#but i liked this more than just leaving a white void there
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 A crown for a princess
[by helloruirui on tumblr, colored by me]
Just my OC Kokabiel and her daughter making some pretty crowns.
I’ve had this scene written in my drafts about these two for a bit now, so I commissioned this nice piece as a visualization for it. Read more under the snippet!
Spring is the season when nature finally begins to breathe again. The animals awaken from their deep slumber, and the wildflowers begin anew and rise from the soil like a phoenix from the ashes.
Nestled deep into the mountains, far from the bustling human civilizations, was a lush forest not too far from a small, homey village.
Large swathes of open meadows snaked across the lush woodland, which was dappled with sunlight that managed to squeeze through the thick canopy of leaves.
Bright yellow flowers dotted the warmly lit grassy expanse. They danced along with the gentle breeze that whistled a natural tune as it blew through the clearing.
Small fingers wrapped around the stem of a dandelion, pulling it from the ground and lifting it towards a small girl’s nose.
She looked no older than seven, dressed in a dark blue tunic. Her rich, brown skin stood out from the greenery around her, and those tight, white braids that bounced across her shoulders were equally perplexing.
After inhaling the flora’s scent, the young child lifted another object into view. Stems of weeds and other wildflowers, intricately braided together to create a wreath-like adornment.
With careful fingers, she wove the dandelion into the braided stems, its yellow flower joining the array of colors of other blooming plants in her grasp.
She inspected the object in her hands, testing it for weakness. After feeling satisfied with her work, she turned towards the middle of the clearing and rushed off.
“Mama, Mama! Look!” The girl called, running toward a young woman sunbathing against a stump, her eyes closed and head upturned towards the sky as she drank in the warmth of the afternoon.
Her appearance was almost identical to the child’s, with the same deep, brown skin and long, white hair. Her hair was braided into thick locs that flowed down her back and reached the grass beneath her bare feet.
Freckles of white were sprinkled across her cheeks like starlight, hardly visible against the suns bright rays. Her eyes void of color, black like the sky during a new moon. A stark contrast to the woman’s ghostly white pupils, like twin moons shining from her gaze.
The golden halo that levitated just above her forehead shimmered in a warm, ethereal light.
An angel, sent down to take disguise and watch over the human’s constantly expanding population. A watcher, her superiors called it.
Kokabiel had been assigned a small village in the mountains, far from the bustling communities and away from watchful, angelic eyes that tracked her fellow watcher’s every moment.
She had kept her identity a secret, carefully crafted to hide her otherworldly appearance.
That didn’t stop the young girl from telling the village children that her mother came from the stars, but they never believed her.
Kokabiel’s eyelids fluttered open, her gaze shifting to follow her daughter’s approach as she straightened against the stump of an ancient, forgotten oak.
She shifted to sit on her knees as her daughter reached the flattened clearing of grass, the braided wreath tight in her little hands as she came to sit beside her mother.
“Look! I made a halo, just like yours!” She hovered the wreath just above her head, as if it was floating in midair, “Now, I can come along when you go back to Heaven.”
A soft chuckle escaped the angel’s lips, as she tilted her head at the display.
The child was too innocent to know, too naive to understand that the heavenly light above shined with such malevolence toward her existence.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, my love,” She shook her head with a smile.
The young girl visibly deflated, a frown etching onto her features as she sighed. The wildflower arrangement began to lower to the ground, before another set of hands reached out and gently grasped around the wreath.
“But, I think…” Kokabiel started, lifting it delicately above the girl’s head, before lowering it snug around her forehead, “You’d look much better as a princess, anyway.”
The soft settles tickled the girl’s forehead, and she giggled softly at sensation as gentle hands continued to adjust the crown.
“There, doesn’t that look much nicer?” Kokabiel nodded approvingly, lowering her hand from the crown to stroke her daughter’s cheek lovingly.
That smile brightened on the girl’s face, who then fell slowly against the grass. She stared up at the clouds that passed above the large forest, and Kokabiel settled against the stump once more.
“Will you take me flying tonight?” The girl spoke after a few moments, placing her palms together in a praying motion, as she pleaded through her gaze.
“I don’t see why not,” her mother shrugged in response.
That earned gleeful noises from her daughter, who pivoted to lay on her stomach and rest her chin against her hands.
“Oh, I wish I had wings like yours. That way, I could fly with you wherever you go, even back up there!”
“Oh, my little star,” the woman purred, lifting a hand to wipe away a small smudge of dirt from the child’s face, “You won’t ever need wings, because i’ll always be down here, with you.”
“You mean like forever?” The girl whispered with building glee, leaning in closer with a small smile, “You promise?”
“Of course! A century would pass and I would still be here to sing you to sleep,” Kokabiel nodded with a large smile, before her fingers wrapped around her daughter’s forearms and pulled her flush into the warmth of her chest.
“Mama, my crown!” The little girl gasped, pushing away from the woman to adjust the lopsided weave of stems back snugly onto her head.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” The angel moaned dramatically, clutching her chest, before a wicked grin graced her features, “I only wanted to… tickle the princess’s feet!”
Gripping her daughter’s ankle, Kokabiel lifted it into the air. Her nails skimmed across the sensitive skin at the bottom of the girl’s foot, who convulsed with laughter as she tried to playfully fight off her mother’s attack.
Deep in the meadow, the two would spend hours of bliss in each other’s company, unaware of the face hidden among the tall branches of the surrounding tree line.
Their halo shimmered against the darkness of the woods, and after a few moments, a pair of large, white wings extended across the canopy. It only took a few moments for them to lift into the air, and shoot off into the sky to report back to their heavenly superiors.
Oh, if only they could have known how easily a century on Earth could turn into an eternity in Hell.
Do you think, if the two have sworn through pinkies, that their promise could have outlived Heaven’s wrath?
*‘deep in the meadow’ starts to play*
Angelic kokabiel reveal, who still holds the same grace but lacks the snakes.
i’ve been working on more lore for koko, and developing some original concepts regarding heaven/hell/biblical stuff.
I think her daughters name is going to be Calliope, it’s a name that sticks in my brain for some reason but i’ve been trying to name along with the theme of stars/space, but can’t find anything that I like.
she is also a nephilim (mix of human and angel) and that’s a big no no to Heaven
i’ve got more little snippets + some more art of these guys hidden in my drafts that i may share down the road. but take another sketch of her pre-fallen!
[by hachii_ro on twt]
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it's october so screw it. witchsona.
illusion coven version only because I like how the blue colour scheme plays with this character
#toh#the owl house#toh witchsona#oc art#my art#bah! did something with the background. not. sure. what#but i liked this more than just leaving a white void there#bard magic is op
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(Going insane boinkinh one AU in my head)
Hey hey hey
May I interest you in
(Slowly slides my FaaF AU towards you but void just Disappears without a trace one day before the accolade)
Teehee
#thylacines can talk#faaf au#i love this au very yummy. a very fun twist on how Flower's dynamic with their parents would progress afterwards#the vessels live but the void exits their bodies in quite a violent manner (extreme pain and literally throwing up an entire person worth of#void). Flower was on guard duty and theyre found barely conscious in a pool of rapidly evaporating void. passes out seconds later#PK also had the displeasure of experiencing extene pain and burning as void forced its way out through his skin <3 And his moulds all melted#and evaporated. after the initial shock wears off theyre hit with “Oh No#the vessel“ and rush to find them. Well somebody else was already looking for the royal pair about this#Flower wakes up dazed and in pain in their father's workshop. their stomach hurts their throat burns and they feel lightheaded. the entire#place is considerably brighter than they remember and in they can hear two faint voices in the background but theyre too preoccupied with#examining their now pure white hand in shock to focus on anything else. until they hear their mother say “My wyrm they're awake” and#suddenly their parents are by their side. Now the two have no idea what void leaving their body might have done to them. Are they still#hollow? are they still dead? do they understand anything are they sentient? or was what was done pernament even without the void? do they#have the mind of a child if their sentience was restored? or do they remember anything? So WL stays by their side and helps them sit up#while their father goes to grab his tools. She's trying to keep them calm and comfort them but theyre still too disoriented to pay her much#attention. Until their father checks their breathing and they yelp audibly from the cool metal contacting their skin and suddenly they seem#much more alert. theyve never experienced true coldness before. PK quickly apologises and tries to be gentler with them. Theyre breathing#properly and they have a heartbeat. And he just pauses for a long while just. listening to their heart beating. Many emotions to be had#after the exam's over he asks them point blank how theyre feeling. And Flower looks up at him still seeming a little disoriented. and then#they lower their hand to their stomach and mutter 'My tummy hurts...a-and my throat burns'. It's to be expected after the way the void#left their body. so he goes to grab them some water and meds and they also ask for food and a mirror. And after he returns they just stare#at themself in the mirror and pull on their bangs for a while then blurt out 'I have your eyes' when PK asks if everything's okay. And he#and he almost chokes up as he replies 'Yeah...Yeah you do'. Flower eventually spins a lie that they remember everything but its all distant#and blurry. Like they were not aware until now. They figured it'd be better to not break their hearts#And now the three have to figure out how to be a family while PK is also scrambling to find a new solution to the infection#oops i meant to only give a brief rundown in the tags which is why it was in the tags. but i got too invested KDHDKFB
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So they didn't become void, they were "born" that way
In FaaF there are different species and kinds of higher beings (still a MASSIVE work in progress tbh, trying to figure out how these cunts work, but for now I'm thinking they're extremely rare species with far greater abilities and lifespans than a normal bug's that have a chance to ascend to true godhood (but even if they don't ascend that doesn't stop mortals from worshipping them as they're already very god-like from a normal bug's perspective)), "pale beings" being one of these kinds/mutations.
Well, there was also a different kind once, "void beings", but they all went extinct a very long time ago by the beginning of the story. Shade Lord was one, and last, of them and it lost its life in a fight with Radiance - the same fight that drove her to make her permanent residence in the dream realm out of her new-found fear of death (which backfired spectacularly ngl). Its body was buried in the Abyss, where it broke apart and decayed, or decayed as much as a non-living thing can, before it was unearthed many ages later by the pale wyrm.
Not much is known about them since they've been gone for so long, and the vessels are the only void beings remaining, but since they're not "pure" void beings it'd be foolish of anyone to assume that the ancient extinct species behaved the same way as these ones do. But they were generally greatly feared thanks to the void's freaky, dangerous properties, which partly lead to their extinction as some of the other higher beings purposefully attacked and killed them whenever they stumbled across one out of fear. Now the only thing remaining of them are the rare void sources, where their former bodies still refuse to fully die.
Shade Lord does get accidentally resurrected in the story bc of all the tomfoolery happening with its body before almost immediately getting killed again by Ghost who inherits its title and reign. Don't ask me how that works, haven't figured that out yet. Magic god shit or something idk LMAO
#thylacines can talk#faaf au#I read somewhere once that if we close mammoths they wouldn't be true mammoths but more like a mammoth elephant hybrid? Idk how accurate#that is but that's essentially what the vessels are. A hybrid species that behaves and looks a lot like the extinct one yet the differences#are significial enough that they're technically not the same thing. And since nobody knows how void beings were like its anyone's guess#which of their traits originated from Shade Lord. You know they could have probably asked it if it didn't want to violently take over#and kill all other gods in rage filled revenge. And then tried to kill its so called children when they didn't want to participate in that.#PK 🤝 SL 🤝 WL parent of the year award#The vessels can't have even ONE good parent sorry#Well SL is less of a parent and more of a...DNA donor? Its kidneys got stolen and turned into babies#Currently in FaaF Norel and PK we're the only ones who studied void so a lot of its properties and origins are a huge mystery. And PK#slowly stopped after the vessel plan began. After Flower/Pure Vessel was taken into the palace the extent of his studies revolved around#them and their health. He only created new moulds when the old ones got destroyed. Guilt played a big part in his reasons for that.#Norel would know a bit more simply because PK's source sample was limited while Norel travelled across wasteland looking for void and#experimented with different sources. And he was considerably more...unethical about them. So he probably knows what void does to a mortal's#body while PK doesn't know much about that bc he was careful to not give any of his citizens and staff void poisoning after he realised it#was dangerous. Also thinking about Norel once having a mole in the White Palace which is how he found out about Floeer and the origins of#vessels. And maybe said mole broke into PK's workshop and wrote down some things before leaving Hallownest 👀 Bc it does feel a little#weird for Norel to know more than PK just like that. And he's a little snake who WOULD steal other people's work.#Like I mentioned previously Norel makes his own constructs which is something I wanted dabble in. Maybe he stole that idea from PK? His#ones are far worse and fewer than PK's but they serve their purpose and he's just starting dabbling in that. By the time he shows his ugly#mug again to terrorise Flower's kids and grandkid he'd probably be MUCH better at that 👀#I love my fucked up little moth#My one true talent is getting wildly off topic whenever sh asks me about my as#Aus*
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If you’re doing requests and it’s not too much trouble what about Astarion and getting patched up and taken care of by mc
Here you go babes <33 (Also, if he's a little out of character, I apoligize, I really did try my best lol) WC: 1k
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“Ow! Gods, could you at least try to be gentle?” Astarion hisses at the sting of the salve you’ve concocted, startling you into jerking the cloth you’re using away.
You huff and drop your hands into your lap, brows furrowed in very clear annoyance, “I am trying. If you’d stop squirming, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
“Well, if it didn’t hurt so much, I wouldn’t be squirming, would I?” He quips. You roll your eyes.
Taking his wrist ever so gently, you turn it so you can see the gash on his forearm, fingers deft and kind even despite his whining. He’s being difficult; unreasonable. You’d be justified in being cruel with him.
You’re careful not to press so hard as you swipe the cloth over the jagged edge of his wound, blood seeping into the fabric and staining the off-white linen a dark crimson. Mouth quirked down, your face is drawn tight with a frustration he’s never seen on you before.
He hates it.
The fabric catches with a jolt of pain and he flinches more than he would normally, startling you away again.
You tut at him, stern, “Astarion.”
Sighing, he returns his arm to you wordlessly and glances away with a small, “Sorry.”
“You should have been more careful.” You chastise as you press the cloth against his wound; firm, but not harsh. Never harsh.
He scoffs, rolls his eyes, “So you're saying this is my fault.”
He wasn’t being serious, but it seems you take it as such. Your nose scrunches, and for a split second, you look properly upset with him. He’s expecting you to snap at him, maybe shout and finally leave him to tend to his wounds alone as he usually would.
You don’t. Instead, you take a breath and sigh, looking rather disappointed.
“You know that’s not what I meant. Contrary to what you may believe, I do actually care about you and your wellbeing.” Your voice is void of any sort of humour as you look back at his arm. Swapping the soiled cloth for a smaller, cleaner one, you fold it in half and press it to his arm, not sparing him a glance as you instruct him, “Hold this.”
He does as you’ve asked, and a stifling silence engulfs his tent. As you rifle through some healing supplies, he tries to come up with a way to get you talking again.
“Why-,” His voice doesn’t come out right and he clears his throat to fix it. It comes out wrong anyway, “Why are you helping me? This wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve dressed a wound on my own, you know.”
“That doesn’t mean you should have to.” You reply as you begin securing the cloth to his arm with bandages, “No one deserves to suffer alone.”
The sentiment makes his stomach twist.
“No one?” He huffs a wry puff of laughter, “Not even someone like Cazador?”
Your face contorts in abhorrence, “I meant good people don’t deserve to suffer alone. That bastard deserves every bit of suffering he has coming to him.”
