#the fucking ANGUISH I WAS THROWN INTO
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A series of events that I experienced earlier
#the fucking ANGUISH I WAS THROWN INTO#that’s like#you know the feeling of getting picked up and thrown into a pool when you were previously completely dry#YEA.#AUGHHHH#the magnus archives#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#yes this is the first time I listened to MAG 159 ok sue me#uhhhhh#i guess I should tag this w the ship too#jonmartin#jmart#idk if there’s any other tags I missed ;-;
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i am so confused as to whether or not bianca/chris was planned from the jump or if the idea came later and the writers just cobbled chris crossed together 'cause if chris is engaged to bianca why is he also hooking up with the charge that leo assigns him? like wtf? either this pairing wasn't planned or bianca and chris are poly except given when this season aired no way in hell would they go for something quite this progressive so again wtf??
Oh, they definitely didn't plan on Bianca lmao. I love season six, and it's one of my favorites, but the continuity is a mess. (I mean, Witchstock my beloathed.) They absolutely had no intention of Chris having a fiancé before then, especially between his thing with the Valkyrie and his charge Natalie. I love them anyways, but there's a reason that I say that the writers put next to no thought into their story.
For a Watsonian explanation though, I explain both encounters as manipulation and lack of memory. In regards to Mist, I always viewed it as him manipulating her to stay on the Valkyrie's good side. I mean, despite the show's (weird) approach to them, they're intended to be good beings. Keeping an Elder, who also has close ties to the Charmed Ones, has to be sketchy for them, so Chris has to keep an eye on that situation so. Kissing Mist it is.
As for Natalie, I see it as he only slept with her when the Cleaners erased Wyatt's memory from everyone. Without Wyatt, the future never would have happened and he never met Bianca, or at least started a relationship with her. Frankly, I've always been curious about what exactly Chris remembered because of how integral Wyatt was to his life. I mean, he literally doesn't remember why he's in the past, y'know? A pretty significant amount of his brain must have been wiped.
Honestly, it's kinda interesting to consider how Chris/Bianca classify their relationship boundaries, because he canonically uses sex(?) appeal to manipulate people when he needs to like with the Stillman sisters and while we don't actually see Bianca do that, this was a early 2000's show and she was a spy character so. The idea of using sex as a tactic vs. the authentic emotional intimacy between them... There's something there.
I will say that while I'm not necessarily opposed to Chris/Bianca being poly, I don't think that they are or at least have other romantic partners. Both of them have a pretty substantial amount of issues, don't trust easily, and don't open up to others very well. Personally, I think that they had a v slowburn relationship and even when they first started dating, I think that they had a lot of issues with the trust aspect of it, especially with the unchanged future. I feel like it'd be very difficult for either of them to find someone like that again and to go through that entire journey again. Plus, as far as I know, the number one key to that kind of relationship is communication and. Well, Bianca's a spy and Chris will say anything except the truth, so I'm not sure that either would be able to do that effectively. That said, you could definitely spin that, depending on the third character, but I don't know who they'd be.
#charmed#chris halliwell#bianca#asks#chris x bianca#abi speaks#for context im not poly and dont know a ton about it so pls tell me if i fucked up somewhere#but i feel like chris and bianca are just too... closed off? aloof? i guess? to really be able to do that with someone else#like neither of them were looking for actual love when they met and it was a slowburn that kinda culminated in#a love that neither of them were really prepared for or knew a lot about so there was a lot of emotional anguish about falling in love#in a world where that was probably the stupidest thing you could do especially when it was HIM/HER#and idk if they'd be able to get close enough to anyone else to do that again#i'd probably be more interested in spinning a poly chrisbianca if i had an idea for a third character for either but#the only canonical characters around their ages are related to chris (so absolutely not)#or. well dj morris and sebastian (half manticore) also are but busy being in love with different people#that make it weird to be with either of them in the present day#altho i have thrown around the idea of bi disasters chris and sebastian doing a fwb thing as teenagers but still probably a no
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this is to ONE PERSON and one person ONLY. if you're confused, it's not you!
