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gachael · 2 years

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Live At WOMAD 1982 / Various Artists

Biko / Peter Gabriel featuring Ekome

#womad #live at womad 1982 #the beat #pigbag #the drummers of burundi #peter gabriel #robert fripp #echo and the bunnymen #rip rig & panic #simple minds #peter hamill

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strathshepard · 4 months

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Rip, Rig & Panic on The Young Ones, BBC via MTV into my young mind circa 1982

#the young ones #television #music #rip rig & panic #video #Youtube

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genericamentegiuseppe · 10 months

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Squid - Monolith

Non era mica facile per gli Squid con tutte le orecchie puntate su questo album, eppure invece di ripetersi cercano nuove strade...

Etichetta: WarpPaese: UKAnno: 2023 Continue reading Untitled

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maquina-semiotica · 2 years

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Rip Rig & Panic, "Change Your Life"

#Rip Rig & Panic #Spotify

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the-californicationist · 2 days

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Hiii

First of all I wanted to thank you for your amazing fics 🤩. They have become a part of my life and I can’t live without them anymore 🥹💖

Secondly, I wanted to ask about a fic if you would consider. 🫶

Price is injured in his thigh and we are a medic. When attending to the wound the tension rises and a little bit of teasing from our part? 😌

Also, Price can’t take us like he wants because of the wound but we can do 69?

Or maybe something more thrilling! I know you are the greatest in ideas and writing! ❤️‍🔥

Thank you a loooot. (*＾3＾）/～♡

Do No Harm

After being shot in the leg, Captain Price is put on strict bed rest by his medic: you. When he threatens to break your orders, you decide to use your rank against him.

AO3 Link

TW: female reader, face fucking, hurt/comfort, come play

When the captain got shot, all hell broke loose. Ghost and Gaz retaliated swiftly, and the bomb that Soap rigged to blow the enemy encampment was more than a little overkill. The four of them had shown up back at your makeshift base, sweaty, bloody, and exhausted.

“What happened?” You asked the tall lieutenant, searching his face as he removed the skull mask, looking for signs as to how serious it was.

“He took a hit to the thigh. Dead bloody center,” the tall Brit rolled his captain over, the latter of whom let out a torrid string of curses and shouts, nasty enough to make you blush.

You inspected the wound, but his clothing was in your way. Ripping your scissors out of your chest armor, you set to cutting him out of his trousers, and you tried not to let the panic get the best of you.

The truth was that you were keeping a secret. You were sleeping with their captain. You and John had broken a series of rules (and furniture) over the past four months, enjoying each other in the most primal, carnal way. Every night that he was on base, he sneaked into your medbay, aching with something other than pain and searching for his cure.

You knew it was wrong. It was so far beyond protocol that you wouldn’t be surprised if they court martialed you when they found out, but you didn’t care. You were addicted to him. When he was away for too long, you crawled through the hallways and out into the common rooms with a slick problem between your legs. Something only his fat cock and filthy mouth could solve.

He was terrible with you. Nothing was off-limits. He used you like a toy, and his fervid want was enough to burn you alive. In the darkness, his grasping hands and hot breath scorched your skin, searing across your belly, pinching your nipples, playing in your lips, all for the express purpose of making you come. It was his favorite thing. By the sixth, the seventh, when you were begging him to squeeze his pulsing rod inside of you, pleading in whispered cries for him to fuck you, he would chuckle with a dark joy. Teasing you, calling you his pretty little plaything, reminding you that you were fully at his mercy.

It was hard to see him like this, but you were good at your job, and luckily, the bullet had gone right into the muscle. No broken femur, no arterial damage. Your predator would live to hunt you another day.

“I need everybody out. Come back in an hour,” you commanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Gaz replied, leading the others out of the clinic to debrief and regroup after a hard night.

You sliced through his canvas pants, slipping the shears through the fabric to reveal his bare skin. He never wore any underwear, which you were always quick to rib him for. Then, you inspected the wound. They had packed it in the field, and as you removed the dressings, more and more blood pooled out of the hole, obscuring your view. You worked as fast as you could, administering as much anesthetic as you had on hand, knowing that it wasn’t enough. He was doing everything he could not to writhe in pain as you threw stitch after stitch.

“Jus’ wanted to get me alone, didn’t ya?” He teased you through gritted teeth. His voice was weak, but he was feisty, which was a good sign.

You smiled down at him, joking around,

“You know it. But, you’re lookin’ a little worse for wear today, Captain. Might have to get my fix somewhere else.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, grabbing the side of the table hard enough to make the metal frame whine when you hit a nerve with your needle, “Another man lays a fuckin’ hand on you, and he’ll wish he hadn’t.”

“Can’t have you reopening this wound, John. I worked hard on these stitches.”

“How’m I gonna sneak in to see you tonight?” He looked up at you with softer eyes, a youthful gaze on his face.

You pitied him, winking cheekily,

“Might just have to keep you here for observation.”

His whole body relaxed then, relieved in a way you hadn’t expected. You had just been kidding around, but his reaction made you change your mind. If he felt better with you in your clinic, you’d add it to the orders. The last thing you needed was your headstrong man limping through the base just for a chance at some action.

You finished up, cleaning the wound and surrounding skin, wiping down the rest of him as best you could. He was filthy, and the water in your bucket was full of sand by the time you were done. But, he still smelled like the sun and his sweat, and it was enough to make the animal part of your mind practically salver at the idea of how his skin must taste. The saltiness, full of his pheromones… you chastised yourself for even thinking about it.

He was finally asleep, full of morphine and exhausted from his ordeal. Gaz popped back in, and you told him you’d be keeping their commander overnight. You thought you’d gotten away with your little game, but there was a knowing glint in the sergeant’s eye that told you he knew more than you thought.

You tried not to stress about it. His men were loyal to him, and you knew they wouldn’t rat you out. But, still. You made a mental note to be more careful in the future.

Your bedtime routine was short and easy. You slipped into some shorts and one of John’s abandoned tee shirts. Luckily, it looked like everyone else’s tee shirt, so no one was the wiser. You could always say you stole a larger one from the supply room. But, it smelled like him, and you slept like a rock when you wore it.

You climbed into bed, and before you could even think about going to sleep, the ache between your legs reared its horny head, coaxing you to touch yourself, disguising itself as a tingle, an itch that needed to be scratched. As soon as your fingers pried apart your soft petals, you discovered the truth. You were soaking wet, and your core was hot like molten lead, giving your digits no resistance as you played with yourself, slipping them in and out of your slick folds.

You heard a noise escape from your throat against your will, and you tried to hold it back, rolling your eyes from the slam of pleasure that rushed to your head. You were dizzy with want, and even though you tried to quiet the sound, you could hear your own wet flesh popping and sluicing with more and more of your precome, preparing you for an encounter you knew you couldn’t have.