He barely even registers the second part of what you’ve said, too busy reeling from the first.
Good people don’t deserve to suffer alone.
Good people.
“You... think I’m good?” He asks far too softly.
Finally looking back up at him, you look utterly confused as you nod, “Of course I do.”
He opens his mouth only to find he’s seemingly lost his voice. His gaze flits over just about every inch of your face, searching for any sign that you’re lying; a glance away, a twitch of your mouth. Anything.
He doesn’t find one. His heart sinks and sings simultaneously and suddenly, he can barely breathe.
“Why?” He murmurs. Part of him thinks he’s not equipped to cope with your answer.
There’s a moment where you just... look at him. He’d say staring, but he doesn’t think that’s quite what this is. What you’re doing would be better described as seeing him; all of him. His heart, his soul. Everything.
“Good people can do bad things and still be good, Astarion. And being good doesn’t always mean being a saint.” Your voice is kind; tender. Maybe a little joking towards the end. He guesses you’ve seen the apprehension on his face when your hands slide down his arm to cradle his own. Dipping to catch his gaze, your own is suddenly serious; unwavering, “What happened to you, the things you did. None of that was your fault. You told me what Cazador did to you when you disobeyed him. I’d be just as terrible to deem you a monster for going along with it knowing what would have happened to you if you didn’t.”
Your words strike him like a hard blow to the chest. Perhaps he’s not all that concerned with being a good person, but he’s never truly wanted to be evil, either.
Eyes stinging, he lets out a shaky breath through his nose as he cups the nape of your neck to guide your forehead to his lips. He lingers there for a moment before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight, mumbling against your hairline, “Thank you.”
Snaking your arms around his waist, you squeeze him just as fiercely, “Of course, my love.”
The laugh that escapes him comes out too watery for his liking, but he finds he doesn’t mind quite as much when its only you around to hear, “‘My love’? Isn’t that my line?”
You snort, and he feels you smile against his collar, “Perhaps.”
“You do know that reusing material that isn’t yours is in poor taste, don’t you, darling?”
“Hush.” You pull back smiling, shaking your head as you ask in faux exasperation, “Now, will you please let me finish bandaging this?”
He follows your gaze to his arm and huffs dramatically, “I suppose.”
“Oh, you suppose, do you?” You sass as you take hold of his wrist again, careful not to wrap the bandages too tight, “Do you also suppose you’ll sit still for me this time?”
“I do.” He grins.
And he does.
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Heartache
pairing: Ellie Williams [brother's best friend] x fem reader
c.w. : smoking
summary: you have had your eyes on your brother's best friend and band member forever, but you'd never think she would actually talk to you?
a/n: this was a submission + I'll make more parts if it gets a good response!
The air in your room hangs heavy with humidity. A slight breeze from your open window blows through, fluttering your various posters and decor hanging on your walls. And over you, sprawled across your bed, flipping through social media, you were honestly bored out of your mind. Three weeks into summer and your closest friend was away for vacation, leaving you alone… and bored.
Cycling through your socials again you get fed up with the lack of entertainment and toss your phone on the floor with an exacerbated sigh. You lay on your bed, wondering what you should do to fill the void of dopamine when the sound of music begins to fill the house. A mixture of rock, indie, and midwest emo songs rang out from your garage, conveniently positioned directly under your room.
Your brother's band got around to practicing, you assumed. You didn’t even realize your brother was home, he had gone out earlier this morning after your parents left for work. The music got louder and you suddenly had an idea of what you wanted to do, and it wasn't staying here and listening to your brother's shitty garage band. You gather your sketchbook, some pens, headphones, and a few other things into a bag, throw on a hoodie and a pair of shoes and head downstairs. You were headed to a river spot in the woods near your house. It was a commonly frequented spot by you, and your friends but not known to many. Perfect for a little seclusion and wading in cool water.
You walk down stairs and almost instantly are hit with the strong earthy smell of smoke. You linger for a second and decide that your trip would be improved with a joint, hoping your brother would front you something, you enter the loud garage.
Your brother and his band mates, all two of them, were unaware of your entrance. They were playing as loud as possible (maybe not as well as possible) but they were producing sound! Your brother slamming away on the drums while the guitarist, and bassist/singer were in their own worlds.
“Hey!” you yell over the trio.
“HEY KAI!” You shout once more at your brother. Who, without skipping a beat or stopping, yells back.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
This got the attention of the other two band members who did stop upon seeing you standing there, amps silencing to white noise feedback.
“Can I get a joint?” you ask.
“You got money for a joint?” Kai laughs.
“Can you just front me one?” you reply back flatly
“Why should I?”
“If you give me one I wont tell mom you were smoking in the house again.” You counter.
“It’s the garage so technically not the house and whatever you know they wont do anything”
“She can have one of mine?” a voice sparks up behind Kai, drawing your attention to the guitarist. A girl named Ellie. She and Kai had been longtime friends and bandmates. You barely knew anything about her other than she was in Kai’s grade, one above yours, but you knew her. You knew her eye color, her favorite flannel she wore a little too often. You knew she got a new guitar last year, and a fresh tattoo this year that shined under the garage light as she held up a joint in your direction.
You also knew that this was one of the only times she had ever spoken to you. Not like you were around each other often but you almost felt like she would try to avoid you when she was over. Shocked, but with adrenaline pumping you took your chance, walking over to Ellie. She still had her guitar hanging around her, flannel sleeves rolled up, her hair was a bit disheveled from playing, strands falling out of her half up hair do.
She hands you the joint with a sideways smile, and her eyes glint a bit.
“Thanks, you’re so much nicer than my brother” you scoff, giving her a smile back. You turn to leave, flipping off Kai as you bound out the door, leaving the band members commotion in the garage. Not seeing Kai chuck a drumstick at Ellie who dodges it with a laugh.
The success of getting a joint over shined the butterflies fluttering in your stomach from that look she gave you. The sun hit your face as you got outside and you were only looking forward to your solo date in the forest.
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The sun was setting slowly, but from where you were in the woods shade had taken over your spot. You had smoked, worked on your art, and walked along the water looking for rocks. Hanging out in the forest for a few hours always rejuvenated you in a way you couldn’t explain. But you started to get cold and decided now was a good time to head home. While packing up you realized you had pretty bad cotton mouth from the joint, so you planned to stop by the corner store.
It wasn’t a long walk but by the time you got to the corner store it was dusk. Street lights started sparking up like stars in the night sky. You opened the glass door and walked in, perusing the aisles for any snack or drink that could satiate your munchies. You were contemplating between an iced tea or a soda when the doorbell rang as someone walked in the store. You barely noticed the bell, or the girl walking up behind you until she spoke.
“Did you enjoy your smoke?”
You jump, previously lost in your thoughts, you turn around to see Ellie standing there. She was wearing a hoodie now, her guitar in its case strapped to her back.
“Oh my god you scared me!” you say, almost dropping the bottles in your hands.
“Sorry! Didn't mean to!” Ellie laughs, moving around you to open the fridge door next to you and grab a coke. “Funny running into you here” she says, a little awkward you note.
“I mean my house is only a few blocks away,” you laugh.
“Mm ya i guess so, you getting both of those?” Ellie looks down at the bottles in your hand.
“Oh um, I'm getting this one.” you hold up the iced tea & go to put back the soda. Before you could think Ellie takes the iced tea from your hand and starts walking towards the front of the store.
“Hey wait!” you look at her confused.
“Oh do you want something else princess?” Ellie turns back to look at you with a smirk.
Sparks ignite in your stomach, confused but now flustered, your mind swirling. You finally get a word out, “no, just that” and Ellie turns back to walk towards the cash register.
You follow her, not really knowing what to do or how to act. Ellie and you had barely spoken to each other before this. And now she's acting so casually around you, and what did she call you? Everything happened so fast you barely caught it but reflecting back now, did she call you princess?
Ellie pays for the two drinks and you walk out together, taking your ice tea from her once outside.
“Thank you, you didn't have to do that” you say, unscrewing the top and taking a refreshing sip.
“Don't mention it” Ellie says, “So are you going back home now?”
“Mhm yeah, what about you?”
“Yeah I was, but it's getting dark now, i’ll walk you back home first” Ellie says with a smile.
“Who said chivalry was dead” you joke, it was a nice gesture, as much as you were confused by Ellie’s sudden intentions you couldn’t help but feel a type of way when she looked at you. Her green eyes danced over your face like she was memorizing your features. You wondered if she always looked at you this way?
She had. Ellie for the past few years had been keeping such a distance from you because when you were around she felt her whole body tense up. She felt like she was on fire if you looked in her direction. And god help her if she tried to speak around you, she ended up tripping over her words and losing her train of thought. Truthfully, she didn't know what magical queer fairy blessed her with the confidence to talk to you today. But she had taken in a chance earlier in the garage, and when she saw you in the store she knew it wasn't a coincidence.
The walk back to your house was short, only a few blocks. You and Ellie joke together and talk about summer plans in the meantime. Both of you slightly high still, making your balance shifty, occasionally you would brush shoulders, sending sparks down each other's spines.
When you get to your house you stop at the walk way, a little awkwardly since you knew Ellie had been in your house before.
“Thanks for walking me home! And buying me this, um and the joint '' you say, taking in all of Ellie’s courtesy today, a little unsure what to do with yourself.
“Any time!” Ellie says with a smile, she fidgets where she stands for a second before reaching her hand up to your face. She tucks a small strand of hair behind your ear, without breaking eye contact.
“Have a good night y/n” and with that she turns around and walks away, putting up her hood.
She left you solidified on the sidewalk, body unmoving but nerves on fire with a simple touch. You float for the next hour or so, barely registering going into your house and up to your room. Trying to make sense of what had just happened, and why now? And why so suddenly?
Later that night you receive a notification on Instagram
* @www.ellie followed you *
#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie x reader#ellie tlou#ellie williams smut#ellie smut#the last of us
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Hey love, could you pretty please do an Aaron x reader where it’s there wedding day and she starts getting real bad anxiety about marrying him. Not because she doesn’t want to but because she feels like he is surrounded by so many amazing people who uplift him that she could never compare. Just in the mood for fluffy comfort Aaron 🥹
enough
cw; fem!reader, a LOT of angst but it's comforting??, heavy 5x9 references (i'm sobbing actually), anxiety descriptions, aaron cries 😭, comfort and a happy ending don't worry!!!! wc; 2.4k
"nervous jitters?"
"you could say that." you replied - while staring off into space, while bouncing your crossed leg, while kicking your slipper on and off your heel. your head moved downward as your fingers clutched onto the seat of the chair you were sat in, harshly enough for your knuckles to turn white.
jj pulled the curling wand away from your face an inch, "careful, try not to move."
"sorry."
yet another wave of guilt rippled through you, as this wasn't how you should feel on your wedding day.
last night, you were surrounded by the people you now consider family, celebrating a new chapter. or rather, a beginning. aaron's permanent grin was engraved in your mind; you've never seen him so carefree, happily conversing with his colleagues, gazing at you as if he'd won the lottery (to him, he had). you were positive there wasn't a second where his arms hadn't been wrapped around you.
before parting ways for the night, he had pulled you to the side, to a more secluded area. he gave you long, sweet, deep kisses, holding your body close to his, as you weren't going to see each other until the two of you officially, and finally, became one.
just as him, you had been on a similar high, more than ready for this next adventure, in pure disbelief that in less than twenty-four hours, you'd be a hotchner. so now, whatever this was, had quite literally come out of absolutely nowhere.
when you awoke this morning, rather than the excitement you had expected, you were greeted with an empty, terrifying pit in your stomach.
as the day carried on, pre-wedding activities in full motion, it followed, and the void within only grew and grew. it was gravely unsettling; you were more fidgety, on edge, you hadn't been your usual talkative self. and despite being surrounded by your newfound family - jj, penelope, and emily more specifically - you couldn't help but choose to remain alone in your thoughts.
jj studied your face through the mirror, before securing your hairpiece in place. "there." her hands found your shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. "sit tight, i'll be right back."
you nodded, blinking your eyes to prevent the budding tears from slipping - and to not ruin penelope's handiwork, mascara sure to stain your cheeks. she left, leaving you alone.
but as promised jj returned no more than five minutes later, only she remained at the doorway, her head peeking in. "someone's here to see you."
after giving you a consoling smile, as if she knew - profilers - she vanished, leaving door slightly ajar.
your hand had only just touched the knob when the door moved a centimeter back, slight pressure holding it still to refrain from opening fully.
"don't open it all the way."
"aaron?" at the sound of his voice, you fought the instant urge to sob. but the utmost amount of comfort filled you too. it took a second, but you found your voice, "you're not supposed to be here."
"well technically, i just can't see you."
"still." you insisted. your tone was flat, rather than being full of giddiness due to your future husband sneakily paying you a forbidden visit - like it should've. "they're going to be looking for you."
"then let them." aaron answered simply, not concerned about that in the slightest. "are you alright?"
you immediately fell silent, and aaron patiently waited a minute, but still - nothing. the extended period of quietness, scared him, given the day's event.
please, not cold feet.
and given the current circumstances, there was only so much he could do. aaron dropped his hand to his side, weaving through the small gap. "here, give me your hand."
your hand quickly found his, the promptness allowing aaron to breathe. the familiar weight felt like home; your hand always fitting perfectly within his. your hands always cold, his warm. yours soft, his rough.
his thumb drew circles on the back of your hand, an invitation to open up. "what's on your mind?"
you bit your lip in thought, taking a heavy enough breath aaron could hear it without straining his ears.
"honey?"
"first, i want to preface this that i do want to marry you. i don't want you thinking otherwise." your voice was firm, meaning every word.
"okay..." here was a brief hesitancy in his voice despite your promise; a tinge of worry, some question. however, he managed to keep his voice steady, for the most part. you, however, still recognized the waver of uncertainty.
"just," you released a breath, your voice small. "i envy you."
aaron was quiet for a moment, and when he did speak, the confusion was obvious in his voice. "you envy me?"
"you have," you took a breath, gripping onto his hand. "so many wonderful amazing people around you... i don't even know where to start. they've been with you, stuck with you, for far longer than i have. how do i compare to that? god, dave's practically paying for this whole thing. because of you, for you. no matter who you would've married, he would've done exactly the same. i'm not special."
"sweethear-"
"i want to be enough for you." tears pinched at your eyes, your hold on his hand lessening - which frighteningly felt like you were letting go completely. "you deserve," you took another breath, and this one rattled through you. "everything. and i'm afraid i never will be."
aaron only clutched onto your hand tighter, refusing to part. his eyes squeezed shut for a moment, taking a silent, deep breath. "are you wearing your dress yet?"
after all that, you weren't too sure of how he would respond, but you certainly hadn't expected that. "no? once-"
aaron released your hand. and after looking in both directions of the hall to be certain he was in the clear, he swiftly entered, the door clicking shut behind him.
"aaron." you stared at him, your eyes wide in alarm. you barely had the time to process him in his tuxedo, or have the thought to push him out. "you can't be-"
"enough?" aaron looked at you, baffled. exasperation, pain, and love all present in his eyes. "how can you say that?"