#you know. i saw you posted today from a different account. and it was one i totally forgot about#i didnt even feel like running back this time. was i curious? yes. did i end up looking? yep.#im saying this even though im 98% sure you cant see it but whatever. since when has that stopped me before?#you seemed fine. to say seeing that didnt piss me off would be a lie. oops i guess#i think its funny how the last thing you posted was stolen from me.#today it was one of those tag games we used to do together. your taglist was empty with some excuse of being absent on this app#i cant help but wonder if thats really all of it. if thats the whole story or not. i have a feeling the answer is no#i dont think youll ever understand the impact of what you did to me and the ways that you treated me. how that immensely fucked me up#or how youve basically thrown me to the wolves ever since you emotionally checked out.#you act like i never mattered to you and its been like that for forever. i made so many excuses on your behalf that i never should have.#these days the thought of you makes me go insane. the kind of insane that leaves me up all night and makes me wanna scream at the top#of my lungs. i have been consumed by anguish and hate. yes. im not afraid to say it anymore. i hate what happened and what you did to me#and sometimes i even hate you. and i dont even feel bad about it. im so over that because if theres anything i deserve after this hell then#its the capability to hate. for once in my life.#i saw your post and wondered if you thought of me. and i hope you did. i hope you thought of me and at the very least it stung.#because whether you want to admit it or not i was someone good. i bent over backwards for you every other day. try finding someone to do#everything that i did for you that you never appreciated. try finding someone who will care as much as i did about someone who couldnt be#bothered to tell me happy birthday. i dare you. because im tired of being sad that youre not here. im tired of being the one whos mourning#im so over it actually. because really i did so much for you. i gave up so much to be a good friend and it was never enough. i genuinely#cared about you. im not going to torture myself anymore by overanalyzing your posts or by thinking that i was nothing to you#because in one way or another youll miss me. and i hope the feeling is hell.#in the wise and paraphrased words of taylor swift. karma only comes back around to those who deserve it#in other words ill be fine#em speaks#tw vent ish#sorry to everyone else although i applaud you for being nosy lmao. gotta have my girlboss moment <3
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Sub!top Ellie getting whiny w a double-sided strap♡
Warnings: smut, MDNI, double sided strap (referred to as E’s cock), sub!top ellie, power bottom brat reader, Ellie & reader are high, daddy kink fuck off!, breeding kink, why am I tryna fuck reader?, no y/n, no pdor
A/N: actual brainrot of me attempting to procrastinate my case study! (My first solo Ellie fic bahh scary)
𓆩♡𓆪
She always had it under control. Making sure you couldn’t see how fucking pathetic she got when your ass bounced on the base of her cock, sending the plastic inside of her to hit deep into her stomach.
Ellie would make you get on your elbows with your back arched for her so you couldn’t see her bottom lip abused by her teeth to hold back her whimpers. She’d cut into it till she bled to save face.
Sometimes you’d ignore her attempts at control in this position, sending your hips back so you can catch her red-handed. A whine would escape her clenched mouth, “stop fucking moving,” as she’d adjust her voice into a deeper octave in attempt to cover her slip-up. Ellie would grip down deeper into the flesh of your hips, stunting your dominance.
You’d beg to take control but she’d always promise to fill you up if you were good and did as you were told, “be daddy’s good girl and I’ll let you clean up your mess on daddy’s cock hmm?” You’d always give into her antics, too cock drunk to refuse watching her eyes half lidded as you licked her soaked cock afterwards, letting your tongue drag down to her stuffed hole leaking with the mix of both of your arousals.
This time you’d asked to smoke the second joint with her, knowing when she got so high she liked watching you ride her with the regular strap.
And if you accidentally handed her the double-sided one…
“Get the strap, need- need to f-fuck you now,” Ellie says in a pant, eyes bloodshot with smoke and lust as she aimlessly grinds her cunt into yours.
Sleight of hand, careless slip up of sorts as you hand her the strap adorned by two plastics. She doesn’t even look- lips never leaving yours and she shimmies up the straps to her hips feverishly- she couldn’t fuck you quick enough.
She’s so wet it slips right into her aching cunt. A pathetic whine trails out of her into your mouth, “baby th-this is- the- uh-“ she finds herself at a crossroad- so needy to fuck you but too deprived to not please herself.
“I know, is that okay el?” You say batting your lashes at the open-mouthed girl.
“Uh- yeah- mhm,” her eyes reeking of desperation.
