuff with her, it's no surprise. I'm the only person she talks to about it because nobody else understands."

You noticed his Steven was looking anywhere but your eyes, and how he nervously licked at his lips, his fingers wrapped around the statuette in his hands tapping idly.

"Oh! She's a lovely little conversationalist. Rather well-knowledged as well!" Steven replied, looking at Victoria again, who grinned as she once again rubbed her face on your shirt.

"Honestly, she's more learned than half the adults who try to talk to me about Egypt." He huffed out a chuckle.

His eyes dropped to the picture of Anubis that initially offended the child. "We got into a little debate about how inaccurate those pieces of Anubis are."

"Oh, don't get her started on those inaccurate artworks... She despises them!" You laugh softly.

"Oh, I fully understand why! It's so offensive!" Steven gasped. "Especially to a culture! Anubis is not an evil god by any means!"

"Oh yeah, believe me... we watched a movie the other day and she had a meltdown because they made Anubis the bad guy. She was so distraught it took thirty minutes to calm her down." You smile with infinite patience at your little girl.

"Oh, poor little dear! But I can totally understand that." Steven smiled, finally locking eyes with you as he reached some level of professional comfort with you.

"Mommy, can I get em?" Victoria peeped, interrupting you before you could get another word out.

"Hm?" You hummed at her, raising an eyebrow.

"The book and hippo lady!" She replied, holding up the book.

"Hippo Lady?"

"Yeah!" She said, sounding a little exasperated, pointing to the statue Steven clutched in his hands. "Her! Tawar!"

"Taweret." Steven chuckled softly at her mispronunciation.

"Tawww--" Victoria frowned as she tried to get the word out. "Tawweret."

"Close 'nough. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Steven smiled warmly, holding up the statuette.

"All right, all right." You laughed, following Steven to the counter so you could check out, having another nice chat about what he and Victoria discussed. He even tossed in a little keychain that held a preserved scarab beetle in epoxy, much to Victoria's delight!

What you didn't know as you left the shop, was how positively smitten he was with you already.

That was your first meeting with Steven Grant.

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A few weeks crawled by, and every other day you were at the museum, letting Victoria lead you by the hand as she animatedly discussed what every object or picture meant, and you struggled to keep up, making mental (and a few digital) notes on what she was talking about. Of course, she insisted that after every tour, you stopped to say hi to her new "bestest friend" Steven.

You were thrilled that you found someone who operated on the same wavelength as your daughter, knowing that it was hard for her to make connections with other children, let alone adults. But Steven and Victoria took to each other like ducks to water.

And hey, he seemed harmless enough. Cute, too, beneath that mop of curls. You even started researching more just to be able to tag into the conversations between your daughter and her unlikely friend.

Today, you were at the local grocer and Victoria decided that she wanted to walk with you instead of riding in the trolley on her tablet like she normally did. You were happy, but ensured she kept her noise cancelling headphones over her tiny ears to make sure she stayed comfortable.

You had picked up a pack of steaks to examine the cuts when Victoria slipped your hand free of hers and darted off, squealing, "Steven!"

You almost dropped the steaks when Victoria darted down the aisle and wrapped her arms around the legs of the man she ran towards.

One minute Marc was looking at a box of matzahs, the next, he had a child clinging to his legs.

His whole body froze as he looked down, immediately going rigid as the little girl looked up at him, babbling something he didn't quite understand because of how quickly she was speaking.

He did make out the name "Steven".

"Uh--" He said awkwardly.

"I'm so sorry!" You say, hastily bringing the trolley up to the two. "She just got excited to see you, and..."

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him. He looked like Steven Grant, but he didn't feel like Steven Grant. His normally messy curls were combed back neatly, his flannel hanging open with the sleeves rolled up and T-shirt untucked from his pants. His big brown eyes were wide, looking at you with a face that simply pleaded "Help me".

"Uh..."

"I'm... Marc." He said in an unmistakably American accent.

"Oh. Oh!" You lean down and scoop up Victoria, hastily plopping her in the trolley, willing yourself to ignore her little wobbling lip as you messily search up her favorite video to watch on her tablet to prevent the simmering meltdown you could see just beneath her surface.

"I'm... I'm sorry. You just look like someone we know from the museum, and..." You sigh, rubbing your hands together as you cringed.

"Steven, yeah..." Marc said, giving a stiff smile in return as he dropped the box of what looked like crackers into his basket looped over his elbow.

"You..."

'Play it cool, Marc...' Jake's voice softly warned.

"We're, uh, brothers. Triplets. All identical." He spat out with haste.

"Oh! Well... That's... That explains the looks, huh." You smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension. His explanation didn't sit well with you for some reason, as to why he suddenly blurted it all out. But you chocked it up to him trying to explain to avoid upsetting Victoria.

"But, yeah. Um... Your brother, Steven? He and Victoria are like, best friends now. She looks forward to seeing him whenever we're at the museum." You chuckle softly.

Marc's eyes soften as he smiles, giving Victoria a gentle look. "Yeah, uh, Steven's told me about her. She's a smart kid, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. A real genius." You smile at her as she starts tapping away at her tablet, selecting one of her drawing apps and beginning to scribble.

"Sometimes I can't keep up with her."

"Hey, that's good. She'll go places." Marc replied.

Your smile falters a bit. "Yeah, if people will give her a chance..." You mutter.

Marc was about to ask what she meant, but he kept his mouth shut, watching as Victoria was engrossed with her tablet, her little feet wiggling and tapping on the sides of the trolley as she moved her mouth silently, mouthing words to herself.

"She's... Eh." You rub the back of your neck. "She normally doesn't come to the store with me. She says she can hear the lights buzzing and it upsets her, which is why she has to wear her headphones. I mean I can't hear the lights or anything, but all I need to know is that she can..."

"Yeah, Steven is the same way sometimes. It makes him twitch so he has to wear headphones when we go shopping..." Marc said, frowning.

"Yeah. That's something I'm kind of amazed about. Victoria doesn't really have any friends outside of well, me... and your brother? Steven and her are just... man, they're like two peas in a pod!"

Marc stays quiet as you smile fondly at your child, and he notes the relief in your expression as you recount that your child was able to finally connect with someone. It warmed his heart to know that Steven was able to socialize with someone who shared the same mannerisms, even if she was just a kid.

His eyes flicked down to your hands as you put your hands on your hips, and noted the lack of wedding ring and a ring tan line.

'Focus, cabrón.' Jake snickered.

"She's autistic. It was a pain to get her diagnosed, but we managed. I could tell she was different. Namely how she would act with fabrics." You sigh.

Now that grabbed both Marc and Jake's attention. If Steven were aware and co-fronting, he was sure he would be rapt as well. Steven explained the fabric thing to hime a few times, but being in the same body it was still hard at times to understand that Marc or Jake could feel one thing but Steven could feel another.

"Uh... Fabrics? You'll have to forgive me, but..."

"Oh! It's a sensory thing." You explain, rolling your hand. "With her, it's fleece, or satin-like textures. They irritate her and make her fussy. As a baby I never understood why she flipped out when I would put her little socks on her until the doctor explained it when she was older. But for some people it's cotton, or microfiber... The way Victoria describes it is that it's, uh..."

"Scratchy." Marc murmurs.

"Exactly!" You snap your fingers.

"Yeah, Steven is the same way. Though he's not like that with satin, he usually prefers cotton--the super soft kind? Or silk." Marc nods, shoving one hand in his pocket.

"Yeah... It's thankfully easy to shop for her, she prefers cotton and soft microfiber. It's why she rubs her cheek on my shirts or pants. Some people mistake it for being affectionate--and don't get me wrong sometimes it is--but usually it's a grounding thing." You sigh softly. "It helps her calm down."

"Ah... Sounds hard. What about her dad? He know how to handle it?" Marc asked curiously.

He immediately felt bad when he saw how your expression fell, and you glared at the ground.

"He skipped out on us while I was pregnant. I caught him in our bed with someone I thought was my best friend the day I found out she was a girl." You spit, angry and full of venom.

Marc cringed. "God, your best friend? In your bed? That's a whole extra level of degeneracy..."

"I know! Ugh! I swear, if he wasn't stronger than me I would have stabbed him that day!" You groan.

Marc rocks his head back in shock at the admission. "You were gonna stab him?"

"When you're five months pregnant, hormonal, tired, and sore and walk in on your fiancee doing the deed in your own bed? Yeah, emotions get high." You run a hand through your hair, smirking as you looked back at him.

"Grabbed the knife right outta the block and lunged at him. Chased em both half naked out of my flat."

'Shit, I'd be in love. That sounds sexy as hell.' Marc could just imagine the grin that would be spread across Jake's face at that.

Marc laughed, unable to contain himself, both at the retelling of your story and Jake's remark.

'You got problems, Jake.' Marc shot back mentally.

'Pot, meet kettle...'

'Touché...'

"So it's safe to say, he's out of the picture, huh?" Marc says, his laughter dying down into a soft chuckle.

"Oh yeah. Had his parental rights severed, and kicked his sorry.... well. I tossed him out and told him that my "best friend" could deal with him and his lazy antics, considering I pay for the flat."

"Yikes. Sounds like a real dirt bag."

"Oh yeah, he was. I have no idea what I saw in him, to be honest... And knowing that Victoria isn't "normal" like other kids, I feel like he would treat her badly, or... hurt her." You say, shaking your head.

"Hey, if he shows up and does that just call me." Marc grunted. "I hate it when people do that crap to kids. I'll knock his teeth down his throat."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and the weight of them almost made them feel oppressive as glimpses of his abusive childhood shone through. The memories of his mother swinging her arm down, the crack of the leather belt, the red, bloody welts in his skin...

'Ay, hermano. Come back, don't think about that.' Jake's voice said gently, urging that door in his mind shut. 'That's not your life, anymore.'

Marc blinked and looked back up at you, his eyes locking with yours. And the concern on your face... he felt so undeserving of it. He wasn't sure why, but...

"Ah... I mean... Let's just say I have experience with that sort of thing. So I'm..." He struggled.

"No, no, I get it. My dad was a piece of shhh..." You cringed as the word almost slipped from you, casting a short glance to Victoria, making sure she couldn't hear you. "Er. He was bad. So yeah, I totally get you."

"Oh... Sorry, people get weirded out when I..." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Disassociate." You finish for him. "I used to do the same thing when it came to my dad. It gets easier once you're free of it, I promise."

The soft, sweet smile you give him was strong enough to make his heart jump into his throat.

'Wow...'

'Ask. Her. Out. Steven won't do it, so you do it!' Jake urged him.

Marc choked suddenly, coughing awkwardly to clear his throat at Jake's further commentary.

"You okay?" You ask him.

"Y-Yeah, I just... Uh..." He cringed again. "It's... allergies! I've been dealing with them since we dusted the flat, and... Yep. Allergies."

You chuckle softly at him as Victoria tugs on your sleeve and whispers in your ear.

"Oop, mama duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Marc." You grin, giving him a short handshake.

"Yeah... You too." Marc replied as you walked off, giving Victoria a wave as she peeked over your shoulder as you push the trolley away.

'Allergies? Smooth, Marc. Really smooth. How the hell did you ever bag Layla with romantic skills like that?' Jake sighed sarcastically.

'I swear Layla probably only married you for your dick, man. You're so BAD at romance.'

Marc knew Layla did love him, at one point but with all the drama of being Moon Knight, it quickly snuffed that relationship... They were still close of course, but they'd never open up to another intimate relationship again. Which was fine, none of them minded particularly.

Especially not now. Not now that there's a cute single mom with and adorably--scarily--smart little girl on her hip to occupy those thoughts.

And that... was your first time meeting Marc Spector.

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Now, meeting Jake was different. Completely different. You technically "met" Jake weeks after you met Marc and built a rapport with him.

One night, Jake was sitting in the window, munching on some saltines he'd spread with sunflower butter as he read some old knitting patterns in a book he'd picked up at a resale shop.

He thought he could knit something for both you and Victoria and have Steven give it to you, it would be a good way to start actually flirting, to hopefully open up that door for all of you.

But of course... well. He knew Steven was way too shy to ask you out on a date, and Marc was too chicken shit and awkward about the subject to bring it up himself.

And so, it fell upon Jake Lockley to find a way to get closer to you, two. He understood that many single mothers found it tricky to date, especially with a child like Victoria. It would require immense levels of trust to get past those walls you would have put up to protect both you and Victoria, especially after you'd told Marc about Victoria's biological father fucking your best friend the day of your ultrasound.

He could just imagine how your poor face fell when you closed your front door, hearing the ridiculously high-pitched, false moans and the squeaking of the mattress as that miserable excuse of a man was having his way with your supposed "best friend"...

All while your hands would have clutched the pictures of your unborn baby girl, tears bubbling up in your eyes as you screamed at them while they scrambled to cover their shame.

And then.... as you told Marc, you would have grabbed the knife and the rest was history; bidding goodbye to that cheating bastard and woman you once trusted.

You were strong, loving and oh so patient with your daughter and her needs. Jake found your whole being attractive, honestly. He hadn't seen you angry, but he just knew you were a badass if you wanted to be.

He chuckled as he picked up his knitting needles, and began to loop the soft, thick yarn through each line. He was sure to pick yarn that wouldn't upset Victoria and her sensory issues, so he picked the softest yarn he possibly could, selecting enough to make the both of you matching jumpers.

Victoria's would be a little big, to allow for comfort and her to grow into it as she wore it. He could just imagine how adorable she'd look with the sleeves hanging over her little hands, squirming and giggling as you two played together--

Jake's hands stopped knitting.

Shit. He had it down bad for you, too.

When he looked down, that's when he noticed the green laser pointed right at him...

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You were there, simply cleaning up the mess from dinner as Victoria happily colored on her dry erase board, drawing the shapes and hieroglyphs she saw in the book Steven selected for her.

She had been quiet and engrossed in her little art project for so long that you jumped and almost dropped a plate on the floor when she squealed loudly.

"Mommy, it's Steven! Or Mister Marc?"

"Huh? What?" You looked around your flat, for some reason your brain told you to look inside instead our our the window where her little finger tapped the glass excitedly.

"No, there!" She insisted. "Over there!"

You walk over to her and lean down, looking out the window.

And sure enough, across the street, in the building across from yours, an apartment had the curtains open with the lights on.

In one of the windows, at a desk, sat a man. The streets were close enough together that you could make out some details. The shadow of a mustache being the first thing you zeroed in on, and then the immaculately slicked-back hair.

He looked like he was... knitting? This man, who looked like Steven and Marc. Marc and Steven both mentioned on different occasions that they had a brother named Jake, maybe this was him?

And wow! So close by, too!

Victoria waved her arms, trying to get her attention, but the man was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice her try to get his attention. When her little disappointed sniffles could be heard, you snap your fingers.

"I got an idea!" You say, dashing to the end table by the front door and rummaging through the various keychains you'd accumulated. It was a guilty habit of yours, you found.

But then you pluck up the laser toy and run back to the window. It takes shaking it once or twice for the green light to illuminate, but when it does, you shine it directly through the window and at the man's chest.

Then, he looked up.