"i-"
"you... are everything. my everything." he moved to your left, pacing away for a moment, quickly internalizing a way to get it across solidly, so you wouldn't dare question otherwise again. he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "did i ever tell you, what haley told me before she died?"
you blinked in surprise, but shook your head. while you knew the story, offered reassurances after nightmares and the topic of haley had never been off limits, aaron had never gone into detail over... the final moments. you never pushed, never asked - if it was something he chose to keep to himself, to have that part of haley close to him and only him - of course you respected that. they were vulnerable, painful memories, not easy to relive.
he sobered, his posture and expression changing before you, alight with a ghost of the past. a tender, solemn fondness was in his tone as he recalled the line. "'love is the most important thing.'"
your eyes studied his face, silently urging him to continue.
"and while our relationship had it's hardships, she wanted jack to believe in it - love - and had me promise her that i'd show him."
"aaron..."
"he believes, because of you."
"i-"
"i believe," his eyes found yours, full of a sincereness you've never seen from him. "because of you."
you opened your mouth to speak again, but no words came out.
"haley was right." he chuckled softly, with a small shake of his head, "honestly, and while i understand why now, for a long time i was furious she made me promise that. because i wouldn't be able to keep my word. before that... day, i'd already given up. lost hope that i could find it again, that it was even possible, or whether i deserved it. haley and i were together for a long time, you know that. being with her was all i knew, what i was used to, and part of me thought maybe someday, we'd manage to work things out. and suddenly, she was gone. it was too late - i was too late. i failed her, and i'd continue to fail her."
"and then you came into my life, and turned my world around completely. never did i think i would love again, let alone get on one knee and ask someone to marry me. but here we are. here you are."
aaron took your face into his hands, as delicately as he possibly could - as if he feared he would break you.
"because of you, i kept my promise to haley. jack knows, he sees the love i have for you every day. and although he 'ew's' at the sight of us kissing here and there, he'll grow up understanding. he'll know the importance, as promised."
"and you saved me. you saved from a looming downward spiral. i saw it happen to gideon, it's happened to countless others within the bureau, and i could've been the next. i told someone once; it's consuming, this job will eat you up if you let it. but instead of letting it, instead of ruining my relationship with jack, you managed to pull me from that impending darkness i was headed toward."
tears were continuously trickling down your cheeks, utterly speechless.
"you're enough. god you're more than enough. and if that doesn't... i'll prove it to you everyday if i have to. if you'll let me." a broken exhale left his lips, choked up. "i promise."
still unable to find the words, and actions speaking louder, your fingers grabbed onto his tux, pulling his body to yours and wrapping your arms around his middle, burying your face into his chest. in the back of your mind, you made a mental apology to penelope, and hoped you weren't soiling aaron's dress shirt too badly.
aaron's shoulders dropped at the contact, in relief. he pressed his lips to the top of your head, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and holding you close. next, he's the one who took a shaky breath.
"so, i'm the one who should be afraid."
"what?" your voice cracked, peering up at him, your chin on his torso.
"baggage." aaron sighed, tearing his eyes away from yours, his hands running along your back soothingly - or rather, to soothe himself. "i'm the widowed father. i'm the one who's never around. i'm the one who's scarred, in more ways than one. i don't want to limit you, to keep you from a life you've always imagined for yourself. like i did with haley."
"don't say that."
"every day, i wonder why i'm the one you chose to be with. wonder why you love me. i think that it's too good to be true, that i'll wake up. or someday, you will."
"aaron."
he sighed, tears sliding down his cheek.
"you are not scarred, aaron hotchner." you cupped his face and angled him so he was looking at you, wiping the droplets away with the pads of your thumb. "far from it. the life i imagine, is with you. this is it." you found it in you to let out a small laugh, refreshing after the morning you've had. "that's why i was so worried."
he also couldn't help but laugh gently through his tears. "you shouldn't be."
your hand slid to the back of his neck, winding your fingers through the nape of his hair. "you've, very unfairly, dealt with the unfathomable. the unimaginable. but that doesn't make you broken. i find it admirable actually, and it's one of the things i love about you. you're strong aaron. to go through something like that, and come out on the other side of it, both the tragedy and the recovery part of it. a lot of people wouldn't be able to do the same."
aaron looked at you, listening, his head tilting as he leaned into your touch.
"despite what you think, you're a good father. i adore you with jack. and with the horrors you see, every day, you still come home with a calm face. you never fail to give us your all - your sweet loving self. you're always present, even if you're physically aren't here. because you're out there making this world a safer place for so many others. for jack, for me. you really don't give yourself enough credit."
aaron remained silent, his gaze beginning to tear away from yours. but you stopped him, with a finger under his chin to direct his focus back to you.
"you may have scars, but they aren't you. they may contribute, but they aren't you."
"are you sure?" his voice fell to a whisper, eyes desperately searching yours, his own dampened.
you nodded earnestly, your bottom lip quivering a small amount. "i've never been more sure of anything. i promise."
and with that, aaron's lips found yours, kissing you even more deeply than he had the previous night. from the urgency that soon developed, it was clear just how needed this conversation was, on both ends. providing closure, clarity. the kiss sent a buzz right through you, instantaneously making up for the all the lost time you had spent brooding.
you forced yourself to pull away - only when air was needed, and to simply stop. you would've gladly kissed him longer, and aaron likewise, but the two of you were on a schedule.
his forehead fell against yours, a rather boyish, adorable smile on his face. "so, are we good?"
you nodded, your lips pulling into a smile as well, the giddiness you've been missing finally present. you reached up, gently blotting away any lingering tears of his. "we've always been."
"wedding still on?"
you rolled your eyes, gently smacking his chest and making him laugh. "duh."
"okay." he grinned, pecking your lips gently. "i better go. if someone catches me in here-"
"-you'll be in trouble."
"big trouble." he grinned, pulling your hands forward to bring you in for yet another kiss. "i love you. you never saw me."
you chased his lips - just one more. "never did."
aaron laughed, his brown eyes just sparkling. "i'll see you soon. you know where to find me, i'll be waiting."
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x fem!reader#criminal minds drabble#aaron hotchner drabble#criminal minds fanfiction#hotch imagine#criminal minds x you
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Everything you write leaves me breathless <333
Sorry in advance for my English
I was thinking about König, (maybe in an ancient rome/Greek settling) being so alone and desperate for connection that he turns to religion: one day he's walking in the woods, deep in thought, when he finds an abandoned temple. The inside is small but lavish, with a life sized statue of what must be its goddess. He sees this lovely sculpture, abandoned and alone and sees himself in her. He becomes a dedicated, fanatic and soso lovestruck worshipper. Unknownly to him his goddess, woken by his prayers, has been watching him and listening to him. One day while he's praying in front of her her statue moves and talks and now his deity is in front of him. Looks like he has an opportunity to worship her like she deserves ;)
granting you ten million kissies for this prompt and your sweet words! your English is perfect, little wisp! <3 also… giving me an excuse to write more loner/loner and mutual worship?! you have spoken to my heart…
content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical/myth au; vague time period, brief mentions of violence, fluff, pining, not very explicit smut, mutual worship.
The spirit of the temple feels disorienting, though the architecture is a still, white marble, the floor riddled with leaves and dirt, creeping up the sides of the building as if river water had washed the entire thing ashore… Something feels very alive here, feathered out on the air, a pulse of thunder, the breeze beneath dove’s wings, enthused and yawning. Hungry.
It only becomes more apparent the closer he steps to the statue.
She is unlike any he has ever seen before, carved with the same skill, but so much smaller than the other statues in their temples, so much more lifelike that he almost thinks to greet her. She’s been painted unlike most, a perfect vision bathed in color where she stands out amidst the sea of white and green surrounding her. The temple has not been stained with blood, no offering strewn before her bare feet, left for the rot or dragged away by the dainty hands of this very goddess. No maidens sit in prayer, no men lower there swords to her…
There’s nothing to tell him just who she is, either.
Despite his better judgment, his hand does find her side, a swift draw up from the vision of her thigh peeking from her robe upward to curl over her hip. Her beauty is unmatched, impossible to describe and the call seems almost tangible, shrieking at him in whispers to bend a knee and let her in. So, he does. He prays to her in the silence, alternating between whispers and his own thoughts.
He tells her of his struggles: a soldier brought in from a small tribe up north, robbed from his parents as a boy, how all he knew now were the Roman ways yet could rarely comprehend their customs and deities. Maybe she could offer him some counsel or solace…? Make the weight of his blade feel less heavy as he struck down men that could very well be his own brothers? Give him something to return to when old wounds reopened and he bled, hurt with no one but himself to tend to his heart or his injuries.
The goddess only blesses him with silence: the wind does not pick up outside, there is no disembodied laughter, no sudden thought of an offering or new words to speak to her. She is void of an answer just as the very temple she waits inside is empty of all else.
This does not dissuade him from returning.
Returning to the city after another battle some months later, his first thought is to return to her, to leave the things he’s taken from dead men at her feet, to paint the temple with the blood lingering on his weapon. There is honey, wine, meat and jewelry made of stones from the sea. There is brittle, dried flakes of blood polished from his blade and left to settle onto the floor like the leaves of late autumn. He presents these things to her with a grin, thinking that assuredly this goddess would call back to him then, grant him with a love so consuming that all of the evasion and emptiness cursed upon him would be untwined.
He kneels before her statue, presses his cheek to her thigh, sighs content at the feel of cold marble against the ever-burning of his flesh, gazes up at her like an adoring dog.
Assuredly, if this temple were built for a being that did exist at all she would know just how she was all that this lonesome soldier had, would know the way that he loved her and waited with bated breath and heartstrings pulled taut for her to love him in turn. A greedy, begging muzzle that utters his prayers, words he’s never spoken to anyone whether deity or mortal, only to her in the quiet of the forest.
It’s not madness that provokes him, but the gentleness of her face and the tender look in her eyes, an expression that no other had ever offered to him, no one but this little forgotten goddess. Whether pitying or loving, he did not know. It was only enough to keep him returning: for many days, his path from the city led straight to her feet, even some nights were spent lying upon her floor, finding peace finally being able to sleep next to something apart from lonely walls.
The sun rises and sets each day where he sits and speaks to her as though she were a living, breathing woman. Occasionally he reads aloud to her in the stillness, cheekily tells her when another goddess’ name is brought up within the lines of poetry that they could never hope to compare.
It’s ridiculous when he does not even know what purpose she serves, but this silent figure is his only companion, the only thing that sets his heart ablaze and mind focused in battle because above all else, he has to return to her. Though she can not share his words, he knows somehow that she shares in his loneliness.
Finally, he thinks to ask her the question that has been burning at the tip of his tongue for weeks and months. One, that he has tried to hold back, display a patience that he lacks. It’s after a night of sleeping on cold marble, an ache in his neck from its hardness and his own refraining from bringing a cushion from his own home in his desperation to return to her.
“Why won’t you speak?,” he asks, somber as he makes his way to leave the temple, only halting in place to cast her a fragile look from over his shoulder. He has read the epics, heard the stories and seen the blessings of other deities… Yet no matter what he does or how often he tethers himself to her leg and dotes upon her, she still meets his devotion with nothing but her silence in return.
König is left with the thought that his gifts are not enough, that he, himself, is not enough, even as her sole devotee. To keep his mind preoccupied, he keeps to the city for a time. The bed is cold, the people still see him as a barbaric outsider, and the horrible coil wound around his heart only seems to tighten its grip further. He feels as though he has left a part of himself out there in the forest within the four chalked walls of her temple.
This loneliness does not feel like one he is forced to swallow down, it feels like a vicious sort of ache, the twisting of a dagger beneath ribs to sink in and steal away what little of a life he does have.
He returns to her the following night, with a furrowed brow and a grave look upon his face. There’s an intent to demand she free him of her, that this longing finally pass, but as his sandals reach the entrance to the temple, those thoughts fall away from his mind like droplets of rain, a cool drizzle that begins to fall outside the very moment he is sheltered.
The statue— the goddess moves.
She tilts her head and inspects him fondly, the perfect mouth he has envisioned speaking to him so many times prior tilts upward in the gentlest smile as her bare feet move to carry her body forward.
“A test,” she explains as though answering his question from only the past day, almost saddened by her own words as her gaze lowers to the space between them.
König’s heart does not roar then, it only melts with the knowledge that someone like her has been left alone for so, so very long that she felt the need to prove to herself that he would return to her side. He would. Time and time again he would. When she raises her head to look him in the eye, her own clouded and misty, he only silently prays that she could see such a vow upon his face.
“I am worthy then?,” he questions, forcing himself to remain rigidly in place despite the call- the urge, to circle her, just once, drop at her feet to then feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Anything. Even an assurance would be reward enough, but there is always a greed in the hearts of men, one he feels burning a hole through his very being even now.
Her lips press to a line and her gaze seems faraway, lost in her own thoughts that must be as mighty as Olympus itself. After a time, she only answers in a soft whisper, “It is I who am unworthy of you.”
All discordance in his chest pulls to a halt at this, all apprehension and sadness are whisked away when she instead comes to kneel before him. She curls her arms around his leg, presses her cheek to his thigh as he had done so many times before. The goddess gazes up at him with not just affection… but reverence, as though he were the strongest warrior of myth, deserving of even the love of something only as ethereal and sweet as she could provide.
His breath catches for a mere moment before he lowers himself at her side. The stares exchanged from both are full of an unspoken wonderment, all of the things that words alone would fail to speak in truth.
He waits out the rain there, sat beside her with the air surrounding them charged with such a great and unspoken affection that even Venus would taste a bitter envy on her tongue should she pass by to see.
She tells him she can not recall what she was the goddess of… or if she was ever truly any goddess at all. The marble surrounding her was put up for a purpose, but she’s never seen the Elysian Fields or climbed Olympus on her own. Her memories are scattered blurs, and she confesses that she feels tired when she tries to parse things together in a way that he will understand.
He listens while he tends to her by offering the honey and dried meat left in offering for her here, then fetches fresh water from the stream that brooks several yards away and returns to her side with a face both damp and flushed.
König tells her of his life too, how during every battle since stumbling upon this sacred place he has kept her in mind; he has no wife to return to, no other women to bed, that since their meeting his life has become hers. He confesses he had the intention of returning only to force a curse upon this madness that had enveloped him, but… he could never have brought himself to do so, even if she had not appeared to him warm and breathing.
Her laugh then could have prompted waves of flowers to bloom and birds to sing in tune, whimsical and so precious he only begins to feel himself fall, truly. Not out of sheer desperation, but with genuine affection.
When her exhaustion does take her, she does not mind the way his arm curls around her middle to tuck her body closer to his own. The goddess has no fury within her, only mirrors his own feelings with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh.
So she sleeps, pulled close to him like a lover rather than a stranger. When dawn breaks, when König knows he’s to be called back to train and fight with the other soldiers, have dull talks about what land to cross and take for their own next, she tells him she will wait there for his return.
He can not concentrate as well on his training this day. The plans for future wars and battles do not send flurries, hot excitement through him. The world is an endless gray, reflected above with darkened clouds threatening further rain. There is only one place he wishes to be, one that yearns for him more than his own home or the women waiting on the street for coins the other men readily supply. When one, a native Roman, does ask him why he does not just venture to the brothel to put himself in better spirits, König only grits his teeth to still his hand from quieting him eternally. These men knew nothing of the love he feels, and certainly they didn’t deserve to.
The temple is no different from how he found it the night prior. The goddess sits with her hands curled in her lap, smiling just as fondly at him as she had before. His heart shatters at the thought that she had sat there waiting for him in such a way all day. He swears to her that he will have a proper bed made for her, bring her the softest of furs and cushions stuffed with downy feathers to lie upon. For now his offering is only fruit and wine, things that she shares with him while she shushes his concerns with quiet words and gratitude that he had returned.