She slips the tip into your leaking hole immediately, too distracted by the way her cunt throbs around the plastic. She attempts muffling her pleas with her teeth but she’s far too careless this time, pitiful moans spewing out as she drives sloppy thrusts into you.
“S-sound so pretty el,” you croak out so drunk on her desperation. “Feels f-fuck! feels so good inside,” she says eyes screwed shut gripping down onto the headboard behind your head.
She attempts at kissing you to no avail, mouth full of anguished whimpers. With her hands free from the grasp of the headboard you lock your ankles onto hers, flipping her back onto the bed.
You situate yourself into a straddle around her sweat slicked thighs. Ellie’s eyes are bewildered at your dominance- she’s. Fucked.
Your hands meet her swollen nipples, fingertips pinching at the rosy buds.
Another guttural cry elicited from the freckled girl comes as you bounce onto her slick cock, driving hers deep into her stomach. Her head is thrown back as she grips into the sheets- trying to not cum early like the fucking loser she was.
“B-baby I’m going to cum, s-slow down,” she pleas as tears wet her ducts. Her chest heaves as you relentlessly grind onto her, strategically applying pressure into her clit.
You drop your chest onto her, holding her jaw as you whisper into her ear, “cum in me daddy, I’ll lick up every drop, be your good little girl.”
Ellie can’t control herself anymore, gripping her hands into your hips so hard it’ll leave bruises. She drags your cunt up and down her clit to create friction, huffing out a string of curses and cries.
“Gunna fill this pussy for acting like this,” she squeaks out, so cute when she still thinks she’s in control.
“Please daddy- please!” You cry out. She could come from just hearing how desperate you get for her cock- and she has. Not that she’ll ever admit it.
“Fuck- oh fuck I-“ her words stop short as she bucks her hips up into you, her orgasm ripping through her. You grind onto her as her body shakes, losing completely autonomy.
“Thank you daddy,” you say kissing down her chest. Making your way down to her fucked out hole, completely soaked with arousal.
You were a good girl, licking every last drop Ellie so kindly made for you.
#ellie williams x you#ellie tlou2#sub ellie williams#the last of us#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams smut#ellie#ellie x you#ellie x reader#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie smut#ellie x y/n#ellie x fem reader
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Bucky with an oral fixation due to his anxiety so you let him suck your big tits (smut)
Bucky’s heart may fail him in so many horrors—both in waking, from his nerves, and in sleep, from his nightmares, because the punishment of his disordered mind is its own disorder. A disorder nobody else has. There is no cure, but he is trying to master it, he is learning to live with it—just as he has learned to live with other storms of his mind. The impossibility of love? He has you now. The past can't be annihilated, it is a part of him. Regret, denial, sadness—it leads to anxiety and his habit of always chewing on something—gum, sweets.
He holds his breath, a desperate attempt to slow down his heartbeat, a desperate attempt to get away. One second. Two seconds. The moment he chews on the pencil you gifted him for that purpose, he is feeling better. No amount of him trying to explain himself is doing any good, he doesn’t even know what is going on inside of him—but your observation is the first step of the inner unfolding, of finding a solution to every problem he has. You create so much love, compassion, equanimity and joy in his mind that he doesn’t feel ashamed or judged. But seeing him biting down on that pencil—once you've seen how broken he is, it's like seeing him naked. How can you help now?
“Bucky, why don't you suck on my tits instead?”
His gaze, though almost improper, is the most sensual thing he could have done at the moment, and it jolts your heart into a strange rhythm, leaving you unable to speak. There is lust and then there is love. They are related, but still very different things—you surge forward, crossing the final, tiny gap and pressing your lips to his. It is desperate and frantic, but the feel of his mouth against yours sends a bolt of electricity straight down your spine. Bucky grips your waist and lifts you off the ground with ease, dropping you softly on the luxurious white linen bed. He gets on top and the gentle, erotic pressure of his mouth on yours, the compelling pleasure of his kiss—the world stops and all the silence, but for your hearts, trying to synchronize your crashing. It is all the thrill of these kisses, of your new naughty suggestion. It is the impatience of the way he tears your shirt from your body, that really turns you on—lust getting the better of him, Bucky is a gentle lover, but not today which makes a jolt of some foreign but not unwelcome sensation pierce you. He leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he mutters out:
“I already love that idea, baby”
You let out an involuntary airy moan as he grabs them in his palms, his huge hands palming your tits, kneading gently at first before he rubs his palms in circles. He rolls one nipple between his fingers, humming in satisfaction as it hardens under his touch before he begins to suck on it while massaging your other tit. He's drooling, swirling his tongue over it before biting gently the nipple and he is thankful that your head is thrown back so you don't look how desperate he is. How fucked up he is. He fully embraces the deliciousness of this sin, the calmness that it brings to his mind and all you want to drown his worries. You want him to do something totally unlike himself and it is working—but this lust is something close to anguish, because he needs to stop eventually and he doesn't want to.