You break out into a happy grin when he spots the two of you, and Victoria giggles with unabated glee as she waves some more, her whole tiny body moving with every shake of her overly excited hand.

You see the man smile back and he waves at the both of you.

"Hey, baby, why don't we use your board to say hi?" You suggest, rubbing her shoulders.

"Yeah!" She giggles, grabbing the board and erasing her painstakingly re-created drawings from the book, and messily scrawled the word:

Hi :)

The man laughed and looked around until he grabbed a notebook, scribbled something with a marker, and held it up for you two to see.

Hello

You chuckle as Victoria hands you the board, knowing that your writing is neater than hers is, and with how excited she is, she was bound to mess up.

You quickly and clearly write something down and turn the board to face the window.

Steven or Marc?

He smiled at you and scribbled back.

Jake

Marc n Steven told us about you. Hi!

They've told me a lot about you, too.

"That's Jake, honey. Remember what I said? How Steven and Mister Marc look alike? He's the same way." You explain to Victoria.

"Oh." She sighs. Poor little thing seemed dejected that once again, she misidentified someone as her "bestest friend".

You lift your eyes as Jake showed what he put on the notepad next. It was a badly drawn cat with a happy face on it.

You can't help but laugh and grin, nudging Victoria to look at what he drew for her.

"It's a kitty!" She gasps, snatching the board from your hands to draw pictures for him.

You spent much of the evening that night with Victoria and Jake drawing pictures back and forth, writing messages until he ran out of paper.

That's when you put down your phone number and told him to text, to make it easier on Victoria.

Victoria, upon realizing this, dropped her board and snatched your phone, starting a video call with Jake and chattering his ear off. He seemed to take it in stride, engaging with her. Not on the same level as Steven, but something about how he handled it gave you the impression he had experience with kids, or even worked with kids.

He didn't talk down or dumb anything down for her, he spoke to her calmly and clearly like he would anyone else, and the fact he was so sweet was endearing to you.

He was even teaching her little words in Spanish. For some reason, she liked to repeat the word "cat" because she liked how it sounded, and it was "funny".

That was how you met Jake Lockley.

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It was now half a year since you'd indirectly met all three "brothers" and quickly, the pressure was beginning to mount on them to reveal the truth to you as their crush developed more and more into full infatuation with you and your darling girl.

But they still hadn't asked you out, yet. They'd come close a few times, but it was never when Jake was in control so Marc and Steven backed down at the last possible moment. Every time Jake was in control it wasn't a "good moment" for them to propose a date with you. But now?

It was late in the year, the harvest festival being over with and the holidays around the corner with Christmas, as usual, dominating all others. Snow and ice encased everything. It came early this year, and Victoria couldn't be more thrilled. (She could build snowmen with her friends, Steven, Mister Marc and Mister Jake!)

You and Jake would text, and he gave in and told you that he, Marc, and Steven all actually lived together and he would "let" Steven or Marc use his phone so he could video chat with Victoria and you.

You didn't know the boys all shared the same phone regardless.

It was nice having a social life again, even if it was small. Outside work and ensuring a comfortable upbringing for your little girl, you'd forgotten how nice it was to have friends. Even if those friends consisted of three identical, quirky brothers who lived in the flat across the way.

The day was coming soon, for when they would have to confess to you about the true nature of their identities. And the three unanimously agreed that they would tell you about Moon Knight.

For your safety, and Victoria's. They didn't want you to agree to date them (if you ever would) only to find out they snuck out in the dead of night to do the bidding of some creepy ancient bird god who could frankly do with a wardrobe update...

They just didn't anticipate that day to be today. Of course, Steven would rather have broken the news to you over a nice dinner in the corner booth of a quiet restaurant. Or even on a nice walk through the park...

But no. No, it had to come out when you decided to pull out your phone and go through your texts or the day as Victoria sat in Steven's lap on the couch of your living room.

Jake had sent a meme earlier in the day, of a little cat wearing a sombrero and you chuckled. You sent a meme back in reply, of a snail holding some maracas on some drawn-on arms.

That's when Steven twitched when the phone in his back pocket vibrated and chimed with a silly little ringtone.

You blinked at him as he fished it out of his pocket, careful not to knock Victoria off balance as he checked it. He awkwardly cleared his throat and gave you a strained smile as he set it on the coffee table in front of you.

"You okay..." You say, eyeing the very familiar phone. They could just have the same model and case...

"Oh, yes, just an email alert, luv. Don't worry 'bout it!" Steven chirped, quickly shifting his attention back to Victoria as she practiced her reading from the book in her hands.

You squint at him suspiciously. Your finger hovered over the send button when you selected another silly little image...

But you decided to call instead.

That's when a song began to chime. One you recognized very well as Steven's favorite song...

♫"Lonely is a man,

Without looove~"♫

'God damn it, Steven! You forgot to put it on silent again!' Marc's panicked voice shouted inside their headspace.

'Ay, hermanito, not now!' Jake groaned.

Steven began to sweat profusely as Victoria handed the phone innocently to him, urging him to answer it, not making the correlation with the song, or your phone number...

Steven shakily held the phone to his ear and answered.

"H-Hello..."

"Steven." You deadpan, raising an eyebrow and tapping your finger on your arm.

'Shit shit shit shit.' Marc hissed.

'Busted.' Jake almost sang.

You look at Victoria, hesitant to interrupt her time with Steven, but you wanted answers. Why is it that none of the men ever agreed to all meet up in person to hang out? Why did you only ever see one at a time? Yes, work was a convenient excuse, but every single day?

And then there's the phone!

Yeah, you weren't letting Steven wiggle free from this talk, even as Victoria pouted and trudged back into her room to play with her toys.

You almost feel like a cop in a bad movie, the way you lean back with your arms crossed, almost like you were an interrogator in a police precinct.

Would this make you both the bad and good cop?

You felt so bad, knowing that this kind of behavior would only freak Steven out, so you relaxed your jaw and posture, leaning away from him and giving him breathing room as his sweaty hands began to pat nervously in the memorized tune of that specific song that was just playing.

"I'm not blind, and I'm not dumb... So start from the beginning." You sigh. "I don't want anything to come out and upset Victoria, but I have to know who I'm letting around my little girl."

Steven licked at his slightly chapped lips, taking his bottom lip between his teeth briefly.

"Okay..." He peeped.

'Just take it slow, Steven.' Marc urged him gently.

'I can take control, if you want.' Jake offered.

"No, that's too much right now." Steven muttered aloud, without thinking.

You tipped your head to the side. "What's too much?"

Steven jumped and covered his mouth, his big doe eyes wide as can be, like he's a little boy who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

He despised awkward situations like this. He could never tell what to say to keep someone happy and to avoid them getting angry with him...

"Steven, I'm not mad. I'm honestly confused. Please... Just... Tell me everything, okay? I just wanna know some things." You say, leaning forward to put your hand on his knee, your ever so patient eyes sweet and understanding.

Yeah, those eyes were his undoing.

"Do you know what Dissociative Identity Disorder is?"

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Whatever you had originally expected to hear from Steven, finding out that he, Marc and Jake all shared the same body was a lot to absorb. Especially after Steven blurted out about their superhero alter ego that apparently did bidding for an Egyptian god?

Steven expected you to be mad, braced himself for it, but instead, he and his two headmates were knocked entirely off center when you made the remark that if Khonshu ever got to be too much for the boys, they should lock him in a room with Victoria and her never-ending questions.

That would shut him up for a little while, surely.

Another thing you weren't expecting was the date proposal from Steven (and of course Marc and Jake).

You hesitated, at first... But...

They were so kind and sweet. They already have shown so much care for you and your daughter... And you were honestly happy to realize that you weren't crushing on different guys, that your feelings were no longer awkward and conflicted.

Or wait, were you crushing on different men? Yes they were completely different identities, but they shared a body, and... oh, this was gonna take time to learn more about.

Your first date was for later that week. Steven informed you it would be Jake, taking you out, as he felt like a "bloody awkward fool" and was afraid of messing it up, and Marc was just as bad at those social situations.

But you agreed, and when the date rolled around, you and Victoria were bundled up, all ready to go to the charming little Italian restaurant somewhere in town where apparently Jake was friendly with the employees there.

Victoria skipped in the snow, struggling to match her pace with yours, making sure her footsteps were measured so her prints mirrored yours exactly as she walked on her little tippy toes.

As you approached where Jake had his car parked, he smiled, his mustache quirking up as he scooped Victoria in his large gloved hands, laughing when she dragged her fingers over his hairy upper lip, comparing the stache to a caterpillar.

You stifled a snort and covered your mouth as you watched Jake buckle Victoria into a booster seat in the back of his car.

"Where did you..." You blinked. You fully intended to run back to your flat and grab the booster seat you owned, but you were surprised to see Jake already had one. A rather expensive-looking one, at that.

"Ay, cariño, you didn't think I'd let the little chiquita ride unprotected, did you?" He smirked at you, his dark eyes glinting mischievously.

"But, I have one. You didn't have to..."

"Hey, if it makes it easier, I'll be happy to foot the bill." Jake hummed, leaning in to check Victoria's buckles as she played on her tablet, snow-caked shoes kicking lazily as she did.

Normally, Jake was insane about his car. He always made sure his fares cleaned their damn feet off before getting inside. But for you two he willingly made the exception.

"Now, c'mon mamacita." Jake grinned at you once more as he enabled the child lock and closed the door on Victoria's side. "We got lunch to get to, right?"

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You couldn't remember the last time you were on a date. Actually wait, you could. The night you got pregnant. One of the only times Victoria's sperm donor was ever romantic with you, and he proposed the next morning after.

Yeah, you knew how that story ended.

But now it looked like a whole new book was being written right in front of you, as cliché as it all sounded.

Jake had treated you both well, engaging happily and drawing with Victoria on the activity mat the restaurant provided as you sipped your glass of red wine, watching; your heart was fluttering in your chest as you watched how happy she was interacting with them.

After a while, he went back out to his car and returned with a sparkly red gift bag for the two of you and you immediately felt your heart lurch up from your chest and into your throat.

He knitted the two of you matching jumpers. A mama cat and her kitten, of course, he managed to do it in an Egyptian style, much to Victoria's glee as she ripped off her regular jumper in favor of the one Jake made, immediately rubbing her face on the sleeve with a happy giggle.

You couldn't help but smile warmly as Jake helped her pop her head through the top, and you decided to slip yours on, yourself.

God, it was almost surreal how Hallmark it all seemed. Not one, but three men interested in you, a lonely single mother. All three men who adored your daughter and treated you both with respect. All three men, who shared the same body and nighttime secret.

And you found yourself falling just as hard, and somewhere in the back of your mind wondered if--if--you had met them first... would they have been Victoria's father(s)? Would they have rejoiced in your pregnancy? Gone to your appointments, held your hand in the delivery room? Would they have helped the doctors weigh and print Victoria for the very first time?

Your mind was knocked out of the what-ifs when your phone jingled, catching Jake's attention.

"Oh, it's Victoria's pediatrician. I have to take this." You sigh sadly, not wanting to step away from the cozy atmosphere in your booth.

Jake smiled at you and winked, "Go ahead and take it. I got her handled."

You smiled back, hoping the flush to your face wasn't as obvious as you feared as you got up and answered the call.

Jake continued to play and draw with Victoria, letting her explain how some of her learning games worked, what apps were her favorite, and who her favorite cartoon characters were.

Honestly, if anyone thought Steven was great with Victoria thanks to their same autistic traits? Jake was good simply because he was a natural with kids. Marc was, too, but he was a bit stiff and nervous. He needed to be eased into it just a bit more.

"Hey.... Psst. Mister Jake." Victoria whispered to him, blinking her big, bright, gorgeous eyes up at him.

"Yeah? What is it, gatita?" Jake hummed at her, grinning.

She waved her hand, urging him closer as she whispered conspiratorially, cupping her hand over his ear, "Look where Mommy's standing."

Jake lifts his gaze to find you among the crowd of people, where you stood on your phone, talking to the doctor about Victoria's upcoming appointment. He tracked where Victoria was pointing, and that's when he saw it: the mistletoe.

He knew immediately what Victoria was hinting at.

"That means you gotta kiss my Mommy." She whispered to him again.

"Oh, I do, huh?" Jake teased, poking her in the side. "And what if I don't?"

"Then Imma make you!" She squeaked and giggled.

"Oh, dear, then in that case I definitely have to do it, eh?" He chuckled.

"C'mon." Jake said, scooping Victoria up and holding her on his hip. "Let's go give another present to your wonderful mamá."

As they got closer to you, he caught the tail-end of your conversation.

"...yeah. Next Wednesday at 3pm. See you, then, Doctor Wilson. ...Of course! Happy holidays." You say cheerily, ending the call.

When you turned around, you saw Jake holding Victoria against him as he walked closer to you.

The sight really shouldn't have taken your breath away the way that it did...

But if you thought your breath was taken before? It was entirely robbed from you as Jake leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist as he tipped his head down to kiss you, his mustache tickling your nose and upper lip.

You were so taken aback that you didn't hear the whooping and laughing from the workers of the restaurant as the scene unfolded in front of them, congratulating Jake.

Victoria squirmed and squealed and laughed and laughed, rubbing her face on Jake's leather jacket as your lips finally parted and your jaw dropped.

"What's the matter, mamacita? Cat got your tongue?"

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God, dating those men was the best decision you ever made. Even with them being Moon Knight.

They were kind enough to always say goodnight to Victoria before they went about their business, giving you a soft kiss before whichever one was in control of the body departed.

You had only been dating a short while, it was now entering February and you were all spending more and more time together. Marc, Jake, and Steven had all spent the night once or twice in their own time.

Nothing sexual happened, but it was so nice to fall asleep with someone wrapping their arms around you. It was even better to wake up and see Victoria snuggled onto his chest, his arms caged around her protectively, flexing when she made any movements as his unconscious body ensured she wouldn't roll off of him and--god forbid--onto the floor.

It was a few days before Valentine's, and Marc had spent the day with you and Victoria. He had gotten much more comfortable around her, falling into a natural and gentle routine unique to them. Just like she had with Steven, and Jake. And above all, they handled her autism well.

Steven was exceptionally good at helping distract her during her meltdowns, whereas Jake could cradle her, singing little songs in Spanish as he rubbed her back. Marc would start by talking to her in a low, gentle tone, urging her to just breathe, and talk, explaining what was upsetting her and what would work best to help her calm down from it.

But right now, Victoria was in the midst of a battle against sleep.

"Don' wanna sleep." Victoria sniffled into Marc's jumper.

"I know, babydoll, but you'll feel loads better once you do, mkay?" He murmured quietly to her as he padded, barefoot into Victoria's almost obnoxiously canary-yellow bedroom.

"I can make some apple pancakes for you in the morning, hm? How's that sound?"

He dodged the minefield of toys scattered about and chuckled softly at the shelf where her little ancient Egypt memorabilia sat meticulously organized alongside her books and drawings on the subject. A half-finished paper sarcophagus lay on the desk in the corner, a project Steven had started with her two days ago that they intended to finish together.