She lowers herself again before him after pulling her robe free and lying it upon the floor. It is no proper bedding at all, but she swears that it is enough, that his own warmth is just enough for her to be sated and comfortable. His head swims when she kisses his thigh, drags her lips up from his knee to rest there with that reverent look in her eye. Mortals coupling with deities was not unheard of, but to think it could happen to him…
She is a goddess. How is he supposed to… How could he ever dirty her with himself? He thinks to refuse her before she tugs away the barrier of fabric between them and takes him into her mouth. Stunned, he only watches her, feels her in a way he has never felt a woman before until he finds his voice again.
“Lie down,” he breathes, shaky and tentative as he rests his hand upon her cheek. She complies, giddy and content when she’s splayed out on the white robe beneath her, legs parting immediately and her arms reaching upward to invite him into her hold.
There’s no tact when he lies atop her, feels the warmth of her thighs around him and her arms curled over his neck. His forehead is pressed to her own when togetherness is found, and when she sighs so soft as she envelops him in full, his mouth descends upon her own.
She doesn’t praise him, doesn’t need to in words, because the muffled sounds and cries that leave her lips are more than enough to spear him onward. König, however… he babbles ceaselessly, overwhelmed and overcome by such a profound joy, he can not keep himself from reciting every word that comes to mind, whether vile or pure.
“My goddess,” he whispers into her hair, eyes half-lidded and dazed with each shallow thrust. “We could have had this for a season… you have made me wait so long, hm?”
The way she feels is unmatched, he thinks, when her breathing shudders and she only seems to constrict him further. To think he could bring a goddess to ruin… the grin that crosses his face when he pushes his head against her neck is bordering on both ecstatic and cruel.
“I will give you a demigod,” he hisses against her throat, not at all subtle about just how far he was willing to go to keep her here. With him. More than Olympus, she belonged beneath him, and the tremor that wracks her form then is all of the confirmation he would need.
She sobs his name when the tension becomes too much to bear, fingernails graze the flesh of his shoulders as she shudders, falls into such bliss that her words of praise come incoherent and weak. He follows her to a saccharine abyss with a guttural groan.
The aftermath is softer than any other moment he has shared with her. There are an abundance of kisses pressed between them, littered across her flesh and his own with whispers that leave his mind cloudy. Her worship is subtle by comparison to his own, coming in honeyed stares and such words he would never dare to repeat, no lowly poet deserved to ever hear them, their voices could never compare to her own.
The goddess holds him close, bumps his nose with her own and makes a promise; she tells him for as long as he shall live that this temple was as much his home as it were his own. That even when this body of his does die, she will seek him out in the Elysian Fields, lie at his feet as he had done her own; that no matter what may come, they will never be apart.
#könig x reader#konig x reader#storing your other request for now angel! <3#someone kick me and make me write! so sorry to anyone who has sent something in that i have not gotten around to just yet#i see them and i promise i am working through them! my heart soars any time i am entrusted with a König prompt!
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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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I keep thinking about his angel eyes
Hazbin Hotel! Adam x Fem!reader
Part 3 —> Part 1 | Part 2
Warnings: talk about self hate
A/N: Here is the part 3 everyone wished for. I decided to make a total of 4 parts, so you sadly still need to wait a bit for the end :,) Like always I’m sorry for any grammar mistakes.
Y/N POV:
I found myself in a room similar to a movie theater. I’m not able to move a single muscle in my body. Suddenly a movie started playing, memories of my life in heaven or more specially about Adam and me. I smiled and felt all warm and fuzzy inside as the memories of our growing relationship were displayed right in front of me.
The first time we met, how we fought at work, how we began to spend more time with each other, our first dates and how he took his mask down for the first time. This may sound exaggerated but that was the proof of how much he trusts me and oh lord was he gorgeous. His golden eyes had me captured the moment I looked into them…his beautiful angel eyes. Nothing was more beautiful than seeing his true emotions reflect in them. Everyone knew him as "The first man" or the self quoted "Dick master" but I know it better. Deep down he’s a insecure soul who’s desperate for admiration and affection, especially after loosing his two previous wives to the same man.
Of course he was a total asshole when I first met him but he changed for the better and that out of his own will, that is something not everyone is willing to do. In a flash of seconds more memories were shown: Our first kiss, anniversary and lastly our wedding. It was a very magnificent day, I never ever thought I will find a lover let alone get married to someone. Everything was just perfect until the court accident today.
Suddenly everything went black. I don’t know where I am or what to feel, this is stranger than any dream or nightmare I ever had. I slowly stood up as a sudden blow of cold air hit me. I wrap my arms around myself as I start walking around in this strange void. All I can hear is my own heartbeat,breathing and the sound of my heels clicking on the ground. After what felt like an eternity I found a single white door in the middle of this nowhere.
Not knowing what else I should do I open the door and enter another black space with a single mirror standing in the middle. This is all so strange and overwhelming I couldn’t prevent myself from tearing up..pathetic that’s what I am. I took a deep breath and walked towards the mirror. I looked like an absolute mess with my eyes puffy from all the crying.
Suddenly the reflection changed in how I used to look like back then in hell. "Helloooo, redeemed or not I’ll always be a part of you.”, my reflection said. I was completely stunned…how is that even possible? "Do you remember what you used to tell your friends back then in hell? You said and I quote: You don’t need to be perfect to be worthy of being loved or deserving a better life. Everyone deserves a second chance and that goes for you too." My old self gave me a big smile and I couldn’t help but smile too.
In a way she is right but accepting yourself is much harder than people say. It takes lots of time, patience and willingness. My reflection gave me a look full of pity before she started to speak. "You probably think he will leave you, hm? Of course that can be an option but would he really? It’s like Rosie said it’s difficult to admit things you’re not proud of but you’re still you. The fact you used to be a demon doesn’t change the person you really are, the person he grew to love and cherish. It seems like we’re running out of time..it was nice seeing the person I became. You’re much stronger than you think.", she chuckled and waved at me. "Farewell Y/N..it’s time to wake up now. Emily must be going insane from how much she worries about you."
My reflection disappeared and left me with a warm feeling inside my heart. With a smile on my face I walked through the mirror and woke up in a bed, which must belong to Emily. In less than a few seconds Emily wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tightly. "You’re awake, I was so scared you wouldn’t wake up.", she said while sniffing onto my chest. I couldn’t help but smile, she’s such a sweetheart. "Shh, I’m here now.", I said while patting her back.
Part 4
#adam x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel adam x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#x reader
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Lily of the Valley - (c.b. oneshot)
O/S INSPO: Lily of the Valley Soothing, calming, draws peace and tranquility, and repels negativity. Assists in empowering happiness and mental powers. Married couples should plant Lily of the Valley in their first garden to promote longevity of the marriage.
POSTED DATE:03/30/2024
W/C: 4,114
A/N: FINALLY!!!! I am so sorry this took forever! This O/S is based on this adorable request from the LOML @daysofyellowroses - please check out her blog! I hope this satisfies your Carmy Proposing idea! I'm sorry it took so long i've been sick, but were back baby!!! Requests are opennnn y'all! This is also heavily inspired by my amazing OOMF @gingergofastboatsmojito - In another timeline Carmy still somehow came across Madame Stardusts jewelry (she transcends time and space that woman!) , & Stella exists too! If you want to meet more of that character in the universe Ginger created (I highly recommend you do)you can read that AMAZING FIC HERE ! Please be sure to leave kudos & comments & give Ginger all the flowers she deserves!!!
WARNINGS FOR BTC: Smut, Swearing, NO USE OF Y/N - As little physical description as possible, fluffy Carmen, OC Carmy - (He's more emotionally grown obvi hahah)
➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭
You pushed the heavy, bulging tote bags full of groceries up your arm as you walked back to Your&Carmy’s shared Condo Building. The wildflower seeds you’d thrown on the little patches of grass on your walks to the train, along the sidewalk on your block had finally started to bloom. Adorable tiny little flowers in vibrant shades of blue, pink, purple, yellow, and white peeking out over the sidewalk's edge.
Spring had most definitely sprung in Chicago by this point. Your commute whilst walking to work down Michigan Ave, passing the stunning array of tulips, had told you that fiercely every time you walked to and from the train this week on the way to work. It was finally Friday, and you couldn’t be happier.
Carmen had been so busy this week- busier than normal. You’d usually just hang out with your best friends to fill that pathetic, lonely void while grading papers and doing your own assignments- but they were busy this week too! You were convinced the universe had bound you to loneliness this week, so naturally, all you wanted to do was get home, crawl into bed, and sleep- until Carmy came in around 2 to 3 am, and get that savored 15 minutes of cuddles after his shower, before exhaustion came over you again and you fell back asleep.
You used your special key fob to get in the door of your condo’s shared building, which to your standards was very luxurious- it included amenities you’d never even thought of. You and Carmy had moved in together 3 months ago, it took a lot of convincing on your end. You and Carmy had lived on opposite ends of town, so every time you’d see eachother, (which was very often) - it would be an hour's drive that he insisted- or, him losing the battle- and allowing you to take the train back all those stops.
You weren’t particularly religious, it was more just a personal preference - that you would be at least engaged before you were to move in together. Especially before having a mortgage together. You’d told Carmy this, and he’d given you the same answer each time over the last two years he’d been begging - “Baby we know we’re in love, you know we’re eachothers forever person - we tell eachother every day! We’ve been together 3 years, Let me take care of you”
It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be taken care of- it’s just…you liked working. You loved your job, you’d went to school and earned a masters degree for Christ sake, and were currently working on your PHD. You couldn’t ever see yourself giving that up, and moving in with a boyfriend and him insisting on paying all the bills made you fear you’d fall pregnant, and then your professional life would be over.
But, Carmen had insisted to you he wasn’t interested in children unless you were. You were sure at one point you never wanted them, but you were becoming more afraid, because seeing as amazing an uncle Carmen was, how naturally kind and understanding he was of children- it brought out something in you. It was so sudden that you could imagine turning your shared library / art studio into a nursery during slow time at work.
You walked down the hall, in no rush to be home. The only presence waiting being your cat, Truffle, Carmy had insisted on the name due to his deep black fur.
You approached the door, confused as to why you were hearing…music? From your apartment? You shook the hope of Carmy being home this early away, not wanting to be dissapointed. The neighbors downstairs must be blasting that same kind of jazz instrumental Carmy listens to so loud that you heard it through the floor.
You unlock the door, and sure enough the music playing softly through the condo gets a tad louder but the first thing to catch your eye was the white and pink rose petals making a trail to the kitchen. You heard Carmy humming lightly, the sound of chopping on the cutting board.
“Bear?” You quickly nudge the door shut with your hip, not even bothering to take your shoes off and rushing down the hall into the kitchen. Sitting atop the breakfast bar, was a vase packed with beautiful pink and white roses.
He looks up from the cutting board “My favorite girl” he stops what he was doing immediately coming and taking the bags from your shoulders, setting them down before greeting you with a sweet kiss. He cupped your cheeks gently, pulling you in to him so you were flush together with his other hand.
“You used our card f’that right?” He asked softly when he pulled away. You roll your eyes a bit, he had insisted you get a shared credit card, and that you purchase everything with it- and at the end of the month, he will show you the statement, and only pay a quarter of the total, just another one of the ways he assured every financial burden of yours was eased significantly.
“Yes, what is all this baby?” You asked, motioning to the roses. “Did I forget somethin? Our anniversary isn’t for another 2 months” you asked a bit nervously. Carmen wasn’t a stickler for dates, but it would break your heart if you were to forget something important.
“No- no. I just…just love you- I wanted to show you, and especially after this week I know I’ve been crazy busy, and I’ve been comin’ in late and leavin’ early, and…I just wanted to show my best girl how much she means t’me” he kissed your forehead sweetly and you felt a blush creeping to your cheeks.
“That’s so sweet Bear. Thank you I love you, this is…no one’s ever done this- oh my god- are those balloons?” You giggled, seeing heart shaped foil balloons tied to your chair at the table and he smiled proudly.
“Mmhmm, the lady at the flower place said that - we can talk about it later. You wanna cook w’me? You can just watch if you want?” He asked, gently brushing his fingers through your hair.
“I never turn down a lesson from the best, let me go get changed real quick” you headed toward the bedroom and he stopped you by your hand pulling you back into his chest, kissing your neck with wet open mouth kisses earning a giggle that you couldn’t contain.
“Mmm- don’t go in there right now, it’s for later. I already got your pajamas right here” he said going over to the couch and grabbing your favorite pair of sweatpants and his old ‘the beef’ tshirt that to you was the most comfortable thing in the world, especially when he wore it to bed for a few nights before giving it back.
“For later huh?” You muse, taking off your heeled booties and unbuttoning your slacks before peeling them off and trading them for your soft fuzzy grey sweatpants.
“Mmhmm” he hummed in response and took your pants for you and your blouse and bra as well, bringing them to the laundry room as you put the shirt on and got your hair situated into a bun.
“What are we cooking today, chef?” You asked, heading over to the kitchen to see there were little bowls of vegetables that have been precut and you gasp happily. “Stop- are we really?” You giggled.
“I told you that it’s easy baby but you hate eggplant so ratatouille isn’t gonna be something you’re a big fan of” he chuckled. You had watched the movie with him, and told him that the ratatouille dish looked insanely delicious and that you wanted him to make it for you, but he told you your aversion to eggplant would probably turn you off the dish.
“But there isn’t eggplant” you said looking over the dishes filled with various vegetables.
“That’s right, this is princess ratatouille. I’ve been figurin’ out different vegetables w’Syd that would work for it, we finally got it right. We have zucchini and a few different squashes, and we have onion and garlic, tomato, bell pepper, everything you like. I think you’ll love it baby.” He said rubbing your back gently.
“Of course I’m gonna love it bear, I love everything we make together you have the magic touch. So what’s my job?” You asked eagerly.
“You my special sous chef, are gonna help put the veggies in and I’m gonna do the sauce” He kissed your temple gently.
“Ok! Let me get my apron” You said, happily turning to the drawer you kept your aprons in.
“Wait-” he said, holding your arm. You look back at him and he looked…nervous.”Is…something wrong?” You questioned, brows furrowed slightly in concern.
“No- no I um….i got you a new one” he said sheepishly, walking over to the island and opening up the cupboard beneath you never used.
“Oh- ok..Leveling up are we?” You joked, happily leaning against the counter.
“Jesus-” he chuckled, “Close y’r fuckin eyes- carnival psychic” he teases and you laughed, obliging and closing your eyes.
“Carnival psychic?” you asked and he came over gently putting bundle of fabric in your awaiting hands.
“I swear t’god- you went snoopin’? Open your eyes” he said. You opened your eyes, looking into your hands and seeing an apron. It was white, just like his, and folded perfectly. In thick black letters, intricately painted, ‘ Will You Marry Me? ‘ Adorned with a little red heart over the center pocket that had a square shaped bump.
You felt all of the blood leave your face, your knees feeling wobbly, your mouth gaping in to an O shape, as you stare down at the apron. “Where did you get this?” you whispered, completely awestruck.
“I-I…um…made it?” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I- shit. Fuck- is this not how you pictured it? I’m so fuckin sorry babe- I-I thought…I dunno- like.. You wanted it private? Cause I know you said you’d never-” he’s interrupted by your lips crashing on his in a fervent wanting kiss, a mix of spit and teeth and lips and tongues, he moans softly into your mouth, squeezing your waist.