He leans back a bit, searching for your eyes as he struggles to breathe, focusing on his lungs, on his ability to take deep breaths, to soothe with oxygen—the vast ocean of blue that is his eyes, remarkably focused and soft at the same time.
“I love it, I love how big they are” he says thickly and completely without shame. He bites down on the curve of your breast, breathing softly on top of the skin “Can’t stop,” he says, the words coming out like a caress. He says it again, over and over. A litany. As your clothed cunt contracts at the friction against his pelvis, his words, you can feel him, hips bucking slowly up into you. He latches his mouth directly on your other nipple, making you cry out as he envelops a part of your breast into his mouth, a hand coming up to play with the other one.
“Bucky—enough”
Your hands go to his hair as he sucks sharply on the breast, but you can’t pull him away. You can’t help the whimpers that escape you, the long drawn out sobs that punch out of your throat whenever he bites a little harder, giving your other nipple a harsher tug as a punishment every time you try to push him back. Sucking removes any daily existence from his mind, any anxiety, grounding Bucky firmly in the moment and dragging your body with it. Until he had enough. What a beautiful madness, he never felt so relaxed.
#lord have mercy#drabble#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky smut#bucky barnes smut#bucky x you#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky imagine#bucky x reader
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still accepting crack thoughts? how about Hiromi calling his wife "your honor" in bed by mistake because he has been too busy in work lately heh
I love your writing 🥺🥺
"Just lie back," you whisper, "and let me take care of you," your breath grazing Hiromi's ear, nipples ghosting across his bare chest. He shivers, pupils dilated as you straddle his hips, his aching head rested on plush pillows. He swears he could cum and immediately fall asleep, to feel your plush gummy walls suck his cock in.
Hiromi whimpers, whispering his love in sandy, rasping adoration, to feel you rock above him, your velvety pussy licking at his cock as you roll your hips back and forth. He's so grateful...so distracted...
He's still on-edge, keeping his eyes fixed on you, glorious and beautiful as you fuck the stress out of him...but every time his hooded eyes flutter closed, he sees nothing but the order of court in his mind's eye.
As you lean down towards him, the new angle lets you lift and slap your pussy down around him, your arse hitting his thighs with wet plaps. Hiromi's growls are husky, dragging, his black-spiked hair inky as his head thrashes against the pillows
Hiromi whines, his hips juddering up to meet yours and he sees stars and gavels and stars and case notes as you lay your tongue against his nipple, hot and wet and tasting him. You mewl against him, thighs clenching as you feel him hit the deepest parts of you.
You feel his hands, one pressed over your belly, the other squeezing the fat of your hips as he chokes out, around moans, "Ohhhh fu-uuuuck-- I'm not gonna-- I'm cumming, Your Honour-- cumming--"
Hiromi cums, convulsing with anguished groans and rutting up into you as you break down in hysterics on top of him, head thrown back and laughing so hard that his seed spurts out around his cock, wetting the trailing dark hair of his belly.
"--no no don't-- Hiro come back please-- that was so funny--"
Hiromi only groans as you pin him to the bed beneath you, trying to pull his hands off his furiously blushing face, laughing as you ignore his mortified protests.
#pseudowho#pseudowho answers you#jjk higuruma#hiromi higuruma x reader#higuruma hiromi#higuruma#jjk hiromi#hiromi x reader#hiromi hiromi hiromi#higuruma smut#jujutsu kaisen higuruma#higuruma x reader#hiromi higuruma
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Hello! I recently found your blog through you Lute stuff and because I'm unreasonably gay for that woman, I have a hurt/comfort idea for you.