You came quickly, and without much warning, clenching down on nothing, biting your hand to keep from screaming for him. You peeked over your shoulder, and luckily, he hadn’t woken up. You thought about how nice it would feel to have his big body curled against you as you crashed into a deep slumber, the scent of your wet hand and his old shirt mixing together and lulling you to sleep.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but when you woke, it was still dark. Your eyes darted over to the clinic table, and John was… missing?

You sat up with a start only to find him fully naked at the end of your bed, getting ready to crawl in beside you.

“John!” You hissed, “What are you doing? You can’t be walking around.”

“Gotta have you, love. I’m so hard, it hurts.”

“You were shot in your fucking leg, Jonathan Price. Let me see the dressing.”

“Quit fussin’ over me, girl. C’mere,” he covered you with his body and grabbed your wrists, forcing you to lay beneath him, flat and vulnerable. He set to pulling away your clothes, making quick work of it, sighing raggedly when he felt your naked body beneath his own.

But, he was in pain. You could see him adjusting and readjusting, trying to figure out how he could fuck you like he wanted to, unable to find a solution.

“John,” you whispered, feeling his mouth on your neck, “We can’t. You’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t make me order you to stop.”

“I’m your commander,” he breathed, threatening you with his teeth, leaving a bruise on your sensitive skin.

“Don’t…” you gasped as his fingers found your gooey center, “Don’t confuse your rank for my authority, Captain Price. You’re under my care.”

He glared at you, coming to a pause, leaving his fingers in you to play in your hole, gently pulsing in and out, teasing you just enough to keep you on the edge,

“You want me to stop? Hm?”

The more he teased you, the more hot slick collected on his hands, sticky and clear, covering his fingers and making him harden with every moment.

Then, he took a sharp breath in through his nose, and paused, hiding his grimace in the crook of his arm. You canted your hips, removing his hand from you, fed up with his defiance,

“John, that’s enough. If you make me restitch that wound, I will have to do it without drugs. We’re out of anesthetic.”

“Please, love,” he held you close to him, letting you feel his hard length as it rolled against your tummy, making a trail of precome across your skin, “I need you. I’ve missed you so bad. Lemme fuck you. Put my cock in you.”

“Hold on,” you shifted your body so that he would turn on his side. Then, you lay opposite him, your head laying at the foot of the bed, bringing you face to face with his swollen, hungry cock.

In this position, you could suck him off, and he wouldn’t need to use his thigh.

You licked your lips, trailing them across his cockhead, collecting his salty pearls of pleasure and wearing them like gloss, suckling from his tip as softly as you could just to taunt him further.

“Ahhh, fuck…” His sigh was delicious. All of that pain and all of the stress that had made him so tense rushed out of him, making his skin pebble with bliss.

Without hesitation, John bent his head, pulling your hips to his open mouth, and wrapping your leg under his arm, eating your pussy and groaning with a lurid, feral pleasure.

The feeling of his soft lips and scruffy beard against your sensitive skin flung you into a spiral of pleasure. You could feel his warm tongue prodding and exploring through you, greedily splitting you to get to your hot, honeyed center.

You wanted more of his taste, so you went to work, stretching your jaw to accommodate his girth, taking him deeper into your throat, using your tongue to trace a wet circle around his head when you needed to catch your breath, teasing him just beneath his foreskin. When you did, his cock throbbed for you, egging you on, eager to drip its load into your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Gonna make me come,” he threatened.

Suddenly, you felt his fingers dip back inside of you. He was aggressive with his fondling, shoving two of his thick digits deep inside of you, curling them cruelly to press upon your most pliant, responsive spot.

As he fucked you with his hand, he let his tongue lap against your clit, making you whine around his dick, muffled by his shaft. You felt his hips begin to thrust forward and back, desperately fucking your throat, getting closer and closer to releasing his orgasm inside of you.

You couldn’t wait to taste him. You wanted him to use you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was — as hungry as he was for your body — you needed him just as badly.

You felt your body begin to tense, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he would have you coming on his hands. He kept his pace, knowing your favorite rhythm, humming to himself as he devoured you, sucking up every drop of your wetness as if he’d never drink from your tight font again.

Your toes curled, your legs tried to close in on themselves, stopped by his body trapped between them, and something snapped inside of your core, letting loose spiraling sparks of pleasure, breaking you apart over and over, only for each gentle lick from his tongue to put you back together.

“Mmhm,” he praised you, “Good girl. Just like that. Rub your come on my mouth.”

You did as you were told, no longer in the driver’s seat when it came to your body, fully trained to submit to his will. You shamelessly smeared your pussy across his bearded jaw, humping lewdly against him, all for him to whisper gratefully between licks,

“Yes, more. More. Give it to me. Fuck my mouth, love. Fuck, I love it. Fuck…”

All the while, he was thrusting into your mouth, deeper and deeper, choking you on his hardness. But, you let him. You allowed him to use you, holding onto his hips for dear life, breathing in every gap that he left, gasping for air, feeling yourself getting dizzy.

“Are you ready for me?” He groaned, peering down at you between your bodies.

You moaned something you hoped sounded like a yes, and he turned his full attention towards you. You felt his fingers leave your pussy, only to wrap themselves through your hair, sticky and messy, making a strong, merciless grip at the base of your skull.

He fucked you in earnest, then. It was gratifying to hear his satisfied grunts, and as you felt his cock swell even more, you knew he was about to come. Your mind wanted air, but your body wanted his load. You wanted to feel it slip into your throat, hot and milky, pouring down your neck like a salacious prize.

Finally, he went stock-still, and the only thing that moved was his cock. It throbbed inside of you, shooting rope after rope of heavy come down your tongue, painting your mouth white.

He removed himself from you as quick as he could, pulling your head back up to your pillow, bringing you face to face with him, whispering in an animalistic tone,

“Lemme see it, pretty girl. Open up. Let me… ahh, yes. That’s it.”

He dipped his finger into your mouth, gathering up his own orgasm onto the tip, smearing it around your lips like he was putting on your makeup.

You were panting, gasping in the air you so desperately needed, and you tried not to swallow, gathering up as much of his foaming fluid on your tongue as you could, sticking it out for him, showing him what a good girl you could be.

He took more of it onto his hand and dipped down between your legs, painting your swollen folds with his spend, mixing your come together like some ritual.

You couldn’t help but whimper. You were overstimulated and raw, and he shushed you, bringing his hand back up to play with your soft nipples,

“Shh, it’s okay, love. It’s okay. Kiss me.”

You felt his mouth crash into yours, and your own heady taste invaded your senses, folding in with his, making your body roll itself against him, begging him for more.

“Leg already feels better. C’mon, love. Give us the go ahead, hm?”