You were pressed together so firmly that the small box dug into your ribs, eventually pulling away from him with shaking hands and reaching into the pocket, pulling out the small black velvet box. You ever so carefully opened it, your breath catching in your throat when you saw the absolutely breathtaking ring.
“I-it’s not uh..not a diamond- cause I know you said-” you interrupt him
“Princesses and Queens don’t wear diamonds, they wear crystals” you finished, staring at the beautifully cut opal, at least 8 carats, banded by a intricate edwardian band… nothing short of a ring for a Goddess.
“But..But- this one…it does- it has both…because uh” he swallows thickly. “It…in my mind- when I s-saw it, it represented your soul, and your physical body.. And I liked that. Cause- y’re my diamond, but you’re also my queen, my everything, baby. Like how - how you said that…you wished your aura was opal? It is. It is, angel. And every time you look at that, I want you to remember that you’re beautiful from your diamond exterior, to your opal soul” he brushed his finger over the ring, before meeting your gaze once again.
He gently wiped the tears that were running down your cheeks freely, hot and wet and open. It was rare that Carmy genuinely used his words rather then his actions to express his love for you, so you were nothing short of savoring this. “Holy fucking shit” you laughed, shaking your head and looking down at the ring box. “Put it on my hand” you held your left hand out.
He chuckled a bit, “so… yes? You will?” he asked carefully, pulling the ring out of the box.
“Are you kidding, YES! Put this ring on my finger and fuck me dumb- this is all i’ve ever wanted, Bear, I fucking love you- and youre asking if I want you to be my husband?! I’ve wanted nothing more for two years- at least!” you shake your left hand for emphasis, a wide large grin on your face.
He carefully slid the ring over your manicured finger, and it just made you cry more how it fit perfectly. “How do you know my size?!” you asked, since most of the vintage rings he'd bought you were adjustable so it didn't matter the size of the rings he’d gotten for you before.
He chuckled a bit, “so- y’re ring…y’know the one…y’thought you lost it at Chipotle like…ahhh- 8 months ago now? In the bathroom? Y’took it off at the table, you wore it on your ring finger so I had to take my chance. You kept sayin how it was like- the only ring you’d found that fit without takin’ it to the jewler. So uh” he dug in his jeans pocket, placing your beloved vintage ring with your starsign on it in your palm.
“I got that ring, based on the size. I got it uhhh…sorry dont be offended- it’s not new… I got it at an estate sale of this lady- it was crazy- the way I came across it babe… like fate. It was when Syd and I went to New York for that interview, she literally dragged me to this sale cause she said the lady who died was said to have a bunch of vintage fur and stuff she was looking f’somethin- anyway. We met the lady’s daughter- Stella? I think it was? Doesn’t matter… but she um..said her Ma was some crazy astrology nut, also said she only wore crystals. So I took a look… that was the first box I opened. And y’ring on my pinky, it fit perfect, so I tried it on- it fit like a glove. I’m glad we don't have to size it. Asked her if it was real, she said - her Ma told ‘er some…. Like life coach? Er- astrologer life coach author? Gave it to ‘er on a trip to Jamaica in the 60’s. Told ‘er ‘this ring will someday be worn on a hand proudly as a devotion of true love’- Miss- No! Madame ! Madame Stardust. Nutty name right?” he chuckled a bit.
You smiled proudly at the ring, a devotion of true love indeed. “I think” you turned to the counter, stacking the bowls of vegetables together and putting them in the fridge as you friskily countered “you are not going in to work at all next week- wifes orders” you walked over to him, hips swaying. “And after you fuck me absolutely stupid” you grabbed his collar, pulling him in so your faces were meer inches apart “Oh- and we talk about how this mademe stardust? Confirms that our souls are indeed woven together like a fucking wicker basket” you kiss him roughly, weaving your fingers through his dirty blonde curls and tugging firmly.
He moaned into your mouth, his hands trailing down and squeezing your ass firmly. You hummed in satisfaction, leaning against him and he stumbled back, back, back, pushing the bedroom door open with a squeak. You looked up, Breaking your kiss with wide eyes.
All throughout the bedroom, were printed photos of you and Carmy throughout the years, suspended with clear wire so it was as if the photos were floating midair. You clasp your hands over your mouth, admiring all the hard work and pure thought that had went into the gesture. You looked over all the photos, three years of memories hanging before you like a gallery of love surrounding you, all of your fondest happiest memories at every flicker of your eyes.
“Carmen” you whispered, walking forward and admiring each and every photograph…
He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Y’know how you said no work next week…” he said softly, kissing up your neck with wet, sexy, open mouthed kisses. “We leave Sunday… F’Cyprus” He said hotly in your ear, his breath tickling your neck causing a moan to escape your lips as he gently lifts your shirt, palming your breast gently.
“Is- is that-” you breathe out
“We’re getting a tour of Aphrodites Baths” he said softly, rolling your taught nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Ah- y-you remembered?” you gasped, he let out a soft deep chuckle, Kissing the corner of your mouth and gently laying you down upon the soft sheets of your shared bed.
“I’d have proposed over a year ago- when I got the fuckin’ ring if i coulda gotten us the tour sooner” he muttered into your skin, tugging off your- (his) shirt, leaving supple, gentle kisses over your stomach and up your ribs.
“Mm- are we- can we swim?” I asked hopefully.
He gently wipes your tears away, “No” he said a bit sadly, “We can dip our hands… some asshole ruined swimming for people years ago…before we met…but- we were also gonna Parga Greece, baby. We’re spending 2 days in Cyprus, then flying to Parga on a charter- we can swim, fuck, do whatever in those waters baby. Amidst the Goddess of the Underworld f’five whole days” he smirked and you gasped, as if he’d gotten you the moon on a string.
“The Acheron River?” you whisper and he nodded, gently rubbing his thumb over your lips.
“That is the sexiest thing i’ve ever heard in my life- you’re gonna make me cum in the 2nd most famous river of Hell?” you giggled and he snorts a laugh, pushing you on the bed gently.
“Fuck yeah, you little fuckin’ freak” he teased, tugging off your panties and sweatpants in one swift pull, leaving you soaked and bare before him.
You gasped at the rough action, quickly being soothed by soft, sweet kisses over your hipbones.
“I fuckin smell y’kitten fuck” he growled, kissing the inner of your thigh in the way that made you creen.
“Shit- good- right? If y’compared me to a seafood market i’d break your nose” you teased, hooking the crooks of your knees over his shoulders, shivering when he leaned in closer, his hot breath directly over your clit- his lapis blue eyes boring into yours.
“That question doesn’t deserve an answer” he grumbled hotly, spreading your folds with his fingers and admiring the wet, slick, mess in front of him. “S’fuckin pretty princess- fuckin’ prettiest pussy in the world” he nearly moaned, burrying his mouth where you needed him most, eyes fixed on yours.
You couldn’t even make a sound- a hot breathy gasp escaping your slack-jawed stance as your head flopped back on the mattress with a soft bounce. “Mmmmm shit” Carmy hummed, satisfied with your taste as if he was devouring his favorite dessert.
“F-Ffuuuckkk” you whimpered out pathetically, voice cracking and bleeding out between the fracture lines of your hot intense pleasure.
“Mmhmm-mmmhmmm” Carmy mumbled confidently against your now firm clit, tongue flicking over it at a mind-numbing pace, bringing you right to the edge and hanging you there by a single finger.
“Ahhhh-Ahhhh-Fuck!! Carmy! Oh- ohhhh!!!” You whined, spine pointing in an arch off the mattress, your hips and thighs quivering and shaking wildly as your orgasm crashed over you like hot lightning before you could even warn him, or know yourself it was so close.
“Goooood girl, thats it- mm- my good fuckin’ girl- Y’gonna be my fuckin’ wife baby? Mmm? Gonna be mine? F’rever?” He grumbled, placing a gentle kiss to your clit before placing gentle yet firm pressure over it with the pad of his tongue that made your hips buck with a mind of their own.
He chuckled slightly into your heat, the vibration causing you to whine pathetically. “Y-yes-yes-fuck i’mfuckinyoursBear-y’gonnamakemey’wife? Yeah? Gonna make me Mrs. fuckin Carmen Berzatto?” you slurred, pulling him into a messy wanting kiss, soughing at the flavor of your core coating his spit.
“Fuckin- spit in my fucking mouth- claim me” you groaned. He smiled against your lips, pulling away slightly, a thick hot string of saliva connecting the two of you.
“So fuckin dirty” he grumbled with a smirk “Open that filthy fucking mouth” he ordered, getting quiet for a moment as he gathered saliva in the front of his mouth.
You obeyed him immediately - your jaw going slack, tongue stuck out ever so slightly and eyes fluttered shut. Then- you felt it, hot, sweet, salty saliva coating your tongue, you groan at the flavor as it continues pooling over your tastebuds. “Do not fucking swallow yet- greedy girl” he tapped your chin firmly, before pulling your jaw open wider with Tthe pad of his thumb.
“Stick out that pretty little tongue” he grumbled, you obeyed with a smile, opening wide as you could, sticking your tongue out far, showing off the creamy white saliva he’d dressed your tongue in, so much it was seeping down onto your chin, threatening to coat the front and back of your throat.
“Good girl- that's my good little kitten” he purred, “How d’you want me princess?” he gently collected the excess saliva from your chin on his thumb, sucking it off his digit hotly as he awaits your response while you swallow gratefully, the taste setting your soul ablaze.
“I want you to fucking claim me, Carmy, holy fuck- use me, worship me, fuck me like a goddamn animal- whatever you fucking want- please” you begged after you’d savored the taste while you swallowed, his sky blue eyes going dark as navy slacks with lust at the admission.
“Yeah? Why not all three?” he pushed you down to the mattress by your throat, not hard enough to bruise- but hard enough for the breath to leave your lungs and your core to throb so hard you were clenching your thighs, trying to give any solace of pressure to your swollen aching clit.
“P-please” you stuttered, writhing against the mattress and he chuckled darkly.
“Are we a little needy? Mmm princess?” he pushes your knees apart with his thigh, aiding the throbbing pressure with his strong fingers, rubbing firm, slow circles into the twitching bud that made your hips snap into the mattress and head fall back to the bed, eyes rolling back with a sharp gasp of pleasure.
“Pl-please-” you gasp out, spine arching sharply as he replaced his fingers with his mouth on your clit, 2 fingers slipping inside of you with no resistance due to the fact your core was so soaked it was beginning to pool at the dip of your bum and soak the sheets. The squelching as he pumped into your g-spot mixed with your high-pitched moans and frisky growls was absolute sin.
He opens his jaw wider, tonguing your entrance wildly and nuzzling his strong nose against your clit in broad strokes, randomly flicking back and forth quickly making you squeal in pleasure as you grind against his mouth, fully out of control of your movements as if you were a puppet on a string.
“H-Hooooo-i’m cumming- oh- don’t you dare fucking stop Carmen” you growled, grabbing his curls and pullinghim further into your core. “I’m cumming- i’mcumming-holy-holyfuck-imfuuuckiing-AAAH!” your thighs and hips shake and quiver, stars of ethereal white filling your vision.
“Mmhmmm” he grumbled, coming up and sucking your nipple with his slick lips, his chin and nose soaked with your arousal, so much so his chin dripped onto your ribs.
“H-Oh-yes Bear” you whined out, head tilting to meet his gaze. “I need you- I-I need you inside- like- fuck- when you- you have my knees around your hips and y-you fuckin’- just drill me Carmy- I need that- need you deep” You reverberated wantingly, wrapping your thighs around his waist taughtly, making it easier for him to take you exactly how you wanted.
“Jesus Christ- I can’t fuckin’ stand y’baby. Y’re like a fuckin’ drug- it’s like I fuckin’ function unless I’ve had a hit” he nibbed your collarbone, quickly removing his jeans and boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.
You gave him a mischievous smile, inching your hips forward. “C’mon- I don’t give a fuck ‘bout cooking right now- fuck me absolutely dumb- then take me to Sam’s f’r chocolate chip pancakes- sure that waitress will be over the moon bout my ring” you mused, capturing our lips together, as he scoops up your shoulders and holds you chest to chest, your third of many orgasms that night building throughout every muscle.
It was going to be a long night….
#carmen berzatto#the bear fx#carmy berzatto#the bear fic#the bear hulu#carmen berzatto fanfiction#carmy berzatto fanfiction#the bear#the bear fanfiction#carmen berzatto fluff#carmy the bear#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy x reader#carmen x reader#carmen berzatto smut#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x you#the bear fandom#borders & banners by saradika
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౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ A LOVE LETTER TO: THE LOUVRE
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader
⠀ ꒰ . . org. writing repost ꒱ . . . word count; 12.9k
⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, geto's world has been black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide.
contains; colorblind!geto, painter!reader, geto's mom is reader’s art mentor, he hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn, swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, geto sucks at flirting
author's note; repost of a bllk fic i have, titled 'rationalism'. if there are any plot errors pls let me know,, the original fic is still posted, i just wanted this up for jjk too,, enjoy!
Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Suguru knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.
However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.
Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Suguru, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.
He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.
And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Suguru hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.
“Do you like it?”
Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.
“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”
“What do you think?”
You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Suguru is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.
“I like this shape.” Suguru purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”
You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”
“Did you touch my painting?”
Oh boy, he’s in for it now.
A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”
Suguru’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.
“I guess you caught me red handed?”
There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him.
You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Suguru is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”
“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Geto’s son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”
Does she ever stop talking? Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.
The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before.
“Anyways, to answer your question—”
Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.
“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”
Yeah, he doesn’t believe that.
“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”
Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.
“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”
Yep. Tripped.
“—which led me to you!”
You’re smiling now and Suguru doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.
He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Suguru recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”
“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”
Before Suguru can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Geto!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”
You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes.
“Oh, Suguru! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Satoru decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”
She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Suguru is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail.
However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired.
“That’s actually perfect!”
What.
The.
Fuck?
“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”
The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Suguru, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does.
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Suguru’s never been one for art.”
“Oh.”
All you have to say is ‘oh’?
“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Geto. I apologize if I overstepped.”
You’re bowing your head before him now, and Suguru is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize.
He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality.
God, he’s so bad at flirting.
“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”
He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.
You’ve left your entire bag this time.
He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense.
It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Suguru is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too.
Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together.
He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.
You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin).
He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind.
A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.
‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”
As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will.
It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you.
Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear.
‘Hello. You know me.’
Perfect.
In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Suguru can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Satoru still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.
‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Suguru. That text was very…you.’
‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’
He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Suguru is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Where the fuck did you come from?
Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan.
“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”
He’s so bad at this.
You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.
“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”
Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?
“I’ve got nothing to do today.”
—because he’ll gladly let you do so.
The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Suguru’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often).
“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”
“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He smiles to himself.
Yes, you do.
He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again.
“Shit!” Suguru hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?”
This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Suguru hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution.
Suguru is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years.
The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Suguru finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?
Wrong. He’s a chicken.
“Here. This might help you cool down.”
Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his.
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”
You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”
And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world.
As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings - to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color.
It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of.
To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his.
He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?
How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand…
…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand.
Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.
He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same.
Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions.
“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”
Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Suguru happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Suguru despite this.
“Really?” Suguru dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?”
“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”
“Nice.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that.
“Yeah, nice.”
Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence.
“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Suguru - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.”