Lute picking at/pulling her feathers out when she's stressed/upset and her partner (maybe even f!sinner 👀) just gently stopping her and running her fingers over the wings to soothe the pain from it. All while reassuring Lute that she's okay, she's safe and she's perfect.
That's all, thank you for your time and your writing!
you up for a fight? —
827 Words,, Lute x reader
warnings — hurt/comfort, mention of rivalry, light angst, nothing too heavy, not entirely proofread
summary — Lutes rivalry with a sinner is put on hold when she can’t find them one extermination day. Fearing the worst, she freaks out and looks for them.
a/n — Anyways I made it my rival sinner au because I wanted too and felt like it sorry brother.
She couldn’t find you. After a whole year of waiting to fight you, fuck, to see you, she couldn’t find you.
You were her rival, and only that. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t getting worked up over your disappearance. She trained to fight you, a talented sinner, and best you. But she didn’t expect her favorite demon opponent to be gone without a trace.
Lute felt a loss for air, at your absence. She zipped throughout the entire ring, scavenging for any trace of you. Had some other angel got to you? Were you hurt? Was it worse than hurt?
Her breath started to hitch and her soldier attitude dropped into panicked hysterics. And her thirst for victory against you became a desperate need to see you in tact and in good health.
Finally, she dropped into an empty building near your usual meetup spot. It was completely abandoned, making it the perfect spot to collect herself.
However, she did the exact opposite. The pressure on her to be the perfect soldier had finally became too much and she was spiraling.
Gasping for air, pacing the empty space, and picking at her feathers to no avail. You were dead, she thought. You were gone for good and it’s all because she didn’t get there first. So much for being an amazing soldier. God she was a screwup. How could she let this—
“Lute?”
She stopped in her tracks, turning to you slowly, and running towards you, “Y/n!”
You brace for combat, expecting a strike with her spear or a blow to your head, but instead, find her arms thrown around your neck.
“I thought you were gone,” she said loudly, voice breaking, “That some cunt angel got to you or— or—“
“Hey, it’s okay. Lute, fuck.” you take a moment to adjust to the soft touch, considering it to be a trap, before finally wrapping your arms around her waist, “I’m here, I’m safe, it’s alright.”
You weren’t expecting such a warm welcome in all honesty. And, a part of you mourned the loss of a fight. However, your heart went out to Lute and her strong reaction.
There was no denying that on a certain level, you two were extremely close. How many years have you been trying to kill each-other? Obviously enough for one of you to be crying at the thought of anyone else finishing the job.
And, there was no denying you’ve had softer moments before. Well, nothing to this extent but, just soft enough to form some kind of emotional bond.
“All because—“ her voice is rough and raspy, but thick with tears and anguish, “—because I wasn’t quick enough. I couldn’t find you, it’s my fault.”
She pulled back from you and paced slightly as she rambled on about ‘not being good enough’ and her fingers picked roughly at her feathers.
“Hey—“ you try but fail to get her attention, “Hey! Stop!” your hand grabs hers and stops it from moving. Meeting her eyes, you take her other hand much more gently and caress her knuckle.
“You’re doing perfect. You didn’t do anything wrong, Lute.” her eyes widen as she looks at you, face still stroked with tears, “You are good enough. I mean— fuck. You found me, right?”
You smile slightly her way, earning an empty stare. Instead, you pull her into another hug and caress her back softly.
“I’m proud of you, yknow? After all, takes a lot to get someone actually excited for extermination day,” she buries her faces in your neck as you speak, “It’s alright. We’re alone. We don’t have to fight, we can just take it easy.”
Then, like a switch was flipped, she snaps her body away from you. For a moment, just meeting your eyes, she breathes softly. Finally, she snaps out of what ever panic she was in, well, to the best for her ability, and brushes herself off.
Clearing her throat, she grimaced. “I apologize for that outburst, demon. I guess i’ve had a stressful day,” she looks up at you as if remembering something urgent, “Oh, and I didn’t mean whatever I said. Hysterics.”
She went to clarify more but she felt it stupid, What would she say? ‘Oh yeah, I wasn’t actually worried about you dying. In fact I want you dead!’ Not only was that tacky, it wasn’t entirely true.