“I will tie you to this bed, John Price. Don’t test me,” you looked up at him before laying your head on his furry chest, breathing when he breathed, watching his hairy belly rise and fall.

“Promise?” He chuckled, pulling you closer and holding you there all night, unwilling to compromise, claiming you in every way he knew how. You dozed against him, sated and happy, wondering how long you could keep a secret this good.

Sorry for the wait! Work is hellish right now, but as soon as this semester is over with, I'll be posting more. Thanks for letting me know your thoughts.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #john price #cod #captain price #captain price x you #call of duty #captain price x reader #captain price x female reader #captain john price x female reader #john price x female reader #john price smut #captain price mw2 #oh captain my captain

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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I’ll Take the Night Shift

Pairing: Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader

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

Word Count: 15.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?! Is all you can numbly think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that meant he was either dead or captured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he had never met you before.

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

You quite liked him looking surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you would have it no other way.

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

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

You can’t leave him behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Little Lady, I–”

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

But for John, you’d do anything.

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

No, no, no. No, it can’t be.

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

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

But you can’t stop seeing red.

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

But all you do is stare.

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

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

“He’s not dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

…And we can’t stay here.

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

Don’t think about him. Don’t do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Akin to betrayal.

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all that mattered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Copy, Ma’am.”

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

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

Johnny.

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

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

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

The comment warms your heart.

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

“Never, Ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There he was.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm, I’d let you.”

“J-Johnathan Price!”

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

—

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

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

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

He remembers the explosion, and then nothing more.

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

Muppet, he should have just run.

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

And then he woke up in the room.

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

His whole body hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

And if he was already dead…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or so illegal.

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

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

“Earpiece.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you could play that part quintessentially.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well…what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

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

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

What?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ma’am–!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gasps are hidden behind hands and handkerchiefs.

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

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

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

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

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

Please be okay, Love.

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

Did they even feed him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If possible, he gravitates toward you even more.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Take it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John hums under his breath, “Beautiful.”

Then he goes limp, and you start screaming.

—

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

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

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

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

They had only just gotten John stable an hour ago.

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

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

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

Would he have died in your arms?

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

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

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

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

It was the least you could do.

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

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

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

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

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

I really must be tired.

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

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

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

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

Gaz, well…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs but nods his head.

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

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was there. He was right there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I had a dream.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

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

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celluloidbroomcloset · 5 months

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If you want further evidence of Ed being fully cognizant of what Izzy did to him and to Stede, let us take his comment that Izzy's leg is "up in leg heaven."

This line recalls Izzy's insistence the Ed murder Stede and send him to "doggy heaven." It was a breaking point, leading to Ed's confession of his father's murder, and then to Izzy himself attempting to kill Stede. It relates Ed's physical violence against Izzy to the violence of trying to remove Stede.

Their conversation goes on:

"Have you come to take the other one?" "I think one's quite enough."

Izzy did try to take something intrinsic to Ed, and that was "quite enough." He justifies having Stede shot by firing squad: "This is a humane way of ending it. It's quick, it's clean. Edward, you know that." He's blind to Ed's suffering, and is fully expecting Ed to agree with him. He's removing a healthy limb, ripping something away that's an intrinsic part of Ed's self, and saying that it's for Ed's own good.

"I think one's quite enough" is a reminder of that moment. It is quite enough to have a part of himself ripped away for no reason, and now Izzy has experienced that too.

In both instances, Izzy does fail to kill Stede, but the trauma he inflicts on Ed still leaves a mark. During the duel, Ed fully shuts down, clinging to the rigging and rocking himself back and forth. He only starts to recover when he realizes Stede has survived. In the firing squad scene, he panics until he finally shouts "act of grace." He only recovers when he realizes that Stede is going to live.

But now there's no act of grace. Stede is gone, and Ed is fully preparing himself to die. In the depths as he is, Ed wants to see Izzy panic. He wants to see him shut down. He wants him to feel a fraction of the pain he felt when Izzy tried to sever Stede from him.

It’s very much “You took him from me. Now just kill me.”

#ofmd #ofmd season 2 #our flag means death #edward teach #ed teach #izzy hands #taika waititi #gif #ofmd meta #tw: abuse #well that got dark #i went to watch something else and got distracted by this scene #waititi gives a fucking amazing performance here too #you can see the anger #i'll post something nice and sunny later...#don't wanna write about izzy anymore though #tw: suicide

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enpr-ss · 5 months

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Fresh Meat for the Dungeon!!

“Remember these 3 words: flawed game design” -bdubs

MANAGER GRIAN!!!!

“He already ignored your first piece of advice etho” - tango. HE GOT ETHO HAZARD WALLED LOL.

MARTYN!!!! First victory on first try!!!

LOL JOEL

SKIZZ GETS ETHO WALLED TOO. But he loops in the river of souls!!!

Hbomb jumping the dripstone parkour like a pro and looping the river of souls with no struggle whatsoever

DUNGEON RIGGED!!! ETHO WITH TELHE TRASH TALK

Martyn first to do the lava pole parkour!!!

Skizz got two devils on his shoulders lol

Scar having absolutely no faith in hbomb lol

The runners are better at parkour to loop ravagers than the hermits

NECKED OUT LOL -Joe hills

Omg Lizzie got pancaked there

SKIZZ GOT DUNGEON LACKEY!!?

JIMMY WITH THE LEVEL 4 on deadly LOL. how does he keep getting paywalled. Look at etho already teaching him how to loot. Oof that was painful waiting for the keys. HE GOT INTO THE BURNING DARK!!! HE GOT THE ARTIFACT AND OF COURSE THE MINECART WAS OUT OF PLACE!! The soul fire parkour was so much holy. “WHAT SLABS?” LOL. finally got out of the burning dark holy. Truly etho’s mentoring is just “uhh just wait” camping Strat confirmed. TANGO ADDED AN EVOKER IN SPIDERS?!?! His luck on the wither rose parkour is insane. AND HE MAKES THE CHAIN PARKOUR!!! He made it out of level 2!!! But rip the vex. Bro that was so clutch. What a legend.

Martyn getting out of level 3 with minimal mentoring is insane. And he makes the chains back and forth no sweat. He was so close!!! Very well done.

Why does skizz gets 3 mentors. TANGO GETS ETHO WALLED. THERE WAS A KEY RIGHT THERE IN THE ROTUNDA LOL. etho’s op deck truly is carrying. Omg. This is the worst chaotic group ever. Can’t wait for this crew to play phasmo and just get team wiped every time. THEY GOT SEPARATED BY THE WALL LOL. Another missed key lol. SKIZZ JUST BOUNCING IN THE DRIPLEAF PIT what is he doing. Such incredible parkour. Wrong left! Truly dying of panic. Incredible.