He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.
He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—
“What am I to you?”
Oh.
Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now.
What the hell is he supposed to say to that?
This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea.
Why can’t he think of anything to say?
His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern.
This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything.
“You’re my mom’s student.”
Anything but that.
“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”
Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one.
He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?
“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.”
Oh God, he made it worse.
“What?” Suguru tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?”
How the hell are you so fast?
Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.
“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Suguru, what kind of answer is that?”
You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands.
“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”
“Explain what?” Suguru flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”
“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”
Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”
If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces.
You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Suguru actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared.
“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Suguru been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger.
“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”
“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Suguru, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”
He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.
“How could you even say that?” Suguru can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”
“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding.
“Are you being serious, right now?”
Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Suguru doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in.
“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”
His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression.
“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”
You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Suguru, what’re you talking about?”
As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free.
“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”
You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”
“Grey.”
He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”
His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.
“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”
He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does.
The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Suguru wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers.
“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Satoru’s call is distant from the turning gears within Suguru’s brain. He’s sure that his best friend has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Suguru feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk.
“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The bright-eyed man beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Suguru had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”
“Cycle?”
What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?
“Oh, you know,” Satoru continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”
Suguru hates him.
“You’re so funny.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Suguru care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful funny guy who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being so unhelpful.”
Satoru scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just talk to her and put me out of my misery.”
“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Suguru stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Satoru holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”
“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his friend chuckles, causing Suguru to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Satoru continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”
Suguru takes his friend’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him.
It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Suguru’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other.
Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears.
You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth.
When did you begin to mean so much to him? Suguru doesn’t even know.
It could’ve been when you showed up to his community soccer game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Suguru!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of the opposing team - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rivals from that day. Suguru was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good.
Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things.
Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Suguru’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Suguru, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard.
The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Suguru! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Suguru’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?
Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?
Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?
What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?
“I need to text her.” Suguru feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Satoru to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Suguru on the back.
“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!”
His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Satoru eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Suguru knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along.
…
Did he just…
What did—
There’s no way.
Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?
He’s trembling. Suguru’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.
Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing.
Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Suguru knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you.
‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, and I’m sorry.’
He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.
An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?
He’s counting.
The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Suguru can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago.
Suguru has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you.
Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back.
Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Suguru hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him.
He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before.
“Suguru?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Suguru, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?”
This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?
You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Suguru Geto.”
“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”
The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Suguru fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you.
He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Suguru relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
Suguru’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right.
“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”
“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Suguru can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”
“You love your art, and I love you.”
He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.
You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…
…and then a tear falls.
One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Suguru almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful.
Suguru brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it.
“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”
You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay.
“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”
Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it.
Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they’re a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him.
His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—
Aw shit, he knocked over an easel.
“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!
“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”
“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”
The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Suguru cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.
As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…
…a kiss.
“I love you.” You whisper.
“I love you more.” He replies.
This is a fancy-ass venue.
Suguru can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Suguru can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it.
It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster.
He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Suguru is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are.
With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching.
“She’s talented isn’t she?”
Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Suguru, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all trying to embarrass him when Satoru walks up with his teeth beaming.
“Your girlfriend’s a pro at this stuff, Suguru.” Satoru ruffles his best friend’s hair and lightly nudges his shoulder. “I told you something like this would happen one day! You’ve found yourself a dream girl.”
Suguru rolls his eyes in amusement at his friend’s quips, completely ignoring him and focusing on his mom. Satoru’s always been his number one supporter. Though he’d be surprised if Satoru actually kept a girlfriend longer than a month with his constant busy schedule and inability to focus on one girl at a time; but that’s a story for another day. What matters now is his mom’s praise of you.
“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Geto has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her child, and Suguru doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his friends saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”
Hm? Suguru sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?
His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”
His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.
There are tears behind Miss Geto’s eyes and Suguru can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Satoru gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Suguru knows he loves them. His mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Suguru.”
Satoru smiles, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”
Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first girl-related hug he’s given Satoru since he was a teenager, seventeen years old and inseparable. Suguru finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his perspective on life, which was dreary for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he was a child, to which he ran into his mother’s arms at any moment for a grasp at joy. For a long time, Suguru believed that it was only possible to have a singular love. Oh how wrong he was.
“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”
“And we’re happy for you,” Satoru pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his best friend, to which Suguru’s mother laughs.
“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Geto nudges Suguru on, standing beside Satoru. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”
With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room.
Holy shit. You’re breathtaking.
Never in Suguru’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.
The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his former classmates).
Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—
“Cat got your tongue?”
Speak of the devil.
“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”
You said the same thing when you first met.
Suguru looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Suguru believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen.
The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”
As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Suguru feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.
Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Suguru’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You’re everything to him.
“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”
“Oh?’ Suguru raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”
You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it.
He sees himself.
Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his best friend, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his community, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life.
He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular.
"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"
Suguru can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"
Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.
"I'm painted in black and white."
Oh?
"You're painted in color."
...Oh.
"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Suguru. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."
He loves you.
He loves you so, so much.
A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.
There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.
"I love you."
#repost IM SORRY#geto x reader#geto x you#geto x y/n#geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x y/n#suguru geto#geto#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x you#suguru geto x y/n#geto fanfiction#geto fanfic#geto ff#geto angst#geto fluff#geto hc#geto hcs#suguru geto ff#suguru geto fanfiction#suguru geto fanfic#suguru geto angst#suguru geto fluff#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen#jjk
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a/n: my personal hc is that shalom only calls chief by pet names like darling, honey, love, etc. chief and shalom are somewhat dating
“are you jealous?”
“jealous? why would I be jealous?” shalom breathed out an airy moan, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you down until her lips were right next to your ear. every moan you pulled from those manipulative lips filled your brain and fueled you to fuck yourself deeper into this infuriating woman.
“she’s never had you like this, has she?” you asked as you pulled away and wrapped a hand around shalom’s throat, thumbing pressing roughly into her muscle.
shalom’s eyes fluttered shut as she tried to stave off her impending orgasm. she wanted to play with you a little more.
“you’ve been gone a while, chief…” the implication hangs in the air, your eye unknowingly twitching. you drive your hips forward, catching shalom off guard and ripping a groan from her mouth.
moving your hand from her neck to her hips, digging your thumbs into her stomach, you hover your face over shalom’s. “oh really?” you growl, the toy strapped to your waist stationary inside of her.
shalom smirks and winks at you. she sighs wearily as the head of the fake cock inside her drags along her walls then fills her completely. her breath is sapped from her lungs as you continue to slowly thrust into her. shalom looks at you with lidded eyes that speak a very clear message but you’re set on being an asshole this evening. you raise an eyebrow instead.
“I’m sorry, chief. please, please make me cum,” shalom pleas as she glides gentle fingers across your hands.
that’s as good as it’s gonna get even if it is just to please you. you build a steady pace of deep, quick strokes that leave shalom gasping and trembling. you rub at her clit with your thumb and even through the fake toy, you can feel how she clenches around it. strands of white and rose hair are plastered to her forehead and her eyes are void of their usual sharpness and coldness.
shalom grips at your hand, moving it to her nipple. you pinch and roll it between your fingers, pulling short, husky moans from the woman. shalom pulls you closer with her legs and the strap slides a little deeper inside her. you can see her stomach tensing and clenching as she gets closer to that orgasm she most definitely doesn’t deserve.
“that’s it, you’re doing so good for me” shalom moans, nails digging into your skin. “i’m so close, puppy—”
shalom realizes her mistake as soon as she makes it and you do too. puppy? she doesn’t call you that. your mind zeros in on the one person that spends more time with shalom than you—rahu—who just happens to be standing guard outside the door. just like a damn puppy. shalom doesn’t have the time to try and stop you from leaving. you’ve already undone the harness and you’re pulling on your clothes.
“chief…”
you wave her off and sigh. “mood’s already ruined. finish yourself off and come to the office when you’re done.” there’s the very obvious thing that’s been left unsaid.
shalom watches as you walk out the door, not bothering to glance at rahu as you pass her. she runs a hair through sweaty hair and sighs. how could she have made a mistake like that?
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Lazy Sunday | Husband!John Price x Author!Reader
Getting some much-needed stress relief from your doting husband
Warning/content: 18+, mdni, smut, fem!reader, gentle dom!price, established relationship, porn with plot, slow(ish) burn, angst, hurt/comfort, reader wears glasses, discussion of self-doubt and insecurity, cunnilingus, fingering, dumbification if you squint? (You’re just really relaxed), creampie, squirting, no use of y/n, they’re grossly in love idk what else to tell you honestly, but if I missed anything, let me know! Word count: 4.9k.
A/N: This has been in my drafts for ages, and I've been chipping away at it slowly, but after seeing @ghosts-cyphera 's husband!price drabble, I rose from the metaphorical dead, and here we are, so thank you, Alora, for being a fellow price enjoyer and just a gem, and I hope you all enjoy <3
Everything was just too much.
You’re stiff, jaw clenched, shoulders tense, and you can feel a migraine forming between your eyes. It’s a little ridiculous, really. By all accounts, you should be more relaxed. The hard work was finished, your novel was complete, the accompanying art had been chosen, and all the finer details were squared away; now, all that was left was publishing, though that was the publisher’s headache, not yours. It was the waiting that always got to you.
No matter how many times you’d gone through the process, no matter how many works you published, the anticipation never failed to eat away at you. There is a special kind of stress that comes with releasing your art into the world, in having people get a glimpse into your mind. While it’s gratifying to share your hard work with the masses, once it leaves you, it’s no longer only your own, and others are free to interpret it as they please. It’s deeply personal and scary like you’re bearing your soul to the public, but what’s done is done. All the late nights spent writing were over, and now you’re alone with your thoughts again.
You’ve tried everything to keep yourself busy. Your office is far cleaner now than it was before your husband left, both of your laundry was done with all the garments being put in their rightful place, and there was a cake on the counter from your late-night baking excursion a few days ago.
All of your usual distractions failed you. Nothing has been able to loosen the knot coiling itself in your chest. It’s silly; this is not your first book. The first was well received, a fact you should be grateful for, and you are. However, its success set a precedent. What if this one wasn’t as good? What if it didn’t live up to everyone’s expectations? The more questions you considered, the more withdrawn you became, allowing your doubts to swallow you whole. And that’s how you ended up back where you started, staring blankly at an empty document. You (foolishly) believed that writing could help, thinking a fresh idea would clear your conscience, but nothing comes. So you sit, hoping for anything to inspire you, but all you hear is the voice in the back of your head taunting you.
For a fleeting moment, you consider seeking the comfort of your husband; however, you quickly decide against it.
Not at all because you didn’t think he could soothe you. If anything, he knows better than anyone else how to keep you grounded, but you’re painfully aware of how rare it is for John to get time off, and it would be unfair to take that much-needed relaxation away from him with your problems. Still, you yearn for the solace he provides you. It’s absurd to miss someone who’s a mere twenty feet away, someone you could easily see. But, you stubbornly resist the temptation to steal his time, even if you know he’d want you to. He was insistent that you could never bother him, but you still had your doubts.
Compared to everything he goes through, your insecurities are small and insignificant; you can handle this on your own, even though you feel your eyes beginning to dry the longer you stare at the bright white void in front of you. A long groan escapes you as you toss your glasses unceremoniously onto your desk (had they fallen? You couldn’t be bothered to check) before burying your head in your hands.
“You’ve got this,” You mutter to yourself. It’s hardly convincing. Did you actually have this? You’re not entirely sure, but it doesn’t hurt trying.
You’re unsure how long you wallowed before your husband appeared in the doorway. Despite being uncharacteristically patient given the circumstances, you knew it was only a matter of time before he’d come to you. Rarely would you hide away in your office while he was home; usually, you’d rushed into his arms to steal his warmth every opportunity you got, but he tried to be understanding. Having him back in the house was just as much of an adjustment for you as it was for him, and he wanted to be considerate of that. Though his comings and goings had slowed considerably over the span of your relationship, he knew they still weighed on you, and he also knew you’d sooner die than admit that, so he gave you space.
But after another hour passes, his patience wears thin. This was a while even for you, and he wanted to make sure you were alright. So, ever the diligent lover, he prepares you a peace offering, a perfectly brewed cup of your favorite tea, and heads to your door.
His suspicions that you weren’t as well off as you claimed are confirmed when he’s greeted with the back of your hunched-over form, papers strewn across your desk. It takes one glance at you for John to know the kind of evening you’re having despite your best efforts to hide it. The stress practically radiates off you, casting a thick layer of tension in the room. The last thing he wants is to startle you, so he watches, waiting for you to acknowledge his presence. But the longer he rests against the doorframe, the sooner he realizes you haven’t noticed him yet, another sign that something isn’t quite right.
You didn’t have to say anything for him to know what you were thinking. He can practically hear the voices in your head lying to you, slowly breaking you down, and he feels his heart clench. It’s times like this when he wishes your mind was kinder to you, that it afforded you the same kindness you so freely gave others. He also wished you would let him help you. Your independence has always been something he admired and was one of the first things he noticed that drew him to you. You were radiant, ethereal, having an air of confidence and grace about you that followed you wherever you went, practically lighting your path.
However, your independence made it difficult for you to depend on him. He told you no fewer than a million times, practically pleaded with you to let him shoulder your burdens, to tell you that no problem was too small to tell him about, and while you’d opened up over the years, he could see that your walls were up. Nevertheless, he would do everything he could to chip away at them, to take you out of your head for a while.
He walks over to you slowly, placing the mug down before lightly rubbing your shoulders. You know he’s there, immediately feeling comforted by his presence, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You don’t want him to see you like this, not while you look like a sad puppy, but he persists, taking your silence as an invitation to speak.
“Made you some tea, love,” he says softly, receiving only a muffled hum of acknowledgment. Undeterred, he keeps massaging your shoulders, applying a bit more pressure, a soft smile gracing his features when you lean into his touch. His movements are slow intentional, wanting to ease you into the feeling.
He doesn’t have to look at your face, which has since been laid flat on your desktop, to know your brows are furrowed, and he wants nothing more than to smooth away the creases with his fingers.
Instead, he turns your chair to face him, forcing you to pick your head up. He ignores the whine you let out upon realizing that he’s not going to let you bask in your sadness in peace, as well as the glare you give him as you put your glasses on. There’s no malice behind your gaze, and he can see you fighting back a smile, causing his grin to widen.
“Good morning, lovely.”
“It’s not morning, and I probably look like shit” You sigh.
You’re right; it wasn’t morning, but the latter was far from the truth. John loved you in all your forms, but this, you at home in your comfy clothes, was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen, even if you were being a little grouchy. He doesn’t take it personally. No, he knows you’re frustration is with yourself, which only motivates him to relax you more.
He doesn’t ask if you’re okay; you both know you aren’t, so he settles with a more helpful question: asking what you need. It’s more a formality than anything because he already knows the answer. It’s clear you don’t want to talk because if you did, you would have by now. He’s no stranger to nights spent holding you, listening to you vent about everything troubling you as you lay your head on his chest, and while he welcomes your rambles, you’re too tangled up in your thoughts to get the words out.
No, you needed something else. You needed a break; you needed someone you trusted to take control for a while, and who was better suited for the task than him? You both knew he wouldn’t move until you asked him to because even when he’s in control, he’s still at your mercy.