Marc laid her down and she nodded, rubbing her eye. "Okay..." She mumbled in agreement.

Marc picked up the plushy scarab that Steven bought from the gift shop and handed it to her, tucking her in all nice and warm.

"There you go." He said softly to her, kneeling next to the bed. "Snug as a bug in... well. Blankets, right now, huh?"

He grinned when Victoria giggled groggily at his pun, squeezing the beetle plush she named "Digger" and snuggled under the blankets, her feather lashes brushed her cheeks as she began to drift off.

"See you in the morning, babydoll." Marc said softly, giving her a kiss to her forehead before standing.

His finger had just flipped the switch to turn off the lights in her room, so only the salt lamp dimly illuminated her bedside, when he heard her peep as she rolled over.

"G'night daddy."

He felt like his heart stopped beating as he shakily closed the door, dragging his suddenly very heavy feet through your flat as he made his way to your couch, the weight of that word landing on his shoulders.

He felt like Atlas, carrying the world on his back as he dropped down onto the chocolate brown cushions.

You walk over, having finished dishes from dinner, wiping your hands on a tea towel. Upon seeing his shell-shocked expression, you sit next to him in concern as he covered his face with his hands, his arms shaking and skin pale.

"Marc, sweetie, what's wrong?"

"I..." He said, his voice breaking.

You lean in, reaching out to brush a hand through his mop of curls, letting him take his time. Maybe Steven or Jake was trying to front? You've seen how taxing it could be on them when it happened so suddenly. One time Steven had seized control in the kitchen from Jake and he fell and cracked his head open on the counter! Poor Victoria cried when she saw how much he was bleeding, scared that he was dying.

It took a lot of hugs and kisses to convince her otherwise...

"She... God. Fuck." Marc swore softly, sniffing. "She--she called me daddy."

Your jaw dropped and you gawked at him. Was Victoria already so attached to him? To them? But then again, she's never had a father figure, before, either, and suddenly having not one, but technically three men in her life doing all the things a dad should do? You can understand why she would--hell, why you would...

He dropped his arms and you could see the beginnings of tears clump in his beautiful eyelashes, heavy weights of emotion settling deep in his chest.

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away. God, he didn't deserve all of this. He didn't deserve this... this domesticity. Guys like him just didn't get to have a life like that. Not with everything he's had to do as a soldier, a mercenary... in Khonshu's name.

He didn't deserve such a beautiful woman, or the idolized gaze of her sweet and innocent baby girl.

'You're too hard on yourself, Marc.' Steven said to him in their headspace.

'Yeah, hermano...' Jake murmured.

"Marc, honey..." You say, leaning in and adjusting your position, so your head lay on his chest. You spread your hand over his heart, feeling how it hammered in the muscle of his chest.

"I just... What the hell did I do to get this?" He asked softly, bringing his arms around you to bury his nose in your hair.

"Well, I think it all started the day a certain little girl wiggled free of me and ran into a gift shop..."

Marc chuckled, squeezing you tight.

"Would you want us to?" He whispered. "Would you want us to stay? Would you be okay with that? I know it's soon, and--and I'm not saying we move in or anything like that, but..."

"I think it would crush Victoria if I ever shoo'd you boys away, honey." You assured him, tipping your head up to give him a sweet kiss.

You feel the tension slowly bleed from his body and his expression softens into a heartbreakingly sweet smile, his dark eyes sparkling with a warmth that you haven't seen before as your lips parted.

"Then we'll stay. As long as you both will put up with us." He said to you, his voice so quiet you almost couldn't catch his words.

"How do Steven and Jake feel about her calling you daddy?" You smile slyly.

Marc grins and drops his head back with a laugh, listening to the bickering of his headmates as his anxiety ebbed away.

"Oh... They're arguing over who Vicky is gonna call daddy next."

"We need to think of nicknames for you guys so she doesn't confuse you." You laughed with him.

Your laughter was cut short when you heard Victoria's door click open, and out she waddled, blanket clutched in one arm, Digger firmly squeezed into the crook of her elbow and her thumb was in her mouth. She only sucked her thumb when she was frightened, or severely anxious.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Marc asked, shooting to his feet even before you could, at her side in a split second.

You joined him and put your hands on her shoulders, looking into her drowsy and not-entirely-awake eyes. "Did you have a bad dream?"

She shook her head, mumbling something around her thumb.

"What is it, kiddo?" Marc inquired next.

She pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop.

"There's a bird-man in my room."

#moon knight #moon boys #moon boys x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant #marc spector x reader #marc spector #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 days

Text

Winter's King 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I can't explain why but damn I'm so tiredddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you approach the capital, you can’t help but poke your head up to admire the domes of the great castle and the high towers. The gates stand open as the party advances, in wait of their new liege and lord. You shield your eyes against the sun as you gaze at the silhouette of the mighty architecture.

“May as well get a good gander,” Bryce says, “doubt the kitchens are any more glorious than the ones you know.”

“Mm,” you retract your gaze and sigh, “suppose. But they will still be new to me.”

“Not all that is new is wondrous,” he girds. “For as much as I’ve seen in this world, it is the familiar that keeps me sane.”

You nod and let the cart rock you. Ahead of you, the horses tread over rocks and dirt, wagons bounce and creak, and some servants walk afoot to ease the cramps in their legs. You lean lazily on a chest and fold your hands in your lap. It will at least be nice to stay beneath a proper roof again.

The streets of the city are crowded with faces. They do not holler for you but you can hear the raucous uproar ahead as the king and queen ride between the citizens. There are even more black and grey soldiers stationed along the roads, awaiting your arrival.

As you wind up to the royal castle, the noise grows tantamount. At the walls of the grand structure, clusters of people threaten to crush the party between their writhing bodies. It takes some time after the king’s entrance for the luggage to make way into the courtyard.

The carts depart around the back of the castle as the horses make way for the stables. You climb out as Bryce lurks around, dismounting Daisy with a grunt as he rubs his lower back. You glance over at him as the other servants quickly fall into work.

“Maid,” he calls to you before you can follow suit, “no doubt the queen will need to wash away the road before she faces the hordes.”

He beckons you forth with his gauntlet and you diligently near him. He hands off Daisy to a castle servant and carries on inside. You scurry beside him as he stops and gauges his surroundings. He is not versed with the corridors but he presses on unimpeded.

You turn back a few times before you reach the great hall. It is crowded and chaotic. The soldier strides through without pause. You nearly grab onto him just to keep from being lost in the stirring of soldiers and servants, and the tittering lords and ladies in their colourful garb.

Up the stairs and a few questions grunted to his comrades, Bryce takes you down to a set of chambers with yet another soldier before it. You’re let inside without question. You find Queen Jazlene before a steaming basin as another servant cleans her face.

The queen scrunches up her nose and swats the lady servant, the maid still in the former king’s colours; burnt autumn orange and goldenrod yellow.

“Watch my eyes, you moron,” Jazlene chides and jabs her nail into the maid’s ribs.

“My lady, I didn’t mean--”

“I am a queen, not a lady,” Jazlene hisses, “be gone before I have your teeth knocked out of that stupid mouth of yours.”

The other maid wrings the cloth and steps back on her heel, chewing on an apology before she spins to flee. As she nears the door, she notices you and gives a panicked look. You reach to take the cloth from her before you go to the queen.

“Your highness,” you greet her and dip the cloth back in the steaming water. “Would you like me to put ribbons in your hair?”

“Mm, I suppose,” she tilts her face up and closes her eyes, “once the dirt is gone. By gods, I hate traveling.”

You gently wipe along her hairline and trace the outline of her face. You delicately but intently clean away the errant dust and streaks. You drape the cloth over the brim of the basin and turn to the table.

“And would you like your lips painted?” You intone. “Your highness, I do think your natural tones are beautiful.”

As you peek back at her, her eyes open and she stares at you. Her nostrils compress as she inhales. She puts her head straight and looks at her reflection.

“Do you think so?” She touches her cheeks.

“Yes, I do, if you line your eyes, they might appear bigger but they are so lovely and dark already,” you compliment.

She hums and tilts her head, turning her attention back on you, “it’s you.”

You lower your head, “your highness?”

“You’re always flitting around like some bird,” she sniffs, “suppose you are not so... agitating as the other. Yes, ribbons and some kohl. Then I will have one of the former queen’s gowns. They have delivered her wardrobe to me.”

“Yes, your highness,” you say and go to work.

You settle into your usual lull. The queen sips from her goblet as you twine ribbons with her curls, a halo around the crown of her head as coiling strands hang down to her back. She looks even more immaculate than you’ve seen her before.

She calls for a dress and you bring her several options from those strewn across the large bed. She chooses the lavender and you help her into the light silk. You relace it to account for her lither figure, the former queen having some extra years in her hips.

When she is dressed, she twirls before the mirror. She stops and sets her chin straight and glares at herself. She arches a brow coyly.

“I cannot wait to see Lady Florence,” she scoffs, “she will choke when she realises I am her queen.”

You linger by the wall, blending into the tapestry as she sighs and eyes the glass affectionately. She primps herself and spins again.

“Well then, I must be overdue,” she goes to the door, “I must go to the king and show him I can be his queen.”

You open the door for her and follow her out. The soldiers outside glance at her but do not move or speak. Bryce comes up beside you as you trail after Jazlene. She struts to the end of the corridor and is stopped by another guard at another door.

“Do not think to stop me,” she spits, “I am the queen,” she flicks her fingers in his direction, “don’t be absurd.”

The man lets her through as she tugs on the latch and his dull eyes stare past her. She hardly has the effect she thinks. People do not admire her so much as they tolerate her.

She sweeps into the chamber as you wait outside. Bryce lets out a gritty breath and taps his fingers on his sword pommel. He chews more of the sweet leaves he loves so much. Jazlene emerges with a doe-like look.

“Where is the king?” She exclaims.

“He has gone to address the people,” the guard picks at his teeth. “He tired of waiting--”

“Do not tell me about the king,” Jazlene snaps on the soldier, “ugh, let us find my husband. How can he think to face my people without me at his side?”

She storms onward and you can only follow. She will no doubt need wine sooner than later, though you wish she might take more water or milk instead. Bryce keeps your pace slowed as he makes little haste.

As she descends the steps, you can hear the king’s voice. The crowd is hushed, almost hypnotised as he speaks from atop a chair. Somehow, he is both overwhelming and unassuming. Jazlene shows as she sees him. The crowd does not move out of her way as they are rapt in his words.

“...do not come as conquerer, but as liberator,” he declares, “I am not here to suppress but to unite. Our kingdoms, forged together as one, can attain glory. Peace. Joy. Our people needn’t suffer the droughts or frost rot without relief. By coming together, we will join summer and winter in harmony,” the king holds his sword, the tip on the armrest of the wooden chair, “to you lords who stayed loyal to Waleran, I do not seek retribution. You only did your duty and served the king you put an oath to. You had no part in his violations upon myself. I am aware you could not rein in your greedy master. You will keep what is yours, as by rights, but you will swear fealty to the new crown.”

King Geralt looks around the hall, “I have spoken to the farmers and the peasants, I have seen the beauty of your lands. I wish not to ravage it but to build it. You will not have only from me writs and declarations, you will have fields sown, you will have harvests reaped, you will have coin in flow, and you will have full bellies.”

He raises his great sword over his head. The large weapon could be held only by two-hands in anothers grasp but he lifts it effortlessly.

“I saw how your king tucked tail when he saw me on the field. After you good lords followed him to battle and sacrificed your men and your blood. He could not stand and fight, but many of you did, many of you not here today. I will not let their souls be spent in vain,” he pauses and his golden eyes rove around the room. He points his sword suddenly towards you but not quite, at Jazlene, “I have taken a summer wife.” He curls his fingers to gesture her to him. People swivel to see her and clear the path to the king, “a winter’s king must have a summer’s queen, if our kingdoms our to rise anew.”

Jazlene sways before she gets her footing. She moves forward, chin high as she lets a grin break out over her face. She looks this way and that, gloating as she goes to her husband. He steps down as she approaches and he takes her hand. He helps her up on the chair herself and she seems almost confused by the act.

“Queen Jazlene of Debray,” King Geralt proclaims, “she will return with me to the Hinterlands to see that order is kept across our realm and perhaps, the next time I look upon you all, I will have an heir to present to you. A young prince to lead us into the sun ahead.”

He raises Jazlene’s hand as she fawns. The crowd breaks out in racket, voices swelling to the rooves as you’re jostled against Bryce. The lords and ladies, servants and soldiers, throw up fists and hoot and holler.

The king brings his sword up again, silence falling at the gleam of its silver blade, “but first, a feast!”

The fervour is even louder as the hall explodes in glee. You hear it ripple out the doors into the crowd without and like an ocean, the tides carry through the courtyard and front gates, streaming into the city. Peace has come and old grudges cannot take the shine from the gift of a king’s mercy.

⚔️

“Your highness, we heard of what happened on Stag’s River,” an earl, you think he said his name was Kelvan, “it was a brave stand. Admirable, even standing upon the other ridge.”

“You were there?” King Geralt muses, “mm, how fortunate our paths did not cross.”

“Indeed, your highness,” the earl agrees, “I must admit, I dreaded it.”

“But here we are, alive, together, as allies. It is all I ever wanted.”

“And we knew it. We knew it, my liege, for when you let our men march back at all, we saw your grace,” Kelvan smiles.

“Yes, but I have only ever admired your lands, never had I wanted to ruin them,” the king assures as he looks over at his wife.

“He is a brave and good king,” Queen Jazlene praises as she puts her hand over the king’s.

Lord Kelvan’s lips ripple, “mm, yes, I have not seen your father yet. If I shan’t happen upon the Duke, you will send my regards.”

There’s an edge that makes you uneasy. You see how Jazlene bobs her head, “so I shall.”

She doesn’t seem to notice the tick of resent in the earl’s cheek. How odd it is that they are so fond of the invader and yet their own kith and kin, they cannot help but revile. You’ve heard the whispers swirling already. It was not King Geralt who betrayed these people but this snakish woman and her blood.

“Wine, girl, now,” Jazlene snaps as the early departs back to his seat.

You stand against the wall, just behind the bench she shares with the king. You come forward with the jug reserved only for her, nearing between the shoulders of the royal couple. Before you can put the spout to brim, King Geralt’s hand catches the swollen belly of the ewer.

“Perhaps you might have some more lamb before you indulge further, wife,” he girds.

“It is a feast,” she slurs, “I am only celebrating. With you,” she touches his sleeve, “my king.”

“I see that,” his voice is low but firm, “yet you are a queen and your subjects are watching.”

“I can stomach my wine,” she sneers.

He huffs and wraps his hand around the bottom of the handle, just below your grip. He wiggles it away from you and sets it on the other side of his plate. Jazlene lets out a childish gasp.

“It is just wine,” she snivels.

King Geralt runs his fingers along his collar, “we are having a good night,” he says as he peers out on the crowd, “please, let us not make a scene.”

“I am not making a scene. I am the queen and I want more wine,” she insists.

He faces forward completely. You stay as you are, trapped in their indecision. He blocks the jug with his elbow and she claps her hands on her lap and kicks her feet.