Hbomb’s outrage at the washed away berries is so real. Bad mentoring lol. FOCUSED SLEEPING!! Nooooo the run was so good!! Rip H really BOMBed that haha. Jimmy and skizz with the best mentors; rip hbomb with his inconsistent mentors lol.

Martyn was so calm lol.

H stands for heckle. This is the most chaotic run ever. “What a gold digger” - Martyn. LOL

#tango #smallishbeans #pearlescentmoon #ldshadowlady #impulse

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bitethehnd · 2 months

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hiii can I request something about a first date with jo??? so excited to read another from a new fic writer 💓

*₊˚ 🛼 𖦹 first date !

pairing : jo maskin x reader

synopsis : cute first date hcs with jojo!

cw : nothing, just fluff. let’s just pretend kelli doesn’t exist!

𖦹 i have so many scenarios running through my head but let’s start with the backstory. maybe you and jo met through the boys, you’re another artist or just a met cute at a coffee shop. i don’t know you pick!

𖦹 as soon as jo saw you, they were completely enamored. your hair bounced beautifully as you walked and your smile lit up the room. they just stopped and stared, to which katie saw and laughed loudly.

𖦹 katie went over to you and sparked up a conversation, you two getting along quickly. jo had an internal panic watching katie talk to you, the redhead pointing towards jo’s direction. they walked over to you and introduced herself. katie quietly slipped away as you two hit it off. jo ended up asking for your number and that led to the first date.

𖦹 i feel like jo would plan something so cute for the first date. i can definitely see them taking you to a carnival / amusement park…

𖦹 would try to win a stuffed animal you were not so suddenly eyeing. it was one of those booths with tossing the ring onto a bottle. they’re not the most coordinated (que up all the clips of them falling on stage) so i think they would probably not win and be sad they couldn’t impress you. to you it didn’t matter, you thought jo was absolutely adorable.

𖦹 would scoff when they didn’t win the ring toss, saying “these games are fucking rigged anyway.” you go up to throw next and land every ring on the bottle. they just stand there like🧍😦 as the worker hands you the stuffed animal. you clutch your new prize to your chest and give her a triumphant smile.

𖦹 next up you guys go on some rides. you two go on the tea cups and you were expecting a nice, leisurely ride. you guess wrong! jo spins you guys as fast as she possibly can and you almost throw up. you guys had to take a break after that, jo trying to stifle her giggles at your disheveled state.

𖦹 going on the carousel and trying to pick the prettiest horses <333

𖦹 you guys definitely go in the fun house and take silly pictures. takes a picture of you in those distorted mirrors and posts it to their story. when you guys are in front of a mirror that stretches the reflection, they definitely pull up their sleeve and flex, the muscle appearing bigger in the fun mirror. you laugh and slap their shoulder while they wink at you.

𖦹 they hold your waist as you guys walk through the crowd, trying not to lose you in the swarms of people.

𖦹 they insist on buying you funnel cake, you two sharing one plate. they rip a piece off and hold the end in their mouth, wanting to do the lady and the tramp kiss. you laugh and, of course, comply. who wouldn’t want to kiss jo?

𖦹 lastly, they take you on the ferris wheel when the sun sets. the wheel stops at the top as you gaze at the view, but she’s looking at you. they go over and sit next to you on the other side, slowly leaning in for a soft kiss. it was the perfect way to end your date.

#first post!!!#bitethehnd #jo maskin x reader #josette maskin x reader #josette maskin x you #muna x reader #boygenius

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awhorrerstory · 1 year

Text

If I hated you

Jill Roberts x f! Reader

Ever since I was 14 I hated Jill. She was amazing, Her hazel eyes that flickered with joy when we’d watch murder documentaries in history class, her cute dimples that showed when Kirby and Trevor talked with her and the way she’d shyly walk around me when we passed each other in the hall.

I used to bully Jill in middle school through high school because of her Tomboy style and her movie nerdiness until she began to date Trevor who tried to fight me multiple times.

And all the reasons I hated her? They were what made me fall for her. I was totally in love with Jill Roberts, I always was. That’s what made me hate her so much, because I was so scared to accept myself and scared about how my family would react…god.

I now just acted like I hated her because I didn’t want to love her. I’m so scared of everything.

Jill and I had a fight today. She was with Trevor smirking and flirting so I hit her books to the floor and she called me a bitch and we started fighting. I told her to fuck off and went to class.

After class I went to the bathroom and as I was washing my hands Jill wrapped her arms around me with one hand over my mouth; “fucked with me on the wrong day, y/n.” Jill says looking at me in the mirror I elbow her and try to get away but stop when I see the bathroom door was locked. Jill chuckles and throws me back against the sink facing the mirror, those hazel eyes turning a slight shade of brown when she looked into mine through the mirror, “you’re just so jealous…” she says as I feel a cold metal against my neck. “J-Jill…” I whimper out as I see the knife against my throat. “You’re so envious…at first I thought it was because of Sidney or Trevor but now…” I feel her free hand run along my waist towards the front of my jeans and she pulls them down and pushes my clit against the corner of the sink causing me to moan slightly, “I can tell by the way you watch me, constantly checking me out, looking to my lips…you were jealous I was with anyone but you…” I blushed hard as she basically ripped me out of the closet sort to speak.

Jill cut my shirt open right down the middle exposing my light blue bra causing Jill to hum as she kissed my neck, her eyes never leaving mine. “Is this what you’ve wanted?” She asks seductively right next to my ear before she began to suck on the lobe gently. I moan softly as she chuckles and begins to pull down my panties so I can feel the cold sink against my throbbing clit, “Jill~shit-“ I whimper feeling her free hand unclipping my bra and letting it fall into the sink, “did you know my favorite color was blue?” She asks as her hands grasped my breasts and I moan softly, my hips bucking causing me to whimper as my clit is stimulated again. Jill cups my cheek and turns my head to face her, a look on her face I’ve never seen before. “I’ve wanted this for a while too baby…” Jill says as she kisses my neck, grinding against my ass and groping my breasts. Her moans were soft and she pants as she humps me until I cum against the sink. “You’re mine.” She says slapping my tit. “Jill…” I whimper as I come down from my high, my juices dripping down my thighs, “nothing happened…if you tell anyone I’ll use that knife on you.” She says as she pulls away from me, leaving me a panting mess as she casually walks out of the bathroom slipping the knife back into her backpack before she fully exits. I shake my head trying to wake myself up, no way that just fucking happened. I feel my phone buzz startling me slightly and look down to see a text;

5187678903: I hope you like scary movies y/n.

-Who is this?

5187678903: ;)

-Jill?

After a few moments there was no further text. I walk out of the bathroom after I fix myself, groaning as I figure out I’ll have to wear my sweatshirt the rest of the day because of Jill. I realize the door is locked and panic but try it and it casually opens. Weird.