You don’t answer him immediately, not that he expected you to. For all his gentle coaxing, the question was surprisingly direct, and it caught you off guard. You know what you want. You want to climb into bed, wrap yourself in blankets, and sleep, and no matter how much you try to deny it, you also want to melt into your husband’s touch while you do. But with how restless you are, that seems impossible. To do that, first, you would need to relax, something you’re notoriously bad at. John would be eager to assist, to soothe the storm that rages within you, but you also know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t help you if you didn’t ask. So, reluctantly, you confess you’re having trouble relaxing, that there are too many thoughts running through your head to turn your brain off. Once you start, it’s as if you’ve opened Pandora’s box and you just break. All the emotions you’ve tried to suppress come pouring out mostly incoherently. In your frenzy, you barely notice that John moved to kneel in front of you until you feel his hand cup your jaw.
He doesn’t get too close, not wanting to overwhelm you, because he knows how hard this is for you already.
You’re a lot like him in that way, birds of a feather, he supposes, as you both have difficulty opening up and trusting others. He’s forever humbled by the fact that you, wonderfully amazing you, chose him, and it’s not something he takes for granted. He values all of the time you spend together, even if you aren’t in the best of spirits. God knows he’s had his fair share of melancholic moments that you worked him through, and it is at that moment he is determined to do the same for you, to help you feel better.
“Shh, it’s alright, love, I have you. There’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll take care of everything, alright? I’ll give you what you need,” He reassures you in that low timbre you’ve missed so much. Your nod is rewarded with a light kiss on the cheek before he stands up, pulling you up from your chair with him.
You let out a yelp of surprise when he scoops you up and carries you towards your bedroom. His strength never fails to surprise you, but you don’t have time to dwell on it when he gently places you on the edge of your bed. For the second time tonight, he kneels before you, taking your hands in his while looking you in the eye.
“You know how much I love you, don’t you?” His question is met with a scoff.
“Of course I do. I don’t think there’s anyone in this world that loves me more.”
“Well, I’d certainly hope not. Otherwise, we’d have a problem on our hands.” He chuckles, running his thumb over your knuckles before continuing, “I want you to do something for me. You’re so smart, love, bloody brilliant. But right now, I don’t want you to think. I just want you to feel. Can you do that f’me, angel? Let me make you feel good.”
You nod as you did before, only this time, you’re met with a shake of his head.
“Need your words, sweetheart”
The “please” that escapes you is more breathless than you expected. He had hardly touched you, and you could already feel a bit dazed by the intensity of his stare. Your soft confirmation is met with a smile before he works you out of your sweats and guides you to lay flat on the bed. He takes his time to press kisses up your thigh, slowly making his way to your center, nipping every now and then, eliciting little gasps from you. And while you appreciate his desire to worship you, you were getting impatient. The sight of him so close to where you need him but not touching you was almost too much to bear.
Before you can protest, he takes pity on you, slips your panties down, and rewards your patience with a long lick up your slit paired with a chaste kiss to your clit.
Your moment of reprieve doesn’t last long before he absolutely devours you, laving at your folds without another care in the world. The strokes of his tongue are slow but firm, his mouth practically molded to your form, following you no matter how much you move and shake. He wants to get you used to the feeling, give you time to surrender yourself to him, and you’re starting to. He sees the way you grasp at the sheets, mindlessly looking for something, anything to anchor you, and he’s quick to provide.
You hadn’t realized how much you were squirming until he pulled back, one calloused hand stroking your inner thigh with the other lacing his fingers with yours while instructing you to relax, reminding you to be good for him, to take all that he’s giving you. You look angelic, eyes rolled back, your body flushed, a sheen of sweat forming, and every touch driving you closer to the edge. But he knows it’s not enough. Had you been calmer and less frazzled, you would have reached your peak already, but right now, you need a push to help you over the edge.
When he takes his hand off your thigh and lets his fingers join his tongue, your back bows. If not for his firm grip, you may have fallen off the bed, but there is no need to worry about that. John’s got you; he always does.
It’s overwhelming having him so wholly focused on you, feeling his deep, muffled groans against your center, and it’s clear he wasn’t faring much better.
He may be helping you destress, but you know your husband well enough to know he’s enjoying this as much as you are, if not more. John Price is not a selfish man, far from it. Many have speculated that his selflessness will be his downfall. But, at this moment, he can’t help but think about himself. Can’t help but think about how his cock is straining in his trousers, which are becoming almost distractingly tight, about how he wants nothing more than to pump you full of his cum. But he’s a patient man. He understands that he’ll get there eventually. No, for now, he’s more than happy to have you soaking his beard. What’s important at this moment is getting you to cum on his tongue, on his fingers, because he knows the wetter you are, the easier it’ll be to slip into you, leaving him to settle for grinding himself against the bed for relief, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.
Despite your whines and pleas for him to speed up, for him to give you more, he knows better. He keeps the same pace, knowing the slow build, while seemingly tortuous, will make you cum that much harder, and that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you boneless, without a single thought that isn’t him and how good he’s making you feel. There was no need to rush, you had all night, and there’s no place he’d rather be than here, with his fingers stuffed in your gorgeous pussy while he laps at your folds.
The sounds you two are making are nothing short of obscene. Your keens and his moans filled the room. And god, you were so fucking wet you were practically leaking down his wrist, and when your moans start rising in pitch, he knows you’re close. All it takes are a few more strokes of fingers before you’re cumming, your body going rigid with a broken sob. John works you through it, lapping up your spend and rubbing barely there circles around your clit to prolong your pleasure while patiently waiting for you to catch your breath.
When your trembling subsides, he carefully removes his fingers, using his now free hand to smooth over your thighs, murmuring praises about how well you did for him before standing, finally ridding himself of his clothes. You look so beautiful like this, spread out, panting, still glistening with your release. It just makes him want to ruin you, but always the gentleman, he checks in with you first.
“Still with me, love?” he teases, hands soothing at your sides, earning him a laugh, a genuine laugh. One that makes your eyes crinkle, and a chuckle of his own leaves him in response. It’s a good sign; it’s progress, but he knows you’re not entirely unwound yet. He knows you still have more left in you.
You pull him in for a kiss that he eagerly accepts. It’s tender, intimate. You can taste yourself on his lips, and John’s complete and utter reverence for you almost makes you shy. His love for you flows through him and pours into his touch when he deepens the kiss, and you can’t help but lean into it.
“I want more. I need to feel you,” you confess against his lips.
“How do you want me?” he murmurs, moving to trail kisses down your neck. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask,” and you know he means it. He’d bring you the moon and the stars if you wished.
“From behind, I don’t want to think about anything but how good you feel,” you said, pulling away to lay on your stomach before being stopped by John’s hand on your shoulder, turning you towards him. Your momentary confusion quickly dissipates when you realize what he’s doing.
He’s taking off your glasses.
Admittedly, in your haze, you’d forgotten you still had them on, so used to the familiar weight, but it makes your heart swell as you watch him place them delicately on your bedside table. It’s such a small gesture, but it’s endearing, and it reminds you how lucky you are to have such an attentive, caring lover, and you can’t help but pull him in for another kiss. John adores the lovestruck look you give him as you pull away, eyes bleary, pupils dilated. And though he could look at it all day, he reluctantly moves away, readjusting you so you’re face down on the bed before slotting himself between your legs.
A contented sigh leaves you as you settle into your plush bedding, feeling thankful you’d insisted on replacing those threadbare monstrosities your husband called “sheets” (he’d huffed and rolled his eyes at your dramatics– “they are not going to rip your skin off” –but deep down he loved them too) and close your eyes, sinking into John’s touch.
“Ready for me?” He questions, smoothing a hand up your spine, relishing in your shiver.
“Yes, need you to fuck me, John, please,” you breath, and who was he to deny you?
At your confirmation, he pushes in with a languid thrust, pulling you flush against him, giving you time to adjust. He can’t help but let out a low grumble at the view in front of him. He hasn’t even moved yet, and you’re already driving him insane. The feeling of being enveloped by you is indescribable. To be this close, to truly feel you, is unlike anything he’s ever experienced, and judging by the way you’re whimpering and trying to grind yourself back into him, he knows you feel the same.
He sets a steady pace, unhurried, leisurely, and revels in the quiet mewls you let out. The tension pulling your muscles taut dissipated with every thrust, and John couldn’t be happier because that’s what he wanted.
He wants to push all of those bad thoughts away. All he wants you to think about is him and how good he’s making you feel and to make you cum over and over until you’re spent.
“That feel good, love?” he whispers in your ear, his chest pressed to your back.
“Yes, f-fuck s’good,” you gasp out, followed by a broken “I love you” that he returns while quickening his pace, fucking you deeper. He can’t help it, really. Hearing the fondness in your voice makes him want to worship you more, causing him to aim for the spot that always makes you shake, and he knows he’s got it when he hears your high-pitched keen.
You’re begging now, desperate pleas of “Please don’t stop” and “right there,” and he doesn’t need to see your face to know that your eyes are scrunched closed, mouth agape, to know that you look stunning. He wishes he could see your face, to see you when you reach your peak that you’re edging closer and closer to, and he will, but after you cum again for him.
“That’s it, good girl, always takin’ me so well,” he praises. “Take what you need. I won’t stop, promise. Just want to make you feel so good don’t want you to think about anything but cumming. You close f’me, love? Yeah? That pretty little cunt gonna soak my cock?” he questions, lifting your hips to rub your aching clit, knowing all you need is a little pressure to send you over the edge.
Your words may be muffled, but your responding string of “yes” s are clear as day and only make him rut into you deeper. He needs you to fall over that edge again. Needs you to alleviate all that stress, and when you finally reach your peak with a muted sob of his name, he slows but doesn’t stop, watching in awe of the way you spasm around him, and waits for you to settle.
You’re more pliant now, a bit hazy with pleasure, but he’s not done with you yet. No, he needs you, his beautiful, distinguished wife, to fully surrender yourself to him and the pleasure he’s bringing you, even if only for a while. All those years ago, he vowed to protect you, even if it’s from yourself, and he plans to do just that. He knows you have one more in you, and he intends to wring it out of you.
A contented sigh escapes him as he pulls out before gently lifting you and laying you flat on your back once more. And when he sees your face, he’s reminded of just how breathtaking you are. Not that he ever forgot, but it’s a sight he never tires of. You’re one of the most precious beings he’s ever encountered, a goddess whom he’s eternally grateful has chosen to bless him with your presence, but now? Now, you’re glowing. He wishes he could immortalize the image in front of him, your eyes lidded, with a soft, blissed-out grin playing on your lips, but he’s brought back by the sound of your voice.
“You’re staring,” you tease, voice a little hoarse from use as you re-settle your glasses on your face.
“I could never get tired of looking at you, sweetheart,” he responds earnestly, unashamed that he had been caught because he truly could. There was just something about you that brought out such genuine affection in him. You give so much of yourself to others, and it makes him want to do everything in his power to pour the same love back into you. He can’t help but want to fulfill your every need. You deserve the world. Leaning into another kiss, he tries to convey what he can’t through words through his touch.
This is more passionate than the last, but he’s met with the same vigor from you. It’s easy to forget the task at hand, but your soft moans were enough of a reminder that he wasn’t finished with you yet.
Lowering you back onto the bed, he guides himself into you, a deep groan rumbling in his chest while your mouth falls agape. There’s less pretense this time. You’re more than ready for him to start moving and thank god for it because as patient as he is, he’s only human, and you’re both getting desperate.
And when he pushes your knees towards your chest, laying your legs over his shoulders, the sound you make is borderline pornographic, and it’s then he realizes you may actually be the death of him. Holding himself back is proving more difficult by the second, so he opts for placing kisses on your calves to ground himself. He moves his hands, one going to hold the fat of your thigh for leverage while the other goes to cup your jaw. Any other time, he’d coax you to look at him, applying just enough pressure to make you face him, but he can see how overwhelmed you are.
Peering down at you, gaze unwavering, he sees your eyes barely open, all cloudy and lust blown, and he can’t help but tease you just a little, not that you mind.
“That’s it, this what you needed?” he practically coos at you, voice low and saccharine and growing gruffer by the second. “I haven’t been taking proper care of my angel, have I? No, no, that won’t do. Gotta make up for lost time. Poor thing, havin’ no one to fuck you properly when I’m not around. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
You try to answer, you really do, try to tell him you’ve missed him more and that no one makes you feel the way he does, but the words are like lead on your tongue, and your head is starting to feel fuzzy. The steady grind of his hips into yours and the feeling of being completely surrounded by him leaves you breathless, and all you can manage is a high-pitched sob that seems to satisfy him enough, and he keeps the pace.
“Gonna be good and give me one more? Of course, you’re my perfect girl, always so obedient.” Your responding gasp is immediately met with praise. In truth, at the moment, you’d do just about anything he asked, and you could feel the pressure building quicker, pushing you closer to the edge.
“Don’t look away, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes get all teary for me” he murmurs, words slightly slurred, and you distantly realize he’s not as unaffected as you thought. “Look so good like this, just need you to let go. Can you do that? Gonna be my sweet girl and cum for me. Let go for me, love.”
His gentle command, his firm grip, the pressure of him inside you paired with the almost feral glint in his eyes do you in, and before you know it, you’re back is arching, and you just gush for him with a soundless scream, soaking your lower halves. John isn’t far behind, and the relief of finally pumping you full is almost too much. You always get so tight when you cum, as if you don’t wanna let him go, so he indulges you, lowering your legs but not pulling out yet, instead opting to lay on top of you.
For a while, neither of you moves, trying to gain your bearings, filling the room with your soft pants.
Everything feels so serene, as if you two are the only people in the world. You exhale a contented sigh, eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of John’s body weight atop you.
After some time, he pulls out, shushing your whine of protest with a quick kiss before pulling you into his chest. As you burrow yourself further into him, John wraps you up in his arms. You always get so clingy after, a fact you’re endlessly embarrassed by, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s just another testament to how content, how safe you feel with him, and he cherishes the ability to give you the attention you crave.
Later, he’d clean you up, make you another cup of tea, seeing as the first was abandoned in your haste, get your favorite takeout, and set you up for a lazy night in, but for now, he holds you close. Warmth and exhaustion are seeping into your bones, and you peer up at John through your lashes and utter a quiet “thank you.”
“No need to thank me, love. I’ll always be here for you,” he reminds, giving you a featherlight kiss on your forehead before continuing, “Get some sleep”
And as you drift off, you can’t help the upturn of your lips. Your mind was quiet, and you finally got the sleep you craved.
#john price x reader#captain price x reader#john price smut#captain john price x reader#price x reader#price smut#captain price#captain john price#john price
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Let me come home,cause home is wherever when i am with you..
A/n: i am soo in love with this one. It is inspired from the song "Home" by Edith Whiskers.
Bob floyd × fem!reader
Summary: Bringing the newest member of your family home.
Everything felt so unreal. Like a dream.
It was so quiet.
And it was so peaceful.
After everything that happened that morning.
Screamings,cryings,yellings,and tears of joy.
The room was as silent as the color white.
The soft beeping sounds of machines could be heard every few minutes, but other than that, it was a void.
Compared to a few hours ago, it was peaceful now. The sounds of a crying newborn and a suffering mother were gone. Both of them were in a deep sleep, immersed in the world of dreams.
The only things visible when tiredness took over was happiness
However, sleep would have to wait since someone gently started poking your shoulder. You could tell it was Bob from the softness of the hands. His hands felt bare, except for one, due to the rings, and it was a rare and strange sight. Normally, he would even sleep with his rings on, but covering them with placenta and blood was not exactly what he wanted so he took off it and put it on his wallet,right next to your wedding polaroid.