“Perhaps you should have some of that wine,” she mutters, “it might make you kinder.”

The king doesn’t reply and instead greets another lord; one who introduces himself as the Count of Bress. As they speak, Jazlene leans back on the bench and tugs your skirt. You look down at her.

“Find more wine,” she growls, “and don’t be obvious about it.”

“Your highness, but the king--”

“I am your master, not him,” she snarls and nudges you harshly, “be away before I lose my patience.”

You dip your head and notice how the king’s head turns towards his wife. You don’t look back as you critter off quickly into the shadows. You might be better to take your time and tell her you could not abscond any more wine. If you wait long enough, it might even slip her mind, as so often her desires fade into the next.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #medieval au #au #series #the witcher #winter's king

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chastiefoul · 1 year

Note

Hello!! I just done reading your "this thing is heavy, can you hold it for me" work.

Can you do another one byt with other characters? Like: Beidou, Kaeya, and Ayato??

THANK YOU SO MUCH IN ADVANCE!!!

genshin characters react to "this thing is heavy, can you hold it for me?" but you held their hand instead pt. 2!!

part 1

a/n: i'm sorry this took months!!!

characters: ayato, beidou, kaeya, gorou, alhaitham, and tighnari

Ayato

“oh? you can just ask one of my retainer dear, i’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” he shot you down quickly with that one and you weren’t sure how to bounce back. perhaps another time then. “o-on a second thought i can just carry it myself.” you couldn’t help but feel disappointed for a second until a familiar gloved hand belonged to your lover engulfed your hand as ayato continued to walk. you smiled happily as you thought that either way you had ended up where you wanted to be even when the male beside you didn’t realize what you were doing.

until you saw him looking at the other way, quietly laughing to himself.

he knew. of course he knew!

Beidou

“not a problem, give it here!” she said as she gave her full attention to you that you almost feel bad when you went put your empty hand on hers. though that did not last long at all when you witness her wide grin already putting the pieces in her mind, as she laughed. “quite the treasure you have here, you sure wanna trust me on holding it?” she says cheerily, going along with you in the best possible way. “yes!” you claimed happily, “well then you can count on me,” she laughs, intertwining her hand with yours, leading you to her ship for yet another fun ride.

Kaeya

“interesting, what could possibly be so heavy yet so small that you have a problem carrying it around?” he smiles as he inspects, grabbing your fist and moving it around up and down. considering how sharp he is, you already knew this was gonna be a total bust the moment you started it, he probably was just pretending for the fun of it. you pouted, retracting your hand to your side.

“it wouldn’t hurt to play along once you know, mr knight?” you said in a joking manner. he only chuckled and raised an eyebrow, “giving up so easily?” you, having nothing to retort against that only rolled your eyes. then he says again, “it’s not that i didn’t like it, i just prefer a more straight-forward tactic?” he says, grabbing your hand and brought it close to his lips as he planted a kiss there. “that’s rich coming from a man who often speaks in riddles.” you laughed, the gesture cheered you nonetheless.

Gorou

“what is it?” he says as he peers closely, already having a hand out. “come here, bring your palm closer,” you say, he obliged without any hesitation. so curious and so trusting. hook, line, and sinker. easily like that, you have captured his hand completely. you turned while giving his hand a good squeeze, wanting to see his expression, but he just looked like his entire system just shut down, until suddenly a color of pink painted his cheeks in more than a nice way. “to be using underhanded tactic like that...” he trailed off, flustered. “you don’t like it?” you asked, while smiling mischievously. a second look on his wagging tail was all it took to know the answer.

“you already know i do...”

Alhaitham

he sighed deeply, knowing what’s gonna come if he didn’t play along to your random antics. he held out his hand, and you intertwined your hand with his. he expected a prank or some sort, but he certainly didn’t expect this. the simple act somehow made the man’s heart fluttered. he went quiet, not really giving an obvious reaction but you could tell by his soft smile he liked it.

“you look pleased,” you teased. “i am,” he said bluntly, giving your hand a squeeze.

Tighnari

he immediately went on and on lecturing you to not overpack and only bring stuff you’re capable of holding, before ending it with a sigh. “give it here,” he said as you held his hand instead. the bow-wielder was stunned for a moment before putting it all together. he smiled, shooking his head in wonderment. “and you just let me went on and on like that? tell me was this worth it?” he raised an eyebrow. “mhm. i quite like your lectures.” you just giggled looking at the defeated expression on his face.

“yeah? then tell me why did you almost eat a poisonous mushroom mere minutes ago, did i not tell you all about it yesterday?” he crossed his arms.

“...for research purposes?”

“i keep telling you that’s not how it works-“

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berberriescorner · 3 months

Text

“Are You Listening?”

Interlude: “Drinks On Me, Yeah?”

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: Issa Interlude, mama. Expect the unexpected.

Warnings: Profanity, angst, fluff, and drinking-little libation for the one, two.

Word Count: 1,700+.

A/N: My lovelies! My babies! Mama’s back and I got a little sum-sum for ya! Let’s start this weekend with a little Rio and the crew, yeah? Yeah. I want to give so many thanks to all of you sweet lovelies who have been rocking with me this entire time. Most of you know that the past year and a half has been quite the struggle. To everybody who took time out of your day to come and check in on me, please know that I’m appreciative and forever grateful to have connected with such amazing people🥹♥️. Thank you for all the sweet, hilarious comments and asks as well💓. I’m a little rusty, so be gentle with your girl. Enjoy my sweet babies. Before anyone asks, yes, I’ve been working on Pt. 4😂😏😈.

"Are You Listening?" - The Playlist

Apple Music.

Spotify.

Part One Here.

Part Two Here.

Part Three Here.

Inspired By:

Your body pressed down into the plush mattress as you reveled in the comfort and security of being home. Your mind replayed the image of your mom snatching the door open, the two of you hugging tightly, rocking side to side. You had spent the past week trying to survive final exams and warding off the many questions of, “What’s wrong, baby girl?” The woman who gave you life knew you all too well. Sensing that her youngest baby was struggling, her attempts to get you to open up over the phone went unanswered. With the semester complete, being home didn’t leave much space to dodge the knowing gaze in her eyes.

That master’s degree will probably be a waste of time.

The moment you pulled away from the hug, she cupped your chin, and your poker face cracked as the tears cascaded down your cheeks. Two hours later, you filled her in on everything from the stress of school, financial aid, working doubles, and the fresh crack in your heart that was taking its sweet-ass time to heal. All of which had only taken about forty minutes to stutter out. The talk and her comfort had left you wiped out, and just like any amazing mother would do, she sent you to your room for a nap and got to work on preparing comfort food.

You considered dozing off for a bit more rest, but your bedroom door flew open, bouncing off the corner of your vanity. Your eyes narrowed to mere slits as you started to curse your oldest brother out. His hand raising halted the verbal reprimand.

“Alena’s big-headed ass is here to see ya mean ass,” he snarked about the woman who would eventually become his wife.

These two bitches are so in love. It’s sickening. The attraction is so annoyingly obvious. Shit makes me sick to my stomach.

Before you could tell him you didn’t want company, she was already in the doorframe. “Uh-uh, bitch you are not about to dodge me for another two weeks.” With those words said, you had no choice but to give her a rundown of what had transpired. Not only had she forced you to divulge every last detail while the two of you hugged and cried together. She also took it upon herself to wiggle you into your best freakum dress and head out for a girl’s night.

Being the baby and the only girl in your family made for very over-the-top protective parents. The moment your father saw your attire, he wouldn’t let up. He was hell-bent on forcing your brothers to chaperone.

It wasn’t a horrible idea. Only you didn’t like your independence challenged. Luckily, the older siblings were pretty chill, so long as no one was overly aggressive. They had taught you how to handle shit for yourself at a young age. You spent the first half hour in the club pouting and ready to go home to wallow in self-misery.

“Hoe! If you don’t fix your face, scaring off every good-looking man in this club!”

“They’ll be alright, so long as they keep their distance. In case you didn’t get the memo after our long talk. Men make my ass itch,” you growled, kissing your teeth.

“Whateva, you and that stank attitude can have a good time together,” she sassed, throwing up a hand and walking away from the bar.”

“Where are you going? Alena!”

“I’ll be back, damn! Let me go on and annoy them, fine-ass brothers of yours. Be nice, and don’t bite nobody head off, sourpuss.”

“Always thirsting after my blood, just triflin’.”

With the flick of a middle finger, she sauntered over to their section. You could see the irritation rolling off them as she seated herself in the middle. The arguing started seconds later. Your eye twitched at the sight. Swinging the barstool back toward the liquor, you were about to pass the time scrolling through social media. Instead, a set of bronzed-colored, muscular digits came into view. They gently pressed your phone to the bar as the matching digits slid another lemon drop into view. Your eyes danced along those muscular fingers, trailing upward until they landed on one of the sexiest faces you’d ever witnessed. If any other man would’ve done this, he would’ve been set straight expeditiously. In this instance, ole boy was just too damn fine, and it left you on mute. The corners of his mouth lifted into a handsome smirk.

The stranger turned his barstool to get closer. One hand rested on the bar while the other cradled the back of your seat. His eyes roamed over your body, lip tucking between his teeth, matching you stare for stare. He chuckled when he noticed your quirked eyebrow.

“I don’t mean to intrude on ya evening, but I figured you could use another drink.”

“Is that so?”

“Couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with your friend. I’m tryin’ to figure out why these men got your fine ass itching out here.”

Shit, he heard that? Floor, open up and swallow me. That’s so damn embarrassing.

As if reading your thoughts, he continued, “Nothing to be embarrassed about, mama. There’s a lot of boys running around here pretending to be men. Who was crazy enough to fumble you? He gotta be the dumbest man on earth.”

As if on cue, said fumbler’s name popped up on your caller ID. With a swipe of a finger, the phone went silent. You turned back to your new admirer. He had signaled for another round of drinks.

“Either you’re a big spender, or the bartender is your connect,” you teased.

“Connect is one way of putting it. This my spot, darlin’.”

He chuckled as you damn near choked on your drink.

“I’m sorry. Tend to put my foot in my mouth.”

“You good. I like a woman who’s not afraid to speak her mind. Dealing with me, you go to say it with your chest.”

“Oh, so you plan to be around me beyond tonight?”

“Around, underneath, on top. We locked in, mama,” he insisted, licking his lips.

“I don’t even know your name, fool,” you cackled at his cockiness.

“Name’s Rio, but you can call me Christopher, mama. My future wife needs to know my government name. I’m putting my trust in you. Don’t be tellin’ my business, sweetheart.”

“Who says I’m checking for you, Rio?”

“You accepted my company and drinks. Deep down, you’re intrigued by me. Ain’t no need to hide it. When I see something I want, gotta go after it, mama.” he rasped, voice lowering to a panty-dropping level.

“You’re trouble. I just know it.”

Rio planted both hands on your thighs. The gasp that escaped you lit his brown orbs with passion.

“Can I have your undivided attention for the night? Want to get to know you better, mama.”

Grabbing his outstretched hand, he helped you down off the stool.

“Rio…”

Piercing light flickered in the darkness, pulling you from the memory that played itself in your dreams. Your hand snatched the vibrating phone from the table. Your orbs squinted to read the screen, teeth clenching in frustration.

Fucking Rio, I can’t even get away from him in my sleep. Stupid-handsome-asshole.

With a single tap, the phone rested on DND. You closed off from the world to find a peaceful slumber, only to wake from another dream. Throwing the covers back, you startled, feeling the bed dip. His cologne wafted through the air, and your eyes connected.

“Why all the tossing and turning, amor? Hmm,” he rasped, hand trailing up your arm. His warm palm cradled the side of your neck, rubbing away some of the tension.

“Sorry, did my restlessness wake you?”

“No, querida. I’ve been up taking care of some things.”

“Same old Miguel. Everything business. Still don’t sleep much, huh?”

His eyes crinkled with a small smile, but you could also see sadness. It’s the same unhappiness that’s always lingered, only now accompanied by sparks of anger and resentment. Your mind replayed his words in the elevator.

Where’s your wife, Miguel?

She had other plans tonight.

The slightest mention of her had nearly sent his mood spiraling. You weren’t privy to what was happening in his marriage but didn’t want to pry. He would only reverse card uno your ass. Miguel would insist that you vent about your own life and frustrations.

“Thank you for taking the couch,” you nibbled at your lip.

There was a hint of frustration and guilt lingering in your chest. Not being able to sleep without dreaming of Rio left you feeling conflicted. Part of you wanted to say to hell with loyalty. Being in such a vulnerable state had you craving to be held and cuddled, but regardless of circumstance, the two of you were very much married. Concern swam in the pools of his eyes. Miguel sensed the ongoing dilemma in your head, and his fingers gently cupped your chin.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s all this,” he asked, tugging the lip between your teeth. “Tell me what you need.”

“I can’t,” you sighed.

“You can, and you will. Look at me,” he insisted as your eyes locked.

“Anything you ask me. It won’t leave this room. You need me to hold you until sleep takes over, amor?”

Unable to verbally say it, you gave him a slight head nod. Removing his tie, watch, and shoes, he made it over to the opposite side of the bed. Miguel got right to it, not giving you time to overthink it. He pulled you into his chest, arms engulfing you in a tight hug.

“Were you having nightmares, cariño?”

“No, just happy memories reminding me of the present painful ones,” you replied, voice filling with unshed tears.

“You want to talk about it?”

Silence filled the room as Miguel continued, “We don’t have to ta-.”

His sentence cut short as he felt the tremors and your head burrowed into his side. Miguel’s heart cracked at the sound of the sobs falling from your lips. His arms pulled you further into him until there was no space left, and the palm of his hand rubbed at your head.

“Shhh, you’re okay. I’m here,” he cooed, leaving soft kisses on the crown of your head.

Miguel continued to whisper calming words. You cried until your head pounded, and sleep took over.

Hope you all enjoyed that little peek into how Rio pulled up on your girl for the first time. He saw something he liked, and he had to have you🥰. We’ll just call this a vague moment of insight into upcoming events...if that makes sense 😆. If you enjoyed please be sure to hit the love button, comment, and reblog. Spread the love, my babies.

Divider: @firefly-graphics

Tags:

@darqchilddaydreamz @4everbrookemarie @astoldbychae @percosim @1andonlytashae @nightlywords7 @amorestevens @crimsonheart01 @rio-reid-whoreee @mrsmontanalol @igigix @keaboyd21 @blowmymbackout @uhlxis @abcdestinyyyy @hihellogoodbyebruh @sunshine-flower @lemmewritesomeish @catxo @naughtyslashers @realhotgurlshit @peaches007 @gardenof-venus @aizawash0e @minton131 @novaniskye @90sisthenew80s @cjricks98 @skyesthebomb @myownworstenemydw @lifeofthelovelyone @tashawar @gabbywontlose @kayla1blog @skelly-baby @adg1115 @blessedboo @fandomcitysstuff @drinaj @being-worthy @sxkxna @whore4-horror @elliesrealgf @pimpsdontcryy @batgurl42 @gotbeefbitch-blog @thedopestblackgirl @nunya7394 @midnightheat @pixieyosi @imjustheretoreads-blog

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whumpback-wail · 5 months

Text

05 - Divulgence

Trial by Fire (Wriothesley x Reader) - TW/CW in masterlist

[<<< previous chapter] • [masterlist] • [next chapter >>>]

IMPORTANT NOTICE: Reminder that this fanfic contains dark and mature themes. The TW/CW are in the masterlist and are constantly updated as I add each chapter. Please reread the warnings, proceed only after you reread the warnings. If you don't like/can't handle the topics mentioned in the TW/CW, please DO NOT read. This work is 100000% fictional and any similarities to real life people and events are purely coincidental, and none of the characters (especially the villains) are real. Again, please DO NOT read if you are not certain you can handle these topics or are in a bad place mentally. Minors are strictly forbidden. I only create content, and I am not responsible for your personal content preference and moderation.