I leave and go to my locker where Kirby was causing me to arch my brow, “hey, y/n right?” I nod, “yeah and you’re Kirby?” She nods and hands me a slip of paper, “my number, we have to work on English project together.” I’m hit with a wave of realization, “oh right! Sorry I’ll text you.” I say smiling at her. “Do you want to sit with me?” Kirby asks sweetly, “sure it will be fun, is Jill okay with it though?” “I’m sure she will, she’s pretty forgiving, but don’t you dare be a bitch to her or I’ll personally kill you.” Kirby says glaring at me. I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. I was becoming nervous about seeing Jill again, especially soo soon after she just made me- “y/n, this is Robbie and Charlie, and of course you’ve met Jill.” I say hi to Charlie and Robbie and then sit next to Jill and Kirby. Jill gives me that signature awkward smile I’ve examined over the years while her hand betrayed the look on her face, resting immediately on my thigh possessively. It wasn’t too hard to hide since the seats were already close together, but I’m sure I looked like a blushing mess. Kirby and I talk about our project while Jill debates with the guys about movies. Kirby and I join in on the conversation and I gush about movies and mention a few of Jill’s favorites so I can see those cute dimples. After a while of us talking I realize that Charlie seems to glare at me after I make Jill laugh or smile. Weird. When we’re done with lunch I go to my locker and prepare for my next class when Jill comes up behind me and slips a note in my back pocket before literally disappearing. A rush of excitement bursts through me as I rush to my next class so I can read Jill’s note.

I know you’re going to Kirby’s after school, we’re coming over too, stay a while

Jill

My heart skips a beat and it’s as if a car was about to hit me, even more so when I get a text from Kirby

K- come over tonight for our project

-I will!

K- Meet me at the door after school

-👍

I put my phone away as class starts and space out.

I meet Kirby who was leaning against the arch above the doors of the school and greet her as we head to her car. I couldn’t help but feel watched but I shrugged it off deciding it was probably just because of the recent murders. Kirby tells me about Jill and Olivia and shared her recent traumatic experience with the mysterious ghost faced killer.

“So you do like horror movies?” Kirby asks me as we get to her place. “Yeah I do, Carrie is my favorite, though I don’t really think it’s scary it’s just got a great plot and everything and she’s just so cool.” Kirby agrees as we walk into her house, “wow your house is really nice.” I say to her causing her to smile, “thanks, my parents aren’t home so we got the place to ourselves, until my friends come later that is.” Kirby says putting her bag down next to the couch, “do you want anything?” She asks as she goes into the kitchen. “Some juice if you have it.” I say as I look around her living room. I notice a picture of my parents, Kirby’s parents and Jill’s parents with us standing in front of them. I hold the photo, deja vu clouding my mind as I remember those nights where we’d play together while our parents talked and laughed in Jill’s living room. When Jill and I were close and I let my feelings for her tear us apart…

Kirby comes back in the room causing me to jump slightly, “sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” She says with a small chuckle as she hands me my juice and looks at what I’m looking at, “remember when we all used to be friends?” Kirby says smiling down softly at the photo, “we used to be so happy…what happened y/n?” Kirby asks me softly. I begin to cry knowing I could tell her, especially since Kirby is bi. “I…I fell in love with Jill.” I say my lip trembling and looking away in shame. “Hey! Don’t be upset about it, it’s just kinda crazy that to hated her for so long when she was always crazy about you.” I nod crying and looking away, “I should’ve just talked to you guys…or at least you, all of us were best friends, I knew I could trust you and everything but I just…my parents were pissed when they found out I was lesbian, I was just scared you’d react the same way or…Jill would.” I say looking away from her. “Hey it’s okay, I’m sure if you talk to Jill it’ll be okay.” Kirby says giving me a reassuring smile. We work on our project until Jill gets here, then Robbie and Charlie. Kirby puts on Halloween and we all watch it together with popcorn and all. Midway through the movie I feel Jill put her arm around me causing me to blush but continue to watch. Jill talks to Robbie and Charlie casually about the way the film is edited while her hand rubs my thigh, under the blanket Kirby had over all of us. I pretend to rest against Jill’s shoulder so I can cover my blush and avoid any suspicious gazes. My plan seems to be working until I feel Jill squeeze my thigh then whispers; “I know you’re awake, they fell asleep.” I look up at her, biting my lip as Jill examines me. “Let’s go to the guest room.” Jill whispers, pulling me to sit up and leads me there. Jill closes the door, locking it behind her before she pushes me on to the bed and grabs my face possessively, pulling me in to our very passionate first kiss. I moan against her lips as her hand goes to my neck and applies pressure to it causing me to whimper against her lips. Jill chuckled as she yanked down my pants to grab my ass in her hands, “you’re all mine y/n.” Jill states against my lips as she kisses me again, this time more hungry and greedy, as if she wanted to taste every inch of my mouth. I push her away slightly, “I want to talk to you.” I say looking for the woman I grew feelings for, “not now…” jill says flipping me onto my front. She pulls down my pants so my ass is out against her front and she rocks my hips a bit so I grind against her.

I go to say something, but when I feel her press her fingers against my clit, my mouth gapes, and a breath escapes my lips. She begins rubbing tight circles into my clit, and my hands move to grab the sheets of the mattress as pleasure pulsates through me, “you’re so fucking wet y/n. This all for me?” I feel two fingers slide inside of me, and a gasp escapes my lips. I bite down on my bottom lip to stop the sounds that threaten to escape my throat causing Jill to chuckle, “I want to hear your moans baby…” she curls her fingers inside of me and a moan escapes my lips, “good girl.” Jill praises as she slaps my ass. I whimper but push my ass towards her wanting more. Jill kisses my neck as she continues to finger me; “all this time, you said you hated me…who knew I’d have you whimpering under me?” She says rubbing my clit faster.

“Do you want more baby? Do you want me to fuck you?” She asks kissing right under my ear and down my exposed neck. I whimper again but don’t answer. She chuckles darkly; “why are you still being a bitch? I thought we established that you wanted me this whole time.” Jill says as I hear her take off her jeans and before I could say anything I feel that familiar cold metal dragging against my stomach then cutting my bra again, the same for the back my shirt so Jill could push it off, revealing my naked torso to her, “god, did I do this to you baby? Your thighs are shaking.” Jill teases as she rubs around my clit, avoiding where I wanted her touch, “jill~” I feel something big and hard enter me and gasp at my walls stretching around the silicone. “You like this baby?” Jill asks as she roughly fits the dildo inside of me, giving me little time to adjust to the large size. "Fuck you're tight," jill mumbles, grabbing my hip with her hand with the knife, the cold metal sliding against my cunt causing me to shiver "Can barely fit y/n…” Jill mumbles as she rubs my clit with the knife handle, her blood running down the blade down to the handle then down my thighs as she pounds into me from behind, “fuck…so hot…” jill mumbles as she fucks me harder, her hand moving the knife slowly up and down my body and around my sensitive nipples, the pain of the knife puncturing me every few moments only making me more horny, “touch that pretty clit for me y/n.” Jill says dragging the knife gently across my throat. “J-Jill-“ “fucking do it slut.” Jill says harshly as she slaps my ass.