"Baby? Sweetheart? Wake up." There was no softness in his words; he didn't want to alarm you.
As you opened your eyes, you had to squint a few times to sharpen the image. The light was quite dazzling, but it was only because you had just woken up. As always, you first focused on Bob and couldn't help but smile at his sleepy face. You knew that the smile was filled with pride and love.
"Where is he?" Even though Bob was the first thing you saw, this was the first thing on your mind.
Newest member to your little family.
All you could think of was the little bundle of love. Your greatest achievement and your greatest love. Your little birdie - as Bob called him.
Harrison Grant Floyd was born at 2:07 in the morning, weighing 3.48 kilograms. Although the pain from severe blood loss was almost as excruciating as coming out of an armed conflict, if you had to hold Harrison in your arms, you would do it all over again.
Your little birdie was born prematurely,around 4 weeks earlier, so he was smaller than most babies. He was, as both you and Bob accepted, the most delicate and delightful creature you had ever laid eyes on.
He was your creation, the most perfect thing created by both of you.
The moment he was brought to your arms, he immediately calmed down as if by magic and softened his body in your embrace. Bob watched both of you in awe, shedding tears at how strong you both were.
He was in love with both of you.
He never thought he would fall in love with you again but at that moment,he did.
And he didn't thought he would fall in love with someone else rather than you but at that moment,he did.
He was indeed a father.
The little birdie was here, and he was completely in love with him.
He was made for him.
He would give him everything he wanted.
Whenever he needed him, he would be there.
For any broken heart he suffered, he would be there to fix it.
He would always be by his side.
He would always support him.
He was in love with him…
"Sleeping over there." Bob pointed to the warm and cozy incubator that kept the newborn birdie asleep.
"Are you okay?" Wondering why he woke you up, you took his hand in yours.
With a protective stance, he stood over you, and as his forehead began to stick to your forehead, he parted your hair. His other hand was in yours, and you had never felt so safe.
When you caught the tears streaming down your cheeks, you saw the bouquet of happiness fly away as soon as you saw him running away. But he couldn't run away.
He was bound to both of you forever, and it was more than gratitude.
He couldn't leave you and your birdie; he didn't have the strength to do that because he had fallen in love with both of you again.
"Yes, my love. The doctors said we could take him home after tomorrow if we want to, but they recommend keeping him here a little longer. It's up to us." Bob looked at you with love. You couldn't help but gaze into those blue eyes that melted your heart years ago.
"I don't want to risk anything. If it's okay for you, can we keep him here a little longer?" You asked gently.
"Of course, honey. No problem. I just want what's best for him and you, okay?" He bent down to kiss your forehead and answered with a soft murmur before returning to his seat besides your bed.
...
Your dad was a complete mess.
A few hours after you woke up, your parents and Bob's parents came to the hospital to see your newborn birdie, and your mother had taken you into a relentless frenzy—she managed to do so when Bob's mother came and succeeded in getting her away from you.
Your dad had gone straight to the sleeping Harrison and stood at the head of the incubator.
He would sacrifice his life for him.
Probably everyone would.
It didn't take long for him to realize that he had the world in his hands. Harrison cried so loudly that you could swear Bob’s heart split in two—he hated that. Still, Bob came to save him and picked him up from the crib, calming him down with his lullabies.
"That's enough, my birdie. I'm here." He whispered softly, feeling his fatherly instincts kick in.
Then, Harrison was in your dad's arms, gazing at him with innocent eyes, his cries turning into quiet whimpers.
And at that moment, your father was a goner.
"Hey,man. What do you think about being a grandfather?" Bob's father, Bill, patted your father's back, trying to bring him back to reality.
"Wow. We have a birdie in the family now." Your mother commented with tears in her eyes.
"I can't believe I'm a grandmother." Bill’s wife, Tamara, was smiling from ear to ear.
Bob’s mother, Tamara, approached you and Bob with a big happy smile.
"He's beautiful, isn't he?" Sarah said, looking at Harrison in Bob's arms.
"He's perfect, just like her mother." Bob replied, exchanging a loving glance with you.
"Don't flatter me Ms.Floyd" you laughed.
....
The next few days were like a dream.
You, Bob, and Harrison spent few days in the hospital room, surrounded by the love and joy of your families. The room was filled with laughter, stories, and the occasional baby talk.
Even the whole squad came for a visit.
Bob’s parents and your parents took turns visiting, bringing gifts and expressing their excitement about the new addition to the family. They all took turns holding Harrsion, marveling at his tiny features and cooing at his cuteness.
As the days passed, Harrison’s health improved, and the doctors were pleased with his progress. The time finally came when they said you could take him home.
Bob swore he couldn't be more happy. You and Harrison being by his side and being happy.
...
Four days later, you could swear that Harrison was almost the size of a watermelon.
Okay, maybe he wasn't that big, but he was growing faster than you'd ever want to admit. He wasn't a chubby baby like both you and Bob were. He was a bundle of sweet little joy.
Last night, you fully realized that your life was about to change indefinitely, and you couldn't be more excited to take your new family home.
Both your families and Bob's had returned to your home to take care of small things for you. For example, your mom had cooked enough lasagna, pies, and curry to last you two weeks, so you and Bob didn't have to worry about cooking dinner yet. His mom had baked plenty of cakes and cleaned the house. Your dad had watered the garden and planted new flowers in pots. They were the greatest support team you could ever ask for.
Bob was currently talking about the adventures he would have with Harrison while dressing him in a blue onesie. First, he would take him home and show him his beautiful blue room and then he was already planning to take him to the base.
He would teach him how to crawl, walk, talk, swim, and run. He even added, "And no breaking hearts" looking at him with a serious face, but Harrison seemed unfazed.
"Bob!" You raised your eyebrows, he was overly protective, but oh, you loved him.
"Don't say that," you laughed to yourself while putting on the hoodie he brought for you. Getting out of that ugly hospital gown and back into your own clothes felt good. Your pregnant leggings fit you perfectly and made you feel strong. Bob couldn't keep his hands off you, so you handed him the task of dressing your son to keep him out of trouble. You were busy preparing the baby travel bag to leave.
"Stop waving your arms like that, sweetheart! Your dad is doing his best, but you're not helping, my love." Bob chattered to your son, who was attempting to put his hands in his mouth. You could already tell he would be curious about everything and anything. Whether alone or as a family, he would love life - you were sure of it.
You smiled as you watched their interaction. The perfect family. Your perfect family.
Collecting the bags, you went over to Bob, who attacked you when he saw you.
"For God's sake, drop these damn bags on the floor right now! Oh, woman, stop doing something and just rest." Bob made you put the bags next to the door, and you chose to join him in his stress.
"First, shut up," you said sternly to him, not liking the idea of him thinking you were helpless just because you gave birth. "And second, would you calm down?" You finally chuckled as you finished dressing your son. How adorable they looked, indescribable. So cute and soft. Just too innocent.
You looked at him with so much love as he looked at your son. You hoped the universe could contain all the love for him,as it wasn't big enough, it was infinite.
"Okay, I'm sorry." Bob sighed, slumping his shoulders slightly.
"Hey, talk to me. What's up?" You asked him, going to him and leaning your head against his chest. Often, near his chest, buried in his neck, even within you, was where she found the most comfort, he would say.
"He's just perfect. I don't want to mess things up," he admitted, holding you closer.
"You can't ruin anything. There's no rule for parenting. As long as you love him, keep him safe, and let him be happy, he'll know you're the best dad. You were born for this. Still, I know you are," you reassured him. You told him that your birdie was watching him. You knew Bob was watching him - how could he not? He was everything to him.
"I'm so glad I found you," Bob thanked you by kissing the top of your head. Whatever the situation, he always knew how to handle it.
Muttering in response, you pulled him a little closer. Both of you, unexpectedly, witnessed your baby boy-wrapped sneeze the quietest sneeze.
The first time.
Many firsts.
Even if he had a wet nose and hands now, this sight made your eyes watery. Harrison looked at both of you, confused about what just happened.
"Bless you!" You laughed at him, wiping him nose and hands on your sweater sleeve.
"Did you just sneeze, sweetheart? Did you do that?" Bob asked rhetorically, with a tired expression on his face. You saw him wipe his arm on his face, clearly being as teary as you were. He saw you looking at him and blushed.
"Shut your mouth." He told you what he had said to himself.
Every moment was so beautiful...
Car ride to home was quite but peaceful.
Fresh flowers filled the air.
A few days ago, when you rushed to the hospital, the house didn't look the same as you left it. Now, it was covered in flowers, cards,ballons and gifts. Notes from everyone,your friends,whole squad,some relatives,bob's frienfs collegues and some other people.
Roses bloomed on the bushes in the garden. Tulips in various colors wrapped in brown paper adorned every inch of your kitchen counter. Lavish vases that looked extravagantly expensive stood in your living and dining rooms. Yet, the only flowers in your bedroom were the ones Bob brought for you. He had taken them this morning before you came home, claiming that he was proud of you and proud to call you his.
The whole house smelled like a botanical garden. This morning, in addition to that, there were the scents of freshly baked pastries your mom had made for you before you came home. Croissants and cakes waited proudly on the kitchen side.
Passing through the front door of your house, you hadn't felt this grateful for being home. Everyone had left; it was just you, Bob, and your baby boy heading home together.
Before leaving, they insisted on all of you spending a few days and nights together. It was crucial for all of you to bond comfortably in the comfort of your own home. The next few days would be tough, but you hoped that being together would help you get through it.
Getting out of the car with Bob carrying the bags, you went to the front door and opened it carefully. After entering, he turned to close the door tightly behind him, but before he could go too far down the hallway, you had to cough to get his attention.
"Did we forget something?" You looked at him as if he were a madman.
"What?" Ethan stared at you in confusion, furrowing his brows until lines appeared on his forehead.
"Maybe our 4-day-old son is behind our car?" You asked him rhetorically, wondering how he could forget so quickly - dad brain.
"Right. Yes. Our son." Bob muttered to himself as he turned to open the front door and went outside to fetch your precious birdie.
"My baby,my baby!" You burst into laughter at his shoutsas he went. He returned with a beaming smile, holding Harrison who was hiding in his car seat, sleeping as peacefully as a bug in a rug.
"Thanks, Mr. Floyd." You teased, thinking how if you had married Joe from high school instead of Bob, you would never have so many gifts and flowers. Or this much love.
Still, you wouldn't want anyone else but him. He was perfect. He was more than enough. In fact, he was more.
"Yeah, what can I say? I'm a damn good dad now!" He inflated his ego, but a swift hit to his upper arm quickly deflated it.
"I'll do more than hit your arm if you curse in front of our son again," you warned, not wanting your son's first word to be a bad one - even if it meant months of silence from him.
"Yes, ma'am." He nodded sternly, grinning at the turn of events, acknowledging your newfound authority. He left the room before getting into more trouble, announcing that he was heading to Harrison's crib in the living room.
You sighed as you looked around the room. Tonight, you didn't want to deal with it, so you turned around, left the room, and followed Bob's footsteps. He had already knelt beside the crib, tucking your precious little birdie under a blanket carefully knitted by Penny.
Bob's mom had knitted a hat and gloves for him to wear outside in the winter. For now, he would sleep safely under your roof until he was ready for the world to see him.
"I want him to be ours forever," you whispered to bob, kneeling beside him and leaning over, bending your knees towards the floor.
"Me too, love." He pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. The two of you watched him, as quiet as he slept.
He was an angel in its truest form.
He was your blessing.
"I love him so much." You told Bob and in return, you received a sigh of contentment.
He was trying so hard to hold back tears, but seeing your little boy sleeping so peacefully, he couldn't be strong enough to withhold the tears.
Then silence enveloped you again.
There was no need for words between you two; both of you knew what you were thinking:
How lucky you both were.
Having each other was a miracle, but having him was another thing entirely. He was everything. All soft and delicate, but even at a few days old, heartbreakingly beautiful. He was everything you and Bob had ever wanted. All the tears, morning sickness, and pains were worth it for this moment - and all the moments after.
"Do you still think he's breathing?" Bob broke the silence, and as you followed him, he did seem to be not breathing.
Though as still as a statue, you could see his tiny chest rising and falling, up and down. His little hands were by hishead, as if he were trying to cheer himself up, and his face was tilted to the side, looking at both of you. Even though he looked lifeless, you could see her efforts.
"Shut your mouth, you're scaring me!" You laughed at his ridiculous comment. Tears of happiness. Tears of relief and joy.
Family life had just begun, and you were so ready for it…
Thank you for reading💙💙
I'm tagging people who might be interested:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @sailor-aviator @sorchathered @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @lyn-js @seresinsbrat @torchflies @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @bradshawsbaby @hardballoonlove @perfectprettypisces @topguncortez @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern
#bob floyd#robert bob floyd#top gun fan fiction#bob floyd fanfiction#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x female reader#dad!bob floyd#sena writes
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Weird rant but like, it kinda makes me sad a large portion of scarab art is just that of his farmworld disguise that started to melt into me just obessing over why i love scarab's design so much
i dunno, i just always found it funny scarab litterally pulled the white-twinkifacation beam onto himself and the fandom WENT FOR IT. Like i have nothing against people just having fun and humanizing him [human scarab with nerd glasses truithers i owe you all a smooch/p] but when i see just this [albiet cannon] design over and over when the whole point and reasoning for his deign existing was to be a disguise and not resemble him at all,,,,,, his human form is in like 3 scenes total yet i swear i see more art of THIS than his actual design sometimes.. and it SADDENS me cuz like HIS REAL DESIGN IS THE COOLEST SHIT EVER??
His most-used form being so regal and sharp, the monochromatic red design just RAIDIATES menace and power, he's pretty much completley humanoid if you ignore the fact the suit IS his body and his arm/leg spikes, his design really gives off something that isn't human trying to replicate humanity. AND DUE TO THIS HE IS FULL OF BODY HORROR POTENTAL TOO LIKE???!
I just love how his regal and humanoid form just LEAVES the second he is at his lowest point in the show, [the universe he searched for and jumped through so many fucking hoops to locate and destroy becomming cannon and thus his efforts became null and void.] his body language just DROPS the whole "proper but deadly" facade and my man just goes full BUG MODE, gaining another set of arms and crawling around, he pretty much gives up on hiding his real face too which is ANOTHER DESIGN ELEMENT I REALLY ENJOY
He only really takes it off in acts of desparation [threatining fionna into getting his weapon back] or an intimidation tatic [jumpscaring Gary after bro threw baked goods at him-] and the second he no longer has the upper hand he slams it back on, i just think its a very interesting element i have anylized to HELL and back because i have combed through all of his screen time on multiple occasions.
During his absolute moment of glory, [in the process of repo-ing fionnaworld his mask is off, bro is grinning he is elated he is exited as hell] and his FIRST reaction to the shock of his erasure not working is to slam his mask on before anything else. Now i have my headcanons on what this means but i just kinda wanted to ramble on about why his body language/design has been keeping me in a CHOKEHOLD latley
anyways before i spend like......an hour writing this i'm gonna post it i just NEEDED to get his design elements into a post before i fucking explode =)
#scarab the god auditor#he's just so fucking cool to me sorry for going INSANE on this post#it just makes me sad so much art of him is just ship art when he is FULL OF POTENTIAL ON HIS OWN
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