They say being pregnant means everyday is another day closer to meeting the love of your life. One anticipates meeting the fruit of their love with their spouse, looking forward to the bright sunshine days of taking care of that precious someone.

(y/n) did not understand that feeling. In fact she felt the exact opposite, as she slid down the walls of the bathroom, legs too weak to support her own weight. The pregnancy stick in her hand fell to the floor, bouncing to a stop face up, showing the positive sign. Why does this happen to her? What did she ever do to deserve this?

She has to call nurse Komaki, she will know what to do. The thing was still a cell after all, with no soul not consciousness, it should be perfectly fine. It would be so much more cruel to keep the innocent being and let it be born, only for them to later be neglected and unloved. No child deserves that. Not even one born from being forced into her womb by the person she despised the most.

It was nearing lunch, and she knew her fiancé would be back by then, he always makes time to have lunch with her. She has to tell nurse Komaki fast.

(y/n) took several deep breaths to calm herself, and then slowly got up to her bed again, pressing the call button.

A few moments later, she heard the door open.

"Nurse Komaki, I-" (y/n) turned her head, and came face to face with a different nurse altogether. It was not Komaki.

"I'm sorry, nurse Komaki is away right now, her shift will start later tonight. Is there anything I can help you with, miss (y/n)?"

(y/n) blinked back her tears, "n-no. It's okay, nothing too serious."

The nurse stood there, contemplating. "Are you sure miss?"

(y/n) nodded, racking her brain to think of an excuse or anything to justify calling a nurse to her room for nothing. "oh umm… may I have some water please?"

"Sure. It will be delivered here in a moment. Don't hesitate to call me if there's anything else that you need, okay?"

(y/n) hummed and thanked her. She watched as the nurse exit her room. She wanted Komaki, she's the only nurse (y/n) trusted at this moment, especially with something like this.

It wasn't long until the water is delivered to her room, which arrived at about the same time as Wriothesley.

He greeted her with a smile. It normally made her feel safe and loved, but right now, (y/n)'s heart sank to her stomach

"Hey, how's my sunshine doing?"

He leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. Wriothesley knew he should be careful around her, as her therapist had suggested to him, at least until she is less jumpy and can initiate affectionate gestures more. So far she's taking his affections very well, which made him happy about her progress.

"As usual," (y/n) forced a smile, briefly looking into his eyes before quickly averting her gaze back to her hands. She picked at a loose string on her blanket.

Speak more, he will notice something is off.

"The healers were a great help to my physical injuries. But they kept stopping after a little while, saying I should rest up because the sped up healing is also draining my energy."

Wriothesley nodded, "I was told, yeah. How's your stomach? Got anything you're craving to eat?"

(y/n) froze. "What?" She managed to not stammer, but her voice cracked as her heart was suddenly frozen with fear. Did he find out? How did he know-

"Just wondering how your stomach felt." Wriothesley tilted his head, confused. It was a small quirk she had found endearing.

"The doctors did say you can only eat soft food for a while to avoid refeeding syndrome, but yesterday you were finally allowed to start eating bread and some fowl. Also because you threw up yesterday."

"Oh…" (y/n) felt stupid, "it's alright now, although I don't really feel like eating."

Wriothesley watched her for a moment. He has always been someone perceptive, that's how he knew who to trust and who to avoid in meropide while still serving his sentence, and that's how he could rise through the ranks and become the duke, despite his humble beginnings. At that moment, something is off about his fiancée.

“Darling are you okay?” he took her hand in his, his other hand brushing loose strands of her hair behind her ear, “I feel like you have something weighing your mind. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

For a moment, (y/n) wavered. Is it really okay to tell him about her pregnancy? She knew Wriothesley wouldn’t blame her, after all, what happened was not something she wanted, far from it. So technically it’s not her fault right? But a small nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her to just keep it to herself for now. There were too many what ifs. It’s safer to just keep quiet about it and deal with it under wraps. She’ll tell him, of course she will, but not now.

“I’m fine,” she forced herself to look into his eyes, a small smile on her lips. “Just wondering how much longer I have to stay cooped up in here.”

Lunch went well with Wriothesley, he told her about his day. He went back to the Fortress of Meropide for a while, to keep an eye on how things are going there, before coming over to her for lunch. After this he planned to proceed with investigations, and perhaps wrap things up early so he could spend more time with her after dinner.

(y/n) managed to eat a little more, despite the anxiety induced nausea, at least enough to not make her look suspicious.

Once lunch was over, Wriothesley gave her another peck on the forehead and left to continue with investigations, with promises of taking (y/n) to the gardens near the hospital once the doctors gave her the clear, and perhaps visit Navia and Neuvilette, as the two are also her friend, as much as they are to him. He wanted more than anything to stay with her the whole time she recovered, but seeing how she often flinched if he moved a little too quickly, or how her eyes often went blank as if she was not really there, he knew he had to do something about it. The therapist assigned to her told him that she may need some time to process through the trauma, and that it was natural that she would be jumpy for the time being, and would need some space too, as stifling her would also be bad for her mental wellbeing.

He already discussed all the options, and what’s best for (y/n). Once (y/n) has recovered some more physically, and once she is ready, he would take her home and nurse her back to health. He would appoint someone else as the Duke of Meropide if that was needed to get him more time off. Right now, he has something else to do.

He did not tell her that he would be going back to the facility, specifically the hidden passage they found inside her cell. Chlorinde had done a great job in capturing the man, living up to her title of champion duelist.

The entrance was so well hidden in the room, so much so that they had to get Aether to use his elemental sight to find. They had followed the hidden maze-like pathway in the room (y/n) was kept in, and it had led them to an underground base, perhaps their real base of operations. Several men were captured, including Dougier, they seem to work directly with Arderne who unfortunately was nowhere in sight. They were all taken into custody. Wriothesley tensed as he remembered their findings.

"Wriothesley you might want to see this." He turned his head towards Neuvilette who a moment ago was rummaging through papers on a desk. The Iudex now held out a file towards him, his face grim.

The Duke took the file and opened it. There were more papers, this time it contained more detailed reports of experiments done to the people. He ruffled through the pages, skimming the words for one specific name. He found it.

Experiment Clearance Form

Title: Vision Trial Variation 2

Principal Investigator: Il Dottore

Assistant: Arderne

Subject: 1102 a.k.a. (y/n)

Vision: Pyro

This form acknowledges the approval of the experiment titled "Vision Trial Variation 2" conducted by Arderne. The experiment aims to implement the theory of vision injections on humans, followed by observation to discover the effects.

The experiment poses high risks to participants. Potential risks include memory loss, increased body temperatures, seizures, and the possibility of death. Steps have been taken to mitigate these risks. Subject is physically weakened before the start to lower the chances of the body rejecting the injection, thus increasing the success rate of this experiment. On the occasion that this experiment would fail, the study will move on to Vision Trial Variation 3, and the current subject will be discarded.

Fuck.

“Did we find any traces of Arderne?” Wriothesley’s voice dropped several octaves, Neuvilette knew what this meant.

“There are none so far,” he placed a reassuring hand on Wriothesley, “But we do have Dougier now, and we are taking him and the others to custody. We can get more information out of them-”

Wriothesley shook him off and landed a harsh kick on a table to the side, immediately breaking it. He wanted to murder them all, especially that bastard Dottore. He had heard rumours of him doing crazy experiments, but to think it happened right here in Fontaine, with his fiancee? His breaths were shaky with barely controlled rage.

“Wriothesley, I understand how frustrating this is. (y/n) is also my dear friend.” Neuvilette spoke in the most soothing tone he could muster up. “Trust me, I am just as upset as you are in this, but we have to keep a level head. For (y/n)’s sake and all the victims that were forced into this.”

They were deep underground, had they been up on the surface, they would see heavy rain mixed with snow, and thunderstorms raging outside, the weather mirroring the Iudex’s inner turmoil on the entire situation.

• • •

(y/n) wondered if she was dead or dreaming the moment she saw herself on the familiar bed of her room in the facility. Dr Arderne was standing at the foot of her bed reading through the information on his clipboard, while Dougier was securing her arms and legs with restraints.

She had been too weak to resist, having been starved for days without food, the only nutrition she got was through her IV drip and glasses of suspiciously blue coloured water, which she had no choice but to drink.

"Good morning 1102, ready for the next dose? Arderne readied a syringe. It was filled with shimmery red liquid, the glow seemed to pulse the closer it gets to her.

"F-Fuck you Arderne." (y/n) managed to mumble, making Dougier snicker.

Arderne held (y/n)'s arm and injected the contents of the syringe into her. At first it felt like nothing, but gradually she could feel it start to burn, as if fire was coursing through her veins.

It wasn't long until the burning sensation started to feel unbearable. Hot white pain spreads from the point of injection to all over her body. She bit her tongue, trying not to scream, she will not give them the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. She won't-

(y/n) jolted awake, her breaths heavy and ragged and her heart was pounding in her chest. Fuck.

It was a dream. She was safe. It was just a dream.

The room she was in, despite being a hospital room, it was completely different from the facility, with flowers her friends and fiancé got for her, and the comforting weight of her big blubberbeast plushie that Wriothesley brought from their bed at home. She hugged the plush tightly and pressed her nose to its soft fur. It smelled just like Wriothesley, as he had sprayed his cologne all over it, something she often did even before… all this.

(y/n) tried to remember what her therapist had told her.

My name is (y/n), I am at the Fontaine hospital, guarded by the Spina di Rosula, Wriothesley stays with me during the night, and stops by for lunch. I am safe, and I am recovering.

Her therapist told her that her dreams would eventually go away as her mind heals, but how long will that take?

Glancing at the clock, she noticed it was still early, too early for Wriothesley to come back from his investigation. He had left a book with her some days ago, which she picked up and started to read, trying to get her mind off things.

As she reached for the book on her night stand, suddenly (y/n) felt the familiar tingle in her hands, running all the way up her arms. It was warm and welcoming, it felt like home. A split second later, the book she was reaching for suddenly burst into flames.

• • •

Wriothesley watched Neuvilette from behind the one way glass as the latter asked Dougier more and more questions. The Iudex had presented all the evidence they found on the table. Laying it all out for Dougier as he asked question after question that Dougier only gave vague answers to, sometimes only responding with chuckles. The scum was a goner, his mind seemingly corrupted by the facility.

He wanted to be the one who personally interrogates the vile man, but Neuvilette had forbidden him from entering, for fear of what Wriothesley would do to the suspect. Still, watching from behind the glass was frustrating, he wished Neuvilette would let them do interrogations in Meropide, where it was outside Fontaine’s jurisdiction, so they could use other means to get information.

“This is going nowhere,” Wriothesley mumbled and pushed open the door leading into the interrogation room. Fuck the consequences, he’ll probably just get an earful from Neuvilette later.

At the sight of Wriothesley, Dougier’s eyes lit up in a nasty way that the Duke did not like at all. “Ah your Grace, here to play the bad cop now?”

“Seeing how you’re going nowhere with Neuvilette, I might as well do.”

Wriothesley grabbed the chair at the corner of the room and dragged it over to sit beside Neuvilette, who was glancing at Wriothesley cautiously.

“So do you feel like talking now Dougier? I thought you were a changed man after you were released.”

Dougier only scoffed, “then I had you fooled. You have no idea what kind of grudge I hold against you, Wriothesley. You ruined the community I built in Meropide.”

“Community? You call that community? You basically started a cult, and no one liked being in there.” Wriothesley scowled.

“Nevertheless,” Dougier continued, “I had my revenge. You should have heard how much (y/n) screamed when Arderne injected her vision into her.”

Wriothesley froze. He knew about what happened but hearing it from Dougier was different from reading it on the files they found.

Dougier, seeing the change in Wriothesley’s demeanour, continued. “She was a brave one, that bitch. Endured hours upon hours of our treatment, sometimes without anaesthesia. And that was after we put her in solitary confinement. We were wrong thinking we broke her spirit already, and yet she’s still fighting.”

"And you did this to all the people in the Vision Trials?" Neuvilette asked, the pen in his hand moving to take notes.

Dougier ignored him, his eyes still glued on Wriothesley's.

"How can we reverse the vision injections?" Wriothesley asked, trying to keep his breathing steady. He knew he couldn't try anything with Neuvilette around.

"You'll have to ask Arderne for that," Dougier leaned back on his chair, "but all I know is while (y/n) is still alive, she's a failure. She had her vision inside her yet it never seemed to work, not even when we prompted her."

"What do you mean prompted her?" Neuvilette asked, and this time, Dougier turned his eyes to him..

"Oh we threatened her, and when it didn't work, beat her, did whatever to make her call on her pyro element and use the vision in her. That never seemed to work."

Wriothesley and Neuvilette were tense, the former had his fists clenched so hard.

"That was when I took her to the basement, the cold weather should prompt the vision to at least keep her warm." Dougier turned to Wriothesley, a deranged look danced in his eyes as he smiled at him.

"I can see why you like 1102. She was so brave. She never once begged or called out for you even with all the beatings, that is, until I put my cock inside her-”

Suddenly Dougier was on the ground. Wriothesley had moved so fast Neuvilette barely registered him vaulting over the table and landing a fist on Dougier's face. He managed to hammer down his fists onto Dougier some more before he felt multiple hands pull him backwards off Dougier, who was unconscious in a bloodied mess.

"GET OFF ME." He yelled at the gardemeks who held him back, but Neuvilette soon stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Dougier who was being tended to by medics.

"Wriothesley," his voice was stern, "the punching can wait until after his sentence. If he is sentenced back to Meropide then it is under your jurisdiction."

Wriothesley was breathing heavily, "he… he also… Archons, (y/n)..."

"I already let you land several hits on him" Neuvilette placed a hand on his shoulder, "but we need him alive for more information on the case, and for his trials."

Wriothesley watched, seething with rage as Dougier was taken away by the medics for further treatment. He wanted the scum to suffer as much as, if not more than (y/n). How could anyone do this to her?

Neuvilette sighed and motioned for the gardemeks to release Wriothesley, "I think it's best if you go visit (y/n) for now. I think you two need to talk."

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(;;;*_*)--c<ノ°益°)ノ _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):_

A/N

…now I'm sad... why do I do this to myself :") wrote this while hugging my blåhaj because I needed that warm shorky embrace.