I instantly reach between my thighs and feel just how wet I am before pressing my fingers to my clit, beginning to rub tight circles into it and making me moan. “That’s a good girl…take my cock.” Jill mumbles causing me to whimper and let my legs spread wider for the girl on top of me, “j-Jill! I’m gonna-I’m-“ she stops and pulls out of me causing me to whine. “Not yet baby…” Jill lowers herself between my legs and dives right in, goes for my clit and works on it until I feel like I’m going to cum again, and then she licks inside of me, coiling and flicking her tongue, her hands finding my ass and kneading it roughly, “J-Jill-“ one of my hands goes to her hair to pull her closer, and her eyes flick up to me, hooded and pupils blown wide, her once green eyes turning a dark hazel, the same as in the bathroom. I jerk my hand away on instinct, her eyes flickering with annoyance so I put my hand back into her hair causing Jill to smirk against my clit.

She pulls away for a moment to carve her name into my inner thigh causing me to groan in pain turning pleasure as she licks the blood from my thigh, then returning to eat me out, her nose rubbing against my clit and her hands on my thighs pulling them on to her shoulders so she can thrust her tongue inside me. She continues until I’m about to cum again then pulls away with a pop. “Jill please…I need to cum…” I whine cupping her cheek. Her eyes lock with mine as she laps up the blood from her freshly carved name on my thigh once again then kisses me passionately as she begins to rub her bare cunt against mine, I was so caught up before, not even realizing Jill took her pants and panties off and was just in her black lace bra causing me to blush as I look at her, “Can you take it off?” I ask her between kisses. She nods and begins to take it off and I eagerly help her wanting to see her fully. I rub Jill’s nipples and kiss her passionately as she humps me, skin on skin and rubbing our clits together. Jill’s nails dig in to my waist to keep me close to her, she keeps a steady rhythm, slow and deliberate, making my pussy ache for more. “J-Jill…please let me cum…” I whimper hugging her tightly and wrapping my legs around her waist tighter. She kisses me as my legs spasm and I squirt. Jill cums, with a soft sort of gasp and a slow shudder, grinding against me once, twice, three times more, before she stops. “Fuck…” She mumbles as she places her face in the crook of my neck giving me a gentle kiss on my collar bone then resting her head back into the crook of my neck since I was now straddling her. She pushed me onto the bed while placing open mouthed kisses on my face to my lips and we make out. Her lips becoming addicting, her hands resting on my hips “I-Jill-“ She pulls away slightly and looks up at me, “yeah?” I bite my lip as i look at her, “I’m sorry for everything I did…i was just trying to convince myself i didn’t love you…” Jill’s eyes remain the same and she didn’t react causing me to panic, “i-I’m sorry i shouldn’t have said anything, we were having a great night and-“

She kisses me cutting me off, “Stop talking.” She says as she pulls me into a passionate kiss again.

When I wake up the next morning I’m in Jill’s arms; she’s holding me against her chest, her chin resting on my head and her arms wrapped around me. I was so happy to be in her arms but there was one thing. I needed to pee.

I slowly moved from Jill’s hold and look for my shirt and panties only to find my shirt destroyed causing me to huff and grab Jill’s. I button it up quickly as i already pulled up my panties. I go to the bathroom and when i come out i see Kirby on the couch smirking at me, “so…Your talk went well?” I blushed hard and look away, “i-i um..” “It did.” Jill says, coming out in my hoodie from yesterday. She approaches me and grabs my hand in hers, “did the boys go home?” Jill asks Kirby. She nods, “ok.” She says pulling me to the bedroom again.

#smut #scream #jill roberts #scream 4 #kirby reed

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

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If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved! Takes place immediately after Difficulty Breathing, so I'd highly recommend at least reading that first.

Febuwhump Day 11

Fever – Tech

Warnings: Angst, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores.

WC: 2,011

Hunter wanted me to stay on the ship. I could see it in that whisper of tension in his brow as I pulled the stark white plastoid bucket over my head and in the stiffness of his shoulders as I threw the heavy medbag over my back, but he trapped the objection behind pointedly ground teeth. They all did. In the couple weeks since my meeting with Commander Cody, every one of them seemed to step quieter around me, hesitant to offer even a breath of argument to anything I said.

Except Crosshair. Despite the relatively cramped quarters, he somehow managed to never find himself in the same room as me. I found myself remembering those first few months; the heavy quiet that fell over them when I was too near, the sense of being not quite welcome though they’d never say the words. This time, however, I had no one to blame but myself. Worse, I knew exactly what I’d lost because of that moment of fear.

It had been two weeks since the warmth of Wrecker’s laughter reverberated through the ship; since Tech allowed himself to ramble about nothing and everything at my slightest encouragement or Echo came to me with even a minor ache; since Hunter was able to look at me without that lingering hint of frustration that ruined me anew each time I saw it.

Two weeks since those hands held me like I was something treasured.

“On approach to Endor.” Tech’s voice chimed over the coms, ripping me from my thoughts with a burst of fluttered heartbeats, head snapping to attention. I tried not note the way Hunter’s helmet shifted slightly, focus locked on me for a breath too long as my gaze carefully locked on the far wall.

“Alright – we stick to the plan.” The sergeant started, that commanding impatience clear in his voice. “Their latest shipment went out this morning and should be intercepted within the hour, which means we only have until then to scrap their equipment before they relocate.” A group of would-be crime-lords was trying to establish a spice operation harvesting Rokna Blue from the native tree fungus. Eager to eliminate the threat before it could pose any serious problems, we’d been sent to cripple their infrastructure while the 187th targeted their transporters.

“Echo, Tech if you don’t find any intel by the time Wrecker and I rig the place, assume there isn’t any, and get out of there. Doc, you’re with Crosshair – hole up below him and be ready in case we need you.” It was the most any of them had spoken to me in weeks, but the only thing I could focus on was the flare of adrenaline at his words, and the threat of panic at that curious tilt of his helmet that assured me he’d noticed it.

Jaw ground, I gave a sharp nod, hands tightening around the crash harness strapped over my chest. He glanced briefly to where the sniper sat to his right, appearing to all the world as though he’d nodded off despite the way the ship began to tremble as we hit upper atmo. I’d barely seen the man since the day he’d begged me to stay, and now I’d be alone with him throughout the entire mission. Would this terrible quiet linger continue to linger? Would he act as though nothing had happened? Should I act as though nothing had happened?