(Tuna says hi :D and hopes everyone is okay after reading this)

I apologize for the late update, some parts of the chapter had to be rewritten to make more sense, but in the end it became longer than I planned (and I had to cut it here and continue next chapter)

Thanks for sticking around this long, I hope the update hurt you all as much as it did for me to write :"))) please stay safe and take care, and hug your pets/plushies for me 💕

P.s. I’m not sure how to write a proper experiment clearance form TwT I hope that wasn’t too off.

Taglist: @almosteggs @quuela @tempest1art @yamanaka13-blog @arseneumbra @kimmeaahh @cottonfluffs @randomidk-123 @applejayee @keigo-hawks-takami-simp @mechanicalbeat1 @aribae14 @bforbiblio @supernerdycookietrashblrr @furblrwurblr @chifuyus-kitty @bunnibabe @the-real-fandom-person

#wriothesley x reader #whump #anime whump #whump writing #whump fanfic #wriothesley #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley angst #wriothesley x reader angst #hurt/comfort

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evansbby · 1 year

Text

𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | dark!Ari Levinson x innocent!reader, dark!Steve Rogers x innocent!reader, dark!Curtis Everett x innocent!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | dark, smut, noncon, dubcon, foursome, daddy!kink, oral, anal, physical violence, slapping, mention of alcohol and drugs, insertion of objects, spitting, toys, degradation, dumbification, spanking, very very strongly misogynistic, domesticity kink, slight petplay, bullying, Ari, Curtis and especially Steve being very mean, adultery/cheating, dacryphilia, collars, leashes, free use, sharing is caring.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Your husband Ari invites his friends Steve and Curtis for poker night. You knew they’d be sharing a few drinks together - what you don’t know is that they plan on sharing you too.

𝐀/𝐍 | This work includes MAJOR misogyny and degradation. The views of these characters do not reflect my own. Please heed warnings and don’t read if this isn’t your cup of tea. Otherwise, enjoy!

“Honey, where the hell are those drinks?” Ari’s voice is loud, booming and dripping with authority as it carries from the living room into the kitchen. Exhaling slowly a few times to steady your hand, you drop the final few ice cubes into your husband’s glass of whiskey, giving the drink a gentle stir before placing it on the tray next to the scotch and the beer.

“Sure, she’s a real looker, but she’s a bit slow.” You hear your husband explain to his friends. “I don’t worry, though, because what she lacks for in brains, she makes up for in other areas.”

“I’d definitely prefer a broad who’s dumb as bricks. I’d say it makes ‘em hotter.” One of his friends responds – you’re too focused on making sure you have their drinks exactly right to notice who it is that’s spoken.

Their laughter echoes and bounces off the walls of the living room, your husband’s the loudest of all.

Your parents had warned you against Ari Levinson. A business tycoon of his magnitude rocking up in your small town? He’d bought up all the small businesses, bulldozed down the local mall and played a hand in more than a handful of people being left unemployed – including both your parents. Your dad called him a ruthless, big city snob. Your mom called him trouble with a capital T. But you called him your husband.

Or daddy.

“She’s a bit on the younger side.” You hear another one of your husband’s friends – Steve Rogers, you think – comment, “You sure she knows what she’s doing?”

“She’ll manage.” Ari sounds smooth and unperturbed, “I’ve got her trained. And she’s well aware of what’ll happen if she messes up.”

You swallow, tray now gripped tightly in your hands as you make your way out of the kitchen.

Ari was charming and friendly when you’d first met him, and he’d swept you off your feet instantly. The naïve, small-town waitress seduced through his sugary sweet words and expensive gifts. The fact that he was so much older than you didn’t seem to matter, not when he made you feel sparks across your body and see stars behind your eyes.

You were married within three weeks of knowing him.

“I hope she does mess up.” Course, almost sadistic laugher echoes from the living room. Curtis. Ari’s other friend. “I’d love to stick around to witness the repercussions.”

You cringe at his insinuation. You know Curtis Everett is married. You also know he has a wild reputation for being a regular at both the town’s strip club and the local whorehouse. What he does for a living is unclear to you – Ari never discusses things like that with you – but he hangs around in the same circles as your husband and drives a nice car, so you assume he must have a lot of money.

“You ever used your belt on her, Levinson?” Steve asks casually. There’s a darkness to Steve Rogers that you can’t quite pinpoint. An air of mystery that no one in town seems to be able to crack – least of all you. All you know is that he’s one of Ari’s business partners, he’s divorced, and he rides a motorbike from time to time.

Your husband smirks, “Wouldn’t you like to know, you sadistic fuck.”

They know you’ve entered the living room, slowly making your way towards them whilst balancing the tray of drinks, yet they still talk about you like you’re not there. But you still feel nervous, despite none of the three men bothering to tear their gazes away from their game of poker to even spare you a glance.

Curtis is nearest to you, so you approach him first, silently holding out the tray of drinks just like Ari has taught you to do with every guest that’s come to visit in the past. And he looks up, head buzzed but facial hair dark and thick as ever. Beard not as thick as Ari’s, but still thick enough. Ocean blue eyes sparkling with intensity, he grabs his beer from the tray, taking a long swig while maintaining eye contact with you.

“That’s a pretty dress you got on, sweetheart.” Curtis leers, his gaze stuck on your cleavage peaking out past the neckline of your dress. After marrying you, Ari made sure you had a wardrobe full of cute dresses and skirts to wear just for him. All pastel and flowery and girly to match his tastes – which Curtis clearly seems to share.

You hesitate, glancing back at Ari with your lip tucked between your teeth. Curtis’ gaze is hungry and wolfish, taking advantage of the close proximity between the two of you. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand, being stared at like this. As if you’re an exhibit inside a zoo enclosure, but he’s the animal circling you from the outside.

“Don’t be rude, honey. Tell him thank you.” Your husband’s order is clear and commanding.

“Th-Thank you, Mr. Everett.” Never first names, your husband had told you that his friends – like Ari himself – were not your equals.

You move on to Steve next. He’s sat on the couch, or more like spread out on the couch because he’s taking up more than half the space. Not even sparing you a single glance when you bend down so the tray is level with him, he grabs his scotch and takes a long, calculated sip. A single strand of his dirty blonde hair falls over his forehead. He’s got long hair just like Ari, but where Ari’s is darker and wilder, Steve’s dirty blonde mane is almost always perfectly styled.

“She’s shaking like a scared little kitten.” Steve comments, and he’s looking at you now. Or rather, your body – his blue eyes drinking in all your curves whilst he still has yet to acknowledge you. But sure enough – he’s right. The tray in your hands is shaking despite your many efforts to calm your own nerves. There’s just something… fearsome about the blond sat in front of you. As if one wrong move on your part and he’ll eat you alive…

Curtis grins, “I think she’s scared of you, Rogers.”

Steve is unamused, “I could give her a good reason to be scared.”

You gulp, slowly straightening up and making your way over to Ari, who’s sat on his leather armchair. Handing your husband his whiskey, you take your seat on his knee – your designated place for whenever you guys have company. Very early on in your marriage, Ari had told you that good little wives sit on their husbands’ laps because the couches and chairs were reserved for the men.

His arm encircles around your waist, pulling you close and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. The act of affection relaxes you, tenseness evaporating from your limbs as you settle down against your husband. In his lap you feel so tiny; he’s just so big – they all are. All three of them don’t look an inch below 6’5, and it only adds to the intimidation you feel.

Their poker game resumes, and you try to make sense of it in your head but the truth is you have no idea what’s going on. You never understood the rules of poker, and Ari had just laughed when, in the past, you’d asked him to explain the game to you. “Poker is a men’s game.” He’d said wisely, “Little girls like you just need to sit tight and look pretty, so don’t you worry your dumb little head over it.”

“My wife’s being a fucking bitch.” Curtis breaks the silence with a drawl, cigarette waving in one hand and beer bottle in the other, “Got herself these progressive friends, telling her she doesn’t have to be in the kitchen all the time. Now suddenly she wants to go out for fucking girls’ night – as if she doesn’t have four of my fucking kids to be taking care of.”

Steve snorts, not even looking up from his cards, “You scared you might run into her at the strip club?”

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Curtis exhales and the smoke billows out past his pink lips slowly, his blue eyes looking straight at you through the grey mist. “I don’t give a shit if I do. Maybe if she knew I was getting pleasure elsewhere, she’d try harder in the bedroom. Fuckin’ bitch.”

“Divorce her. That’s what I did when my broad got too big for her boots.” The blond finally looks up from his deck of cards, his icy blue eyes – like Curtis’ – drinking you in with their intense gaze. “Now Levinson’s got the right idea. Got himself a pretty young thing who doesn’t dare to even breathe unless he tells her to.”

Ari smirks, his thick fingers tracing shapes on your bare thigh, “You got that right. My little angel knows exactly where her place is, don’t you, baby?”

Of course, you know your place. You’d been happy to grant Ari full control of your life from the moment you had met him. He was just so handsome, so sweet, so charming – with seemingly endless amounts of money and praise that he had no problem spending on you. In your naïve eyes, he seemed like a God. And he still does, so you nod.

“Yes, Ari. I know my place.”

“Ari? Is that what she calls you?” Steve’s remark is quick and biting.

Your husband sighs, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. His touch is soft but his gaze hardens, and he doesn’t even have to say anything. His disapproval is evident in the look he gives you, and it makes your heart sink.

The rule is to only call Ari “daddy” when you’re inside the house. But he’s never made you do it when the two of you have company over. The thought of calling him that in front of Curtis and Steve makes your heart beat faster and heat rise to your cheeks. But the possibility of disobeying Ari makes you feel almost sick to your stomach.

“Sorry, I meant daddy. I know my place, daddy.” You correct yourself, earning a soft kiss on your lips from your husband, the simple gesture making you glow inwardly. It’s like your body is now wired to function on his approval. You try not to think about the fact that his friends are right there, because that might make you spontaneously combust with embarrassment.

“Fuckin’ newlyweds,” Curtis growls as he watches you and Ari continue to kiss. He suddenly slams his beer bottle on the coffee table, the loud thud making you jump. “Hey sweetie, get me another beer.”

No please, no thank you. But you scamper to obey anyways – you already know your night’s going to be spent going back and forth from kitchen to living room as you fetch drinks for them. You’re barely on your feet when Ari’s hand smacks your ass hard, the lewd sound echoing across the room along with the squeak of surprise that leaves your mouth.

The men laugh and you scurry out of the room quickly. “Where the hell did you find her, Levinson? She’s shyer than a fuckin’ mouse!” Curtis’ voice booms.

Inside the kitchen and away from their burning gazes, you allow yourself to exhale slowly. You may be overthinking it, but something seems off about tonight. It’s in the way that all three men are looking at you – your husband included. And the dress Ari chose for you is shorter than usual, which doesn’t help much with the staring. They’re treating you like an object, and you honestly don’t know how to feel about that.

“You think she got lost in there?” Steve’s voice is loud enough to carry through the walls and into the kitchen. You sigh, grabbing another bottle of beer from the fridge and making your way back out, being sure to tug your tiny dress down before you return.

“Here you are, Mr. Everett.” You say politely, breath hitching in your throat when his hand brushes against yours as he takes the beer from you.

“At least some women still remember their manners,” The buzzcut-haired man murmurs, “Fuckin’ feminists, ruining this world for the rest of us. You’re still good though, sweetie. Your daddy trained you well, huh?”

“Yes, Mr. Everett.” You disagree with just about everything he’s saying, but you have to keep that to yourself.

It’s hard to not be intimidated when all three men seem to have their eyes glued on you; you can feel their gazes again as you make your way back over to Ari. You’re about to sink back down on his lap when he raises a hand, the simple action making you freeze.

“Why don’t you sit by daddy’s feet for a little while, angel?”

He says it so sweetly, almost like he’s requesting you to do a small favour for him. But the edge in his tone, that unmistakable tinge of darkness dancing around his words can’t be ignored. It’s an order, cleverly disguised as a question although he has no reason to disguise it. But by his feet? On the floor?

You swallow harshly, suddenly remembering your parents’ distressed words of warning when you’d broken the news that you and Ari had eloped: “That man looks at you like you’re a piece of meat. You need to get out while you still can, he doesn’t respect you and he never will.” But you love him. You’re so in love with him that it hurts to disobey him, to upset him in any way, shape or form.

“Is she hard of hearing or something?” Steve’s deep baritone makes you jump inadvertently, not a note of sympathy in his words. “Maybe she isn’t as well trained as you say she is, Levinson. Hey sweetheart,” He clicks his teeth like he’s beckoning a dog, “Are you deaf or just plain dumb?”

Bristling at Steve’s stark meanness, you waste no more time in sinking down to your knees next to Ari’s feet, hands clasped neatly over your lap and chin jutted upwards to look at your husband. And Ari seems cool and collected as ever, taking another long gulp of his whiskey. He doesn’t even look your way, but his hand pats the top of your head – the action bringing you both embarrassment and comfort at the same time.

“To think she asked for a puppy for Christmas.” Ari says offhandedly, “I told her I didn’t have time to take care of two pets.” Again, the men laugh crudely, and you’re left feeling more than a little dejected. But Ari pushes the back of your head forward, making you rest your cheek on his thigh with his fingers raking through your hair and you relax once more.

“Speaking of dumb,” Curtis pipes up as they continue to play poker, “Ransom’s got a new bitch and she’s dumb as hell. Saw her at the club with him the other night, he had her dressed looking like a fuckin’ whore.” He smirks, “The things that girl would do for a line of crack.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Steve scoffs.

“Things you can’t even dream of, grandpa.” Curtis slaps his knee and barks out a laugh, “How long’s it been since you got your rocks off, huh?”

The blond shrugs, “At least I’m not a walking STD.”

You want to wrinkle your nose at their conversation but you know that wouldn’t be a good idea. But the way they speak about women is so crass, so dehumanising – it’s almost scary. The only thing keeping you calm right now is Ari’s heavy, warm hand as it strokes the top of your head continuously as if you’re his pet.

“My angel does everything Ransom’s crackwhore does, except she does it for free.” Ari interjects, a satisfied smirk painted on his face.

Curtis’ eyebrow cocks up in interest, and even Steve puts his drink down.

“Yeah? Sweetie, are you a little freak in the sheets?” Curtis asks as he leans forward to toss what’s left of his cigarette into the crystal ashtray that’s on the coffee table.

You immediately look up at Ari, who is now scratching the space behind your ear in a way that really does make you feel like you’re some kind of puppy. Your husband sighs, “Answer him, angel. And don’t look at me like that again. You speak when you’re spoken to, no ifs or buts. Got it?”

“Y-Yes, daddy.” You flinch at his stern tone before turning to look at Curtis. “I… I don’t know, Mr. Everett.”

A snort sounds past Steve’s lips, “She’s a little airhead, isn’t she? Gotta find me one of those. Hey, sweetheart, you ever let your daddy spank you? Fuck you all rough, take it up the ass for him?”

Eyes wide and blood running cold, you can feel the embarrassment coursing through your veins at the blonde’s blunt questions. But the sting of Ari’s disapproval and the threat of disobeying him has you stumbling over an answer:

“Y-Yes, Mr. Rogers. Daddy has done all of that to me.” And more.