The growing frustration only continued festering through the stomach-churning evasive maneuvers Tech used to guide us through the dense, towering trees of that gorgeous moon. I needed to talk to him; to clear the air, but the middle of a mission wasn’t the time for it. There were far more dangerous places than Endor, but we had little knowledge of what we were walking into. The spice-dealers could have any manner of security measures in place, and none of us could afford a distraction.

The instant our momentum shifted from forward to down, we were moving, tearing free of our harnesses and trotting across the still lowering ramp. Without a word, I entered the dense undergrowth at a quick pace, trailing mere meters behind Crosshair as the others split off toward their own targets.

Rivulets of sweat had already begun dripping down my back, soaking into my blacks and hair when he finally slowed to a quiet walk, back hunched slightly in a crouch as Crosshair’s attention locked on a single point somewhere beyond the maze of trees and vines. I glanced from him to the forests before us, trying to catch sight of what had caught his focus, but neither my visor nor my eyes noticed any motion.

“Get down.” I didn’t hesitate. The instant his words hissed through my com, my body dropped, one hand automatically snatching at a pistol. “Hunter, I have eyes on a two-man patrol – trandosians – doesn’t look like they’ve noticed us.”

“Leave them. I don’t want their disappearance tipping off anyone else.” The Sergeant answered on a near whisper. Crosshair didn’t respond, helm slowly following what I could only guess to be where the figures tread hidden beyond the foliage.

“Come on.” No longer distracted by the danger, that raspy voice sent a flush of heat up my neck, but I spared it no thought before quickly regaining my footing. Still crouched low, we continued into the thick brush, quietly nearing the compound. It was several minutes before he stopped once more, helmet shifting between the surrounding forests and the heavy brush climbing up the trunks.

“I suggest you get comfortable.” He didn’t look at me as the almost sneered words dragged from his lips, modulator blurring them into a hum before he slung the rifle over his back. I wanted to snap at him; wanted to remind him that he was the one who asked me to stay; begged me to, but, as he began the seemingly effortless climb up a Rokna’s tree’s splintered bark, I merely let out a short, tense sigh and lowered myself into the cover of the brush.

The coms remained frightfully quiet, each passing second mounting the threat of anxiety beneath the knowledge of impending battle. Hidden within that quiet, I knew Hunter and Wrecker had long since begun laying out the network of explosives; that Tech and Echo tread on silent footsteps, ducking just out of sight of some unknown number of enemies as they searched for intel that might not even exist; that Crosshair lay in perfect stillness somewhere overhead, finger resting a hair’s breadth from that sensitive trigger with some utterly ignorant grunt locked in the sites of that powerful rifle; and through it all, I had to remain frozen, crouched within the nest of fronds and dirt, muscles coiled, ready to sprint at a single word, because if I wasn’t, if I allowed myself even a moment’s distraction, it could come at the cost of one of their lives.

That quiet splintered into a frenzy. The series of over a dozen rapid-fire explosions was over in the span of seconds, preceding the distant roar of billowing flames. Screams of rage and fear erupted all around us as whatever guards had been posted about the facilities abandoned their patrols in some futile attempt to rescue the already decimated camp. The unhurried trill of Crosshair’s rifle sang in an almost rhythmic consistency, eliminating anyone foolish enough to return that might pose some threat to his brothers’ retreat.

I crouched motionless, one foot curled beneath me, listening to it all through the ambient chaos buzzing from my speakers as they barked quick orders to each other.

“Four incoming from quadrant 3!”

“Two down! Lost sight of the others!”

“I’ve got them.” Two rounds shot through the air overhead almost instantaneously.

“Two mor-”

“Tech!” Echo’s shout made my heart drop, boot shifting tensely atop the damp soil. “Status?!”

“I’m fine.” Tech answered brusquely, drawing a sigh of relief from me.

“Objective’s complete – get to the Marauder!”

“You see how quick this place went up! Told yuh I could sync ‘em!” My lips twitched into a smirk at Wrecker’s glee.

“Tech?”

“M’f’ne.”

“Doc!” I was already running, feet pounding atop the soft humus in a mad dash toward the still raging inferno.

“Crosshair, whe-”

“Twenty meters directly ahead of you.” That earlier touch of disdain was gone – there wasn’t time for it here. Assured I was going in the right direction, I pushed myself faster, tearing through vines and leaping over roots until the brush finally cleared.

The compound was in ruins. Thick, black smoke billowed from the half dozen fractured buildings nestled awkwardly between massive Rokna trunks. Pinned against one of the outlying trees, Echo stood carefully over a tangle of white and red plastoid heaped beside a mound of gnarled root. I barely spared a second to look around me as I shot free of the cover of forest undergrowth, certain that Crosshair had cleared my path.

“What happened?” The quick words held no shred of hesitation from the lingering uncertainty between us as I sprinted across those last few yards. Echo glanced only briefly toward me before returning his attention to the distant sound of shouting, pistol aimed and fired several times in there mere seconds it took him to answer.

“Trandosian threw him against one of the trees.” I dropped heavily to my knees the instant he was within reach, noting the listless movements of his limbs, the occasional shift of his helmet absent any real intent. “He seemed fine at first, then,” He motioned gruffly toward the pilot with his scomp. Symptoms of a concussion and internal bleeding raced through my mind as I reached out to angle his visor toward me.

“Tech? Come on, Tech, I want you to look at me for second.” There was a subtle gentleness in my order, mind already counting his lazy, too-deep breaths as I watched the absent flutter of his long lashes. “Tech… Tech, open your eyes for me.” I pressed, voice raising slightly. Reluctantly, some awareness seeped back through him, but it took a beat too long for him to focus on me.

“Oh,” He almost hummed in a note of pleasant surprise, “You’re here.” I nearly broke beneath those mumbled words, chest bucking in something too close to a sob.

“Yup,” I huffed, biting back the guilt and hurt tearing through my chest. “Course I’m here – someone decided to go and get thrown against a tree.”

“Hmm.” The quiet laughter in the little scoff sounded… strange coming from him.

“I want you to keep your eyes open for a minute, okay?” It took him a moment to understand, but he painstakingly forced his gaze back to mine, apparently oblivious to the bright light I flashed over each eye in turn. His pupils were blown, frightfully unresponsive to my light. It took only a quick glance to note the tiny nick in the sliver of exposed skin at his neck, the fine sheen of blue smeared atop the black fabric.

“Kriff.” The curse escaped me in a sigh as I wrenched my pack over my shoulders.

“What is it?” Hunter’s voice rang over the coms, “How bad’s he hurt?”