Curtis whistles lowly, “Damn, sweetie, wish I had you sitting pretty in my bedroom instead of my cunt wife.”

You let out a soft gasp, immediately waiting with baited breath for Ari to blow up. In the short time you had been together, your husband was always very possessive of you. From giving dirty looks to random men who even dared to look at you, to resorting to violence any time another man tried to talk to you.

But the rules are different for his friends, clearly, because Ari doesn’t move a muscle, coolly downing his whiskey before setting the glass on the crystal coffee table. You almost mewl sadly when his hand stops stroking your head and he stands up.

“I forgot something upstairs,” He says vaguely as he looks down at you, “Honey, can I trust you to look after and entertain my friends while I go upstairs and get it?”

Again, it’s not a question. And the idea of being alone downstairs with Curtis and Steve without the comforting and protective presence of your husband is daunting to say the least. But it’s not like you can say no. You knew the day you married Ari that the word ‘no’ was no longer in your vocabulary.

“Y-Yes, daddy.” You nod subserviently, and your husband grins almost wolfishly. And there’s something about the expression on his face, the slight smirk on his pink lips and the way his tanned skin flushes in excitement – he’s been cool as a cucumber all evening but now? It’s as if he’s got something up his sleeve, and a glance at his friends shows they share the same dark sparkle in their eyes too.

But you don’t have time to ponder over anything, because the next thing you know you’re being hauled up onto your feet, a pained yelp escaping your lips as Ari yanks you upwards with a death grip on your hair.

“You hear that, guys? She said she’d entertain you. Who wants her first?”

It’s like everything’s happening lightning quick – Ari picking you up easily, and you squealing because your dress rides up and you’re pretty sure your panties are visible for a split second before you tug it back down. But that turns out to be the least of your worries because the next thing you know, your husband has unceremoniously dumped you into Steve’s lap.

Like a ragdoll.

“Hey, hey, calm down, sweetheart.” Steve immediately wraps his arms around your waist to stop you from flailing. His words drip with condescension and faux-comfort, and it feels almost alien to be in his arms. You’ve never been held like this by a man apart from your husband, and although Steve is so similar to Ari in build and looks – he’s still not your husband.

“Ari?” You squeak, but the only response you get is the sound of all three men laughing – a sound that you’ve been hearing all night.

“Hush, little baby.” Curtis mocks, reaching out to pull your cheek as if you really are a little baby, “Me and Mr. Rogers, we can be your daddies too, you know? Your daddy said it was okay.”

Your gaze trails dejectedly after Ari, or rather Ari’s back, as you watch him leave the room. And now you’re left with two pairs of steely blue eyes that are so like your husband’s yet so different in so many ways.

“Hand her over,” Curtis demands Steve almost immediately, “God knows I need her little body against me right now. I’m harder than a fucking rock, watching this little sweetheart fetch me beers all night.” He tries to yank you by your arm, but the blonde’s grip on you only tightens, and the younger man frowns, “Give her over, Rogers. She likes me better than you, anyways. Don’t you, sweetie?”

Well, he’s certainly nicer than Steve – but you don’t particularly like either of them right now. And you’re too panicked to answer him. How could Ari leave you alone with these two? And why would he throw you on Steve’s lap as if you were expected to…

Entertain him.

“A little girl like her craves the firm hand of an older man.” Steve responds smoothly, his hand resting on your bare thigh and giving it a soft squeeze that has you practically panting. No other man apart from Ari has touched you like this, and you can feel something so hard underneath you. The blond grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Don’t you, sweetheart? You like men twice your age best, don’t you? Gets your little pussy wet knowing you’re with a man old enough to be your dad?”

Curtis snorts, leaning back and lighting another cigarette, “Clearly. She married Levinson.”

That grabs your attention, and you find yourself shaking your head, “No, me and Ari are in love!”

You’re serious with your claim, and you don’t expect the two older men to burst out laughing. Loud, booming laughter that makes you even more uncomfortable than you already are. Beneath you, you can feel Steve’s hard crotch rubbing against your bottom as he laughs, his chest snug against your back as he holds you close with one muscular arm.

“Sure, sweetie, he loves you a lot. So much, in fact, that he’s willing to share you with his friends.”

You frown at Curtis’ statement – what does he mean by share?

You find out not two seconds later when Steve’s huge hands find the zipper of your dress, fingers deft and quick in unzipping you. Gasping, you try and wiggle away again but to no avail. “Mr. Rogers! Wh-What are you doing!?”

“Stay the fuck still,” Steve orders you, “Gotta get you out of this dress. As pretty as it is, I prefer my toys naked and compliant.” The straps of the dress are pushed down your shoulders, and Curtis joins in too, pulling the fabric down your body.

Blood rushes to your face, but for some reason your protests barely make it past your lips with how feeble they seem to be. Having both older men’s hands on you, pawing at you lewdly and practically shredding your dress to pieces with their impatience to get you naked; for some reason you feel your pussy throb.

No, no you can’t! You can’t betray Ari like this! So then why do you bite back a moan when Steve finally rips your dress in two, throwing the sorry-looking flowery rags to the floor before he cups both your breasts (Ari had told you not to wear a bra tonight), squeezing the soft flesh and rolling your hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Curtis’ rough and calloused palm immediately cups your pussy through your pale pink panties that Ari had chosen for you.

“Did you wet yourself, little girl? Or are you just excited?” He asks, grinding his palm down against your covered mound, making you gasp out loud. And you’ve always lacked willpower – Ari’s punished you enough times for it in the past – so you can’t help but buck your hips against Curtis’ hand, feeling the shame wash over you but not caring enough to stop.

“Look at her, humping against my hand already like a little slut – almost like she’s an eager little virgin or something. I guess Ari never taught her anything about self-control.” The buzzcut-haired man comments.

Steve smirks, still toying with your breasts as if he hasn’t touched a woman in years; squeezing them and pressing them together, holding you taut against him as you flail on top of him from all the mixed sensations you’re currently feeling.

“She’s all riled up from earlier. Pretty pussy’s all wet from fetching our drinks all night, or maybe it’s because she’s cheating on her husband. Hey! Stay the fuck still, you dumb fucking slut!” Steve growls suddenly, because Curtis chooses that moment to slap your panty-covered pussy hard, and your whole body convulses on top of Steve.

“Give her a drink, maybe it’ll calm her down.” Curtis nods to the glass of half-finished scotch on the coffee table, “It’s too bad Levinson didn’t want to drug her for this. Something about fucking a girl who’s half unconscious really gets me going.”

“No way. Half the fun is in the way she wails and fights back. Look at her now, conflicted and guilty because she’s feeling so good. She can’t even keep still, rutting like a little bunny in heat. Hey, sweetheart, have a sip.” Steve nudges his glass of scotch against your lips and you wrinkle your nose, eyes wide as saucers.

“Daddy doesn’t allow me to drink.”

“Daddy doesn’t allow me to drink,” Curtis mimics you cruelly, making his voice all high-pitched, “Sweetie, your daddy left us in charge of you, so drinking a little bit of alcohol is the least of your worries. Now open up.”

You part your lips, ready to take a timid sip except Steve has different plans – he tips the glass over your face, the burning liquid sloshing all down your front. It’s icy cold against your skin, dripping down your neck and over your chest. Curtis groans, immediately dipping his head down to lick the liquid off of you. And his rough tongue against your smooth skin has you crying out as he licks a tantalising trail between your breasts, before his mouth latches onto your nipple, suctioning hard and practically fitting your whole breast into his mouth, making a show of it and moaning lewdly the whole time.

“Dumb baby,” Steve tsk-tsks, “Look at the mess you made. Wasting all of daddy’s drink. Apologise, right now.”

You hiccup, mind slowly going empty with Curtis going to town on your tits with no sign of slowing down. And he’s still got one hand pressing between your legs, and that mixed with the feel of Steve’s hard dick poking your ass from underneath has your mind going empty at a faster rate than ever. You involuntarily buck up against Curtis’ hand again, your pussy weeping already and you know you’re embarrassingly wet, and –

SMACK.

The force of the slap across your face leaves you winded and shocked, as does the stinging pain now spreading across your cheek.

“When I tell you to apologise, you apologise.” Steve warns sternly, and Curtis finally looks up, licking his full pink lips at the site of you with your head whipped to the side.

You feel your breathing grow ragged and your lower lip wobble, the pain and embarrassment almost too much for you to handle. Salty tears well in your eyes, a natural response to the slap you’ve just received, and you sniffle softly.

Ari reappears at that moment, and your heart swells at the sight of your husband. He always makes you feel so safe, so familiar – unlike the man whose lap you’re currently splayed out over. Like a baby, you outstretch your arms towards him. “Daddy! H-He… He hit me!”

That proclamation has Curtis beside himself with laughter, “Hear that, Steve? She just tattled on you! Like a little girl running to her daddy.”

Ari crouches down till he’s level with your face, grabbing your chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, “He hit you, honey?”

“Yeah!”

“Where?”

Your hand is shaky as you point to your cheek which still throbs with pain. Steve hadn’t held back with his slap, and now he sits back with you still on his lap and a smile on his face, not an ounce of regret visible in his demeanour, as if he’s admiring his handiwork.

Ari’s own hand reaches out to stroke your stinging cheek softly, and you nuzzle into his palm, welcoming his touch. Steve is horrifically mean and Curtis is crass and rude, but your daddy is the best. He knows how to treat you right, knows exactly how to make you feel better with just a simple, soft touch –

SMACK.

You can hardly believe it when Ari strikes you across the face, the blow almost as hard as Steve’s, and now you burst out crying in earnest.

“Poor baby,” Curtis coos, lighting up his third cigarette of the hour and taking a long drag before puffing the smoke directly in your face. You cough harshly, his smoke filling your lungs and adding to your discomfort, but he doesn’t seem to care; “I guess that’s what you get for being a slut and cheating on your daddy with his two best friends.”

Ari strokes the side of your face where pain still blooms from his blow, and you find yourself flinching now, scared he’s going to hit you again. His eyes locked with your own tearful ones; and you don’t even notice the collar in his hand until he waves it in front of your face. In a voice beguiling, and so falsely gentle, he speaks as if he’s talking to a toddler: “Now honey, can you read what this collar says?”

Ari has made you wear plenty of collars in the past; you have your special pink one – the one with his initials on it as well as the words “daddy’s princess.” That one’s definitely your favourite. You also have a black one that says ‘daddy’s property’ which is nice too. But this collar in Ari’s hands, this one is new. It’s jet-black leather with silver studs, and a matching silver dog-tag that dangles from the front, glistening in the light with only one word inscribed on it:

Whore

You blubber softly, cheeks still stinging with pain and now a matching sting in your heart. What exactly is happening right now? You wonder to yourself as Ari fastens the collar around your neck while Steve holds you in place with a death grip.

“I asked you something, sweet girl. Did you read what the collar says?”

“Y-Yes, daddy.” You sniffle, “Says whore.”

“It does. Because that’s what you are for tonight.” Ari chuckles softly at the bewildered look on your face, stroking your cheek once more in time with Steve who is now running his hands through your hair. “Angel, you’re new to this whole marriage and relationships thing – so I understand that you’re too dumb to know how it works. But good little wives not only offer their services to their husbands, but to their husbands’ friends too. And that’s what you’ll be doing tonight.”

You feel like he’s dumped a bucket of ice water on your head, “B-But…But…”

“No, Angel. No ‘buts,’ remember?” Ari taps your cheek lightly as if to remind you of the pain his palm is capable of inflicting. “You don’t want to be like Curtis’ wife, do you? A dumb, wild broad who believes she can think for herself? No, that’s not you. You’re good and innocent and you’ll do exactly what daddy says, won’t you? Because men don’t like women who think they have any power in this world – it turns us off more than anything else. Do you want to turn me off, baby? Do you want to disappoint me?”

“No!” You cry, and you’d have reached out to wrap your arms around Ari’s neck if it weren’t for Steve holding you close to his own chest, his breath hot against the back of your neck, “No, daddy! Never wanna disappoint you! I’ll do wh-whatever you guys want me to do.”

Steve is unforgiving when he drops you on the floor, and you wince as you land painfully on your ass. “Be a good whore then.” He says bluntly, “Hands and knees. Lick my shoe.”

It’s not the first time that night that shock courses through your veins, but three pairs of blue eyes have now locked in on you, with hungry and expectant gazes that make you believe that you are the object that they want you to be, that they undoubtedly see you as. And so you gulp and get into position, naked and kneeling before the blond, his boots scuffed and slightly dirty as you stare at them from eye level.

“She’s got a great ass.” Curtis remarks crudely, the men casually falling back into conversation whilst you will yourself to part your lips, peak your tongue out and give Steve’s shoe a tentative lick. And then another. You stifle a soft gasp when you feel Curtis’ rough hand on your bottom, patting it as if you’re an animal at an auction, “If she was mine, I’d have her naked and crawling around on all fours all the time, this peachy ass is too fuckable to hide underneath clothes.”

“It’s the first thing I noticed about her.” Ari agrees, and his hand joins Curtis’, grabbing onto your other cheek and giving it a firm squeeze, “She was working at some dingy diner… Had this tiny fuckin’ dress on – called it a ‘uniform’. Didn’t even know her back then but I got an eyeful of her little girl panties every time she bent over. Fuckin’ slut. She gave out not fifteen minutes later.”

Your cheeks burn, but you concentrate on Steve’s shoe, licking it as if your life depends on it. And despite everything, despite how inhumane and disrespectful and shameful and objectifying the act is, there’s something about kneeling in front of a powerful man like Steve, or like Ari or Curtis, that makes your pussy throb with need.

“Make the leather shine, whore.” Steve is so stark, so to-the-point with his orders; he shoves his boot in your face, rubbing it over your lips, chin and cheeks and covering your sensitive skin in a mix of your own spit and dirt. “You like that, don’t you? Like being treated with no respect like all little girls like you should be. You’re nothing more than the dirt beneath my shoe, sweetheart. Remember that.”

“Y-Yes, daddy.” You find yourself saying between licks. Being the main object of attention between these three men has you wetter and steadily growing dumber by the second.

Your panties – the last article of clothing covering your modesty – are roughly ripped off of you, the soggy fabric landing on the floor next to your face. Steve’s hands grip your hair tightly, jerking you roughly upwards till you’re level with his dick, cowering between his parted thighs. Less than a second later, he’s unzipped himself, pulling his dick out and nudging it against your lips, “Open up, whore.”

The only man whose dick you’ve sucked prior to this is Ari – and Steve is a lot less forgiving. Stuffing his length into your barely parted mouth, the blond moves you by the hair, guiding your lips up and down his fat dick, and you were already crying but fresh tears well in your eyes from the choking feeling of fullness, your nose smacking against his pelvis as he manhandles you.

“Wish she’d been a virgin up here.” Curtis mutters, completely unperturbed by the fact that you’re currently choking on Steve’s dick, and you feel a rush of cool air when he spreads your ass cheeks, “Would’ve been so much fun to break into her little asshole.”

“I couldn’t hold off on that,” Ari’s fingers are deft and confident, tracing the rim of your puckered hole like he’s done countless times before and making your entire body shiver from head to toe. “She let me fuck her ass on our second date. She’s still tight up there, though. Try and finger her, you won’t even get one in.”

Curtis spits, his saliva dripping down the crevice of your ass, pooling around your asshole where Ari works it in with his pointer finger, the thick ring of muscle practically closing up around him, barely allowing an inch of his digit in. You involuntarily wiggle, trying to move your hips backwards to meet their fingers as Curtis joins in. But while Ari is teasing, Curtis is straightforward – wasting no time in ramming his pointer finger up your ass. The pain blooms almost immediately, making you cry out around Steve’s dick.

“Ah, she’s a good little cocksucker, Ari.” Steve comments, his grip on your hair so tight it hurts, “But she can’t take my whole dick in, can she? Look at her, already crying and I’m not even halfway inside of her.” Once more, he slaps your cheek before tapping it in quick succession, “Hey, cockslut, did your daddy not teach you how to deepthroat?”

He pulls his dick out of your mouth, the loss of contact making you pout despite the fact that you were practically choking not a second ago. “S-Sorry, daddy. T-Too big, it’s too big. Mouth’s too small – oh fuck!” You lurch forward when you feel something warm and wet lapping at your puckered hole – it’s Curtis’ tongue, hungry and desperate against your tight hole, his hands roughly pushing apart your ass cheeks.

Ari’s fingers slip down to your sopping core, your wetness dripping down and staining the carpet, making it so easy for your husband’s knowing fingers to glide up and down your slit, circling your clit in a way that has you panting and grinding back into his hand, earning a slap on your wiggling bum in the process.

“Needy baby,” Ari murmurs, and you’re about to whine, beg for him to stop teasing, when your head whips to the side once more from a rush of contact. Steve’s gripping his huge dick in his hand, and it looks so hard and angry as he slaps you across the face with it. Once, twice, three times till you’re wailing like a baby.

“She’s so fucking hot when she cries.” Steve comments, rubbing his dick over your face now as if he’s a feral animal trying to mark you with his scent, pressing the bulbous tip of his cock against your lips and you can’t help but pathetically part them, mouth gaping to taste him again. But he moves on, rubbing his length and his balls over your cheeks, nose, just all over. “You like being a messy whore? Want daddy to smear your face with cum, spit and dirt, get you looking like a proper slutty whore?”

“Y-Yeah, please!” You cry softly, and Steve grins.

Ari’s two knuckles deep into your pussy by this point, his fingers so deliciously thick as he pumps in and out. He knows exactly how to curve his digits, and at what angle, making your back arch from doing the bare minimum, causing you to press your ass further into Curtis’ face and eager tongue.

“She tastes like a dream.” Curtis’ voice is muffled, hands reaching up to slap and squeeze your ass obscenely, as if the flesh is his personal stress-ball, “God, Levinson. Why didn’t you think of sharing her before? With a sweet tasting ass like hers…” It’s like he can’t help himself, his beard prickling your skin as he dips his head back down, tongue practically making out with your puckered hole.

He tries to shove another finger in, but barely manages to fit in the tip of it. “God, a sweet ass that’s also tight as fuck? No wonder you call her an angel.”

Ari smirks, “Told you. I gotta take my time loosening her up before I fuck her up there. Or you could hold her down and force yourself in. She’ll cry either way.”

You whimper needily between them. It’s crazy how they continue to talk about you as if you’re not splayed naked right there. But it turns you on beyond belief, the idea that you’re just an object to them, that they can discuss you as easily as they would discuss what’s on the morning news. It makes you want them even more, especially now that Curtis has lifted his head up, Ari’s fingers have stalled and even Steve has pushed your face back down to his boot.

The blond is busy palming his dick as he now gazes down hungrily at your exposed ass, “If we’re gonna vote on it, I say force it in. She’s just a hole at the end of the day, and she’s going to be taking more than one cock up her ass tonight regardless.”

Mewling softly, you reach out with grabby hands for one of them, as if silently begging them to keep touching you, to give you some sort of contact because all of it seems to have stopped as the three older men casually discuss your body. You can feel your slick pouring down and coating your thighs, making them sticky with your arousal but you don’t dare to touch yourself.

“P-Please, daddy, please touch me.” You don’t know who you’re addressing, but your desire overtakes your fear of the three intimidating men. Face nuzzling Steve’s calf, ass wiggling pointedly towards Curtis and hips grinding down on the carpet below you, you know shame is something you’ve left far, far behind. “Please. Need–wanna be touched!”

Ari’s fingers find your mouth, pushing past your lips and effectively shutting you up.

“I don’t know. There are certainly other ways to stretch her out.” The mischief is evident in Curtis’ eyes when he suddenly reaches for something on the coffee table. Your eyes, hazy with lust, follow his hand, breath hitching when he grabs his now empty beer bottle.

“What do you think, sweetie?” Curtis asks you, “You want daddy to stuff this bottle up your ass like you’re some kind of cheap whore performing tricks at the brothel?”

You cower as Ari gathers you into his lap, your back against his chest and his hands gripping your bare thighs, spreading them wide open for the other two men to see, pussy spread open and splayed out with wetness trickling down your thighs, glistening and embarrassingly obvious.

“She looks scared.” Steve remarks, “You scared, sweetheart?”

You quiver in your husband’s arms, nodding in response although your fearful eyes don’t leave the bottle in Curtis’ hand. The neck alone is daunting, and the rest of the bottle has an even wider girth that makes your unprepped asshole twitch in fear.

“Use your words when you’re talking to me.” The blond growls, irritation clouding over his handsome features.

“Y-Yeah, I’m scared.” You answer softly.

“But you’re gonna do it anyways, aren’t you?” Ari sings in your ear, slapping your thigh to spread your legs out even further, bending your knees and adjusting you so that your rear hole is in full view. And you’re so wet, so incredibly wet that your juices spill down to stain Ari’s jeans and the couch.

You turn to look at your husband with pleading eyes, hoping to find a semblance of pity in his handsome face, “D-Daddy, please. Please don’t make me – AH!”

Again, your face is whipped to the side with another unforgiving slap, and Ari smiles down at you so casually, as if he’s just kissed you good-morning instead of slapped you in the face. “Honey, you know better than to deny your daddies.”

That’s how you find yourself laid out on the coffee table, three pairs of eyes belonging to three very intimidating and powerful men staring down at you as if you’re a piece of meat and they’ve been starving for days.

“Stay the fuck still, whore.” Curtis barks; he’s got your legs over his shoulders to give him better access to your puckered hole, grip harsh as he tries to keep you from flailing around. Your hole’s been stretched out by his and Ari’s thick fingers and a mix of your wetness and his saliva, but it still burns as he tries to force the thicker end of the beer bottle into you.

“H-Hurts!” You mewl, blindly grabbing at anything you can – which happens to be the collar of Steve’s shirt. Ruthlessly, the blond shoves your hand off of him, instead guiding it to his erect dick which is still wet from your saliva.

“If you’re gonna grab on to something, might as well be useful about it.” His dick is so thick, and just as big as Ari’s from what you can feel. Your little hand barely wraps around it, but you can’t even focus on pleasuring him because of the violating pain of the beer bottle being stuffed up your ass.

Ari guides your other hand to wrap around his dick, which is now also out of his unzipped jeans. “C’mon baby, jack us off the way I taught you to. The way I like it.” His tone is mesmerising, it’s almost instinctive when you obey, pumping the two thick dicks in your hands, trying to focus on their veiny girth and the way they twitch against your palms, how hard they feel, how big they both are.

“Oh, fuck, daddy, it hurts!” You cry out again, legs tightening around Curtis’ shoulders as he continues to stuff the unforgiving glass bottle up your ass. The buzzcut-haired man swats your thigh warningly, dislodging the bottle from your puckered hole completely, leaving you gaping as he swirls it around your pussy, gathering your wetness on its surface before returning it to your ass.

“Cut the complaining, baby girl. Your daddy already told us you’re a slut for anal, how much you love taking cock up your ass. How is this bottle any different, huh?” Curtis kisses up your thigh, slowly staring to fuck the bottle in and out of your ass as he sucks on your sensitive skin – no doubt leaving a mark in the process.

Meanwhile, Steve guides your hand to his balls, making you fondle and squeeze them, play with them indecently while the blonde grunts lowly, “God, wish my bitch of an ex-wife was half as compliant as you. What made you decide to become such a slutty whore, huh sweetheart?”

“W-Wanted to please daddy.” You answer quickly, knowing that if you didn’t then there’d be hell to pay – and probably another slap.

Ari smirks, brushing your hair out of your face almost tenderly as you continue to jack him off, “Damn right. It’s beautiful how just a few months ago, you were a naïve little virgin, and just look what a cockslut you’ve turned into now.”

“She’s still naïve, I’d say.” Curtis pipes up, his bicep muscles tensing as he shallowly fucks you with the beer bottle, in and out and in and out so rhythmically yet you’re seeing stars created from your own pain and sick pleasure.

“Naïve? More like dumb. Don’t think I’ve met a slut with an emptier head – but that’s what makes her the perfect wife, I guess.” Steve muses.

Being the “perfect wife” leads to you splayed out on the coffee table while the three men return to their seats, leaving you panting, unsated and still with the beer bottle lodged up your ass.

“Keep your legs open, angel.” Ari commands you, picking his deck of cards back up and that’s when you realise that they plan to ignore you and continue with their poker game instead. A low whine sounds past your lips at the thought.

“Look at her, crying like a baby again. She’s used to you spoiling her, Ari. Bet she thinks we were gonna make her cum or something.” Curtis snickers, kicking his feet up on the table, dangerously close to your pussy.

“P-Please – n-not fair – wanna cum so bad!” You cry softly, wanting to touch your pussy so badly but not knowing whether or not you had the permission to do it. And you’d much rather have one of them touch you, knowing it would feel so much better.

“You’re the entertainment tonight, before anything else, whore. The entertainment doesn’t get to cum until your daddies say so.” Steve says firmly, holding his cards in one hand and pumping his dick leisurely with the other, hungry blue eyes devouring the sight of you in such a compromising position in front of him, “You’re going to stay like that while your daddies play our game, and you better fuck yourself with that bottle the whole time.”

So that’s what you do, pursing your lips in pain as you do it. Never in a million years did you imagine yourself being used as the visual entertainment for your husband and his friends; naked and splayed out while they made you fuck yourself with a beer bottle. You can feel your asshole stretch and burn at the intrusion; eyes scrunching shut from the pain that blooms. But your pussy is so wet, slick cream pooling on the coffee table underneath you in the filthiest sight imaginable.

“God, she looks hot as fuck.” Curtis is quick to comment, his boot nudging your thighs open even more so he can get a better look, “You ever think of doing porn, sweetie? You’d be a natural, just look at the way you’re putting on such a filthy show for your daddies.”

Almost instinctively, you arch your back, the bottle making obscene squelching noises as you fuck it past the tight ring of your asshole, little pants leaving your mouth as if you’re a dog in heat.

“She’s enjoying herself.” Steve clicks his tongue at the observation, barely looking up from his deck of cards.

“You’re not allowed to cum, angel. Remember that.” Ari says casually, his words making you mewl in frustration.

But it’s hard not to cum when you’re so wet, and Curtis’ boot keeps nudging against your leg, inching closer and closer to your pussy till the sole grazes against your clit and you gasp loudly, jerking forward, “AH, daddy!”

The older men all ignore you, continuing their own conversation whilst you shiver and convulse and whimper between them, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, trying your best to focus and keep your legs apart as you continue to sheath your poor, quivering asshole with the beer bottle.

But more than the beer bottle, all you can really focus on is Curtis’ boot and how he’s so obviously pressing it against your wet folds, making the leather glisten with your juices. Half panicked, you whip your head towards Ari, wondering if he sees what his friend is doing. But your husband seems determined to ignore you – almost as if you’re not even there.

“Daddy,” you cry softly, not really knowing who you’re crying for. It’s instinctive and slightly shameful when you can’t help but grind down against Curtis’ boot, your pussy squelching and needy from being treated like a whore. And the buzzcut haired man doesn’t even acknowledge you, cigarette lazily caught between his lips as he digs his boot into your wet cunt.

It doesn’t take long until you’re riding his boot, grinding down on it as if your life depends on it, panting like you’re in heat as his shoe swirls around your wetness. Your cream coating the leather, he digs into your clit, nudging at your sensitive bundle of nerves and making you moan out wantonly in pleasure.

“Ah, ah daddy–oh fuck!”

You’re squirting all over his shoe before you ever realise what’s happening, so much of your cream now pooling on the coffee table that it’s made the surface slippery. And Curtis continues to push his boot cruelly into your sensitive button, and like a thirsty whore you hump against him, riding out your high and forgetting that there’s anyone else in the room.

“Levinson, looks like your whore wife doesn’t know how to follow instructions.”

Ari leans down over your quivering form, “Honey, what did I say about not cumming?” His voice brims with disappointment and you just want to bury your face in your hands.

“ ‘m sorry,” you hiccup, “C-Couldn’t help it. Mr. Ev-Everett – He used his shoe… wouldn’t stop!”

“Look at her, tattling to her daddy again.” Curtis laughs, getting to his feet and giving your ass a hard smack that has you howling with pain, “You’re lucky I’m not gonna make you lick your mess off my shoe, you horny bitch. But I think I’ll give my wife the honour of doing that when I get home tonight.”

Your eyes are wide as saucers as Ari helps your shaky body get on your hands and knees on the coffee table. From his pocket, he pulls out a leather leash, casually hooking it to your collar and tying the other end around the leg of the table, effectively trapping you in place.

“Stay still honey, and stick your ass out nicely so I can see it,” Ari commands softly, and it’s the gentleness in his voice that scares you the most. Because you’ve broken his rule – you’ve cum without permission, and you can’t even begin to imagine what’s going to happen now.

It’s the deathly quiet that has your heart beating harder than ever, this ominous sense of foreboding building up as the three men surround you like a pack of depraved wolves. Hunger in their eyes and hands itching to touch your body as they close in on you slowly, and Ari strokes your hair softly – but it feels like the softness that precedes the inevitable blow…

“I told you not to cum without permission, honey.” Ari breathes in your ear, “I guess you’ll have to learn how to follow orders the hard way, won’t you?”

Your breath hitches when you hear the unmistakable sound of Steve’s belt as he unbuckles it.

Well! There we go! The truth is, I wrote this fic many, many months ago and lost inspiration to complete it - which is why it ends where it does. I would never say never to a potential part 2, but who knows! I feel like I’m in my soft dom loving era atm, so this kind of depraved stuff isn’t as easy for me to write anymore. But do tell me what you think, as I know a lot of you have been waiting for this for many months! Please reblog and comment and let me know what you think! Any thots and ideas about this fic are also totally welcome! I hope you enjoyed.

#chris evans #ari levinson #steve rogers #curtis everett #dark steve rogers #dark ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #steve rogers x reader #chris evans fanfiction #curtis everett x reader

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