“No, he’s-” I paused only briefly to find the right medication. “He’s kriffing stoned!” Someone snorted before the coms fell quiet. I didn’t bother elaborating before laying the injector flush against his neck. He didn’t flinch.

“I’ve already administered something that should be enough to keep him stable, but the comedown’s going to be hell.” Already, I threw my bag back over my shoulder, once more reaching for the barely conscious man before me. “I need to get him somewhere safe before that starts. Can you cover us?” I didn’t wait for Echo to nod before heaving the lanky pilot over my shoulder. Tech’s confused grunt sounded clearly through the coms.

“I know, but we’ll be back on the Marauder soon, okay?” I murmured, already taking off at a quick pace through the trees, and I vaguely felt his head nod against my back.

Next Chapter

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Quick warning/disclaimer: the following chapter will feature very intense Tech!whump/comfort following symptoms of withdrawal. I want to make it clear that my initial release of the chapter will not pull any punches, but it will be very thoroughly tagged. As always, if there is something specific you are sensitive to but still want to keep up with the story, just let me know and I'll try to make a censored version with that in mind. Additionally, there will be no intentional illicit drug use in my writings, nor will I write about actual addiction (if someone wants a comfort, standalone fic touching on recovery, drop me an ask/message - I will never judge someone for their demons).

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @ct-0113 @padawancat97 @eclec-tech @roguethe0tter @crosshairs-girlfriend @atomickidsoul @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @burningfieldof-clover @manofworm @merkitty49 @get-wr3ckered @dangraccoon @like-a-bantha @brokenphoenix99 @nekotaetae

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caroldantops · 2 years

Text

leave you breathless (or with a nasty scar)

ship: naga!agatha harkness x reader

summary/request: there’s nothing agatha loves more than a good hunt.

word count: 947

warnings: smut (18+), dom!agatha, sub!reader, cnc (reads as dubcon at first, but everything is consensual play), pet names (bunny), primal play, breathplay/choking, bondage but like with snake body, vaginal sex (oral, mentions of penetration - reader receiving), mentions of breeding, mentions of oviposition, mentions of drugging, bloodplay if you squint

a/n: this one’s also for britt @scarlettwlw bc she rigged the votes last year :/

masterlist | monsterfucker celebration 2022 masterlist

Run.

"Oh, little bunny!"

Hide.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Breathe.

"You can't hide from me forever."

The sound of her slithering through the freshly fallen leaves is all you can hear as your breath catches in your throat. You try to steady your breathing, but you know that it's inevitable. Her forked tongue flicks out from between her pursed lips, narrowing down where you're hidden among all the bushes and trees.

You almost wish she'd just go in for the kill. The anticipation makes your heart bang against your ribcage, fear seeping into your veins. Agatha knows exactly where you are, she just loves to play with her food.

The forest falls silent. You refuse to let yourself fall into a false sense of security. But even on high alert, there’s nothing you can do as you suddenly feel something creeping around your ankles. The moment you register what it is, your feet are yanked out from under you. Your back would slam into the ground if not for the fact that you’re suddenly being lifted in the air.

The blood rushes to your head as you’re dangled upside-down for a moment, and your eyes struggle to adjust to the way the world spins around you as you’re flipped upright. Finally, the world comes into focus again, and you’re faced with the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Gotcha, bunny.”

“Agatha, please,” you gasp as her serpentine half starts wrapping around your torso, cool scales against the exposed parts of your skin as your shirt rides up. Her tail wraps its way around your throat. You gasp and try to wriggle your arms free of her, but to no avail. “Please, let me go.”

“You’re spoiling me, bunny! You know how much I love when you beg,” Agatha emphasizes the word by tightening her hold on your throat, laughing at the way your eyes roll back. Her sharp fangs peek through, and you tremble thinking about how they’d feel sinking into your flesh. She takes your face in her hands, thumbs stroking over your cheeks tenderly. You struggled to say something that just comes out as a wheeze, and she gives you a fake pout. “Aw, how pathetic.”

Agatha allows you some reprieve, loosening her grip around your throat slightly. Her hands leave your face to tug at your jeans, practically ripping them in the process of yanking them down your thighs. Her lithe tongue darts out, and you practically see the arousal grow in her eyes.

“Oh, you’re fucking dripping. I can smell you already,” she moans. “Does it turn you on, being hunted like this? Does it make that pretty pussy weep just knowing how I could crush you before you could even ask me to spare you?”

“No…”

“No?” Agatha scoffs. “Please! You couldn’t even hide from me because that cunt of yours gave you away.”

You panic slightly as you’re lifted higher in the air, but she calms your worries with her hands on your thighs, assuring you that you won’t be dropped. You’re adjusted so that Agatha is free to place her torso between your legs. Her bare chest heaves as she admires your glistening cunt.

“You look so delicious, bunny. I could just swallow you whole.”

You gasp when her tongue finally meets your desperate pussy, thrashing against Agatha’s hold on you. She can’t resist wrapping her arms around your thighs, devoting her full attention to making you cry with pleasure. The split in her tongue feels absolutely heavenly as she licks you. She’s greatly amused with the way you try to buck against her when she flicks your clit into her mouth, fitting your throbbing bud in between the split of her tongue in the most electrifying way.

“Mistress, please,” you forget your role as the fog of pure pleasure clouds your brain. “Please, please, please. I need you.”

This is how the game always ends: you play the role of her pretty little prey, she threatens you as she hunts you down until you’re so turned on that she can smell your arousal from afar, and then you quickly break character as soon as her tongue is between your thighs and the promise of climax is on the table at last.

Agatha’s been especially mean tonight, prolonging your game of chase just because she loves the sound of your heartbeat picking up as she stalks her prey. Now that you’re past the point of begging for mercy and instead are begging for her to ruin you, she can’t help but bend to your wishes.

Not that she’d ever admit you had any control here.

“As much as I’d like to devour you right now,” Agatha pants, wiping your juices from her face with the back of her hand. She pulls you close so that you’re face to face again, deeply satisfied with how glazed over your eyes look. “I’d much rather bring you back home so I can properly gape this tight little hole of yours. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll even breed my bunny tonight. How’s that sound, sweet thing? You wanna be filled with my brood? All round with my eggs?”

“God, please,” you groan, subconsciously leaning toward her, seeking any sort of contact - even though you’re being cradled by her tail. Agatha complies, kissing you deeply and letting her fangs graze your bottom lip. You let out a surprised yelp at the feeling.

“Next time, maybe we should see if I can get you high on my venom, darling,” she hums, wiping the tiny bit of blood off of your lip with her thumb. “How’s that sound?”

“Anything you want, Mistress.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness smut #silver writes #silver's 2022 mf celebration #c: agatha

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