You stopped her from furthering this, “It’s fine, Lute. You were upset. I won’t hold you to it. And hey, if you are in better spirits and don’t mind me asking, are you up for a fight?”
She almost smiled at this thought. Fighting was something she knew, unlike the terrible feeling she just had. It was almost as if the sentence was perfectly calculated to comfort her.
Before she drew her weapon she could feel the smile spreading on her face. Was she up for a fight? The answer was simple; with you, always.
a/n — I’m so sleepy, I proofread this but i’m so tired I literally don’t know if it’s coherent.
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel#inbox open#hazbin hotel fluff#hazbin lute#lute x reader#lute hazbin hotel#rival lute
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KISS ME ONCE
a/n: i am so late with even starting this and i don't expect to finish, but i still wanted to contribute something. so this is the first fic for the moon knight bingo hosted by @moonknight-events. some of the prompts really captured my attention and i wanted to write what i could for them. i based this off yes the long long, long time, but some other jazz songs were played as i wrote. and honestly i'm obsessed with how it turned out. the divider is by the ever talented @saradika-graphics.
prompt used: butterflies
summary: dating steven grant came with its challenges. between being a superhero, sharing the body with a man you hardly knew, and his forgetfulness, you felt dizzy. so when your date goes awry, you take matters into your own hands.
word count: 1.7k+
pairing: marc spector x reader
warnings: not explicit, some soft fluff, romance, the blossoming of a relationship, flustered marc.
Candlelight flooded the darkened flat, flickering a soft orange glow along the walls and stacks of books. It would be romantic if the frustrated bangs of a man trying to fix it wasn’t the only sound that echoed back to you. The evening had started out as a date. An attempt between you and Steven to rejoin together after weeks apart. But life continually managed to get in the way.
Problems arose one after the other. But nevertheless this is where you found yourselves. Sitting at the small table, candles scattered throughout the space, and the soft sound of jazz coming from the record player in the corner. And just as he poured you a glass of red wine—the power went out.
“It’s alright. Really.”
“I’ve almost got it.” A very American voice called back to you.
Steven—the man you adored—had no clue what the fuck to do in a situation such as a this. The radiator should have been easy enough to turn back on, but by the sounds it seemed that there was nothing but difficulty. Which is how Marc—the man you barely spoke to—wound up crashing your date.
It’s not that you didn’t want to speak to him. Get to know him. You just rarely found yourself with the chance. Between him and Steven being whisked away consistently, you barely had time to speak to Steven. Yet there you were, in your best outfit, candlelight illuminating the flat, and wine poured into two separate glasses. And Marc was acting as if you weren’t there.
He was helping. You knew that, but there was nothing that could be done. At least not right now.
“Are you hungry?”
The question must have thrown him off guard; his head peeking out from the bottom of the radiator. His eyes quickly caught sight of you standing there—hope shimmering in your eyes. A look that was usually only reserved for Steven. A look he’d longed to see directed at him one day. But Marc—ever the stubborn man Steven made him out to be—looked away as fast as he started.
“No I’m alright honey.” His eyes flicked back to you briefly before settling on the mirror. A quick sigh, the tensing of his shoulders, and you knew enough.
He wanted this.
You couldn’t deny the endearment didn’t have an effect on you. In fact, it was quite surprising how your entire stomach erupted into a flurry of butterflies. They normally only arose when Steven was near. How he smiled so bright it nearly killed you, how his entire heart was worn like an accessory on his sleeve. He looked at you in awe. As if you were the very light of his life, but Marc faced you with hesitancy. With reluctance and the darkened shine of anguish in his brown eyes.
What he wanted, he could never have.
That’s what he believed. Or at least that’s what you came to understand in the short time you’d known about him. That he gave everything—all he could spare—to Steven. He sacrificed a normal life to the man who already had it; to the person he could never be.
It broke your heart in a way.
Why would he believe he could never have you too? That his life wouldn’t be intertwined with yours. Like it or not you chose Steven, and whether he knew it or not…you also chose Marc. Even if he wouldn’t allow himself to be chosen.
“We ordered dinner. Thankfully. I love Steven, but I don’t trust him in a kitchen.” Smiling, you moved to grab the container you had yet to take the food out of.
Marc flinched at the word love falling so freely from your mouth. He acted as if he’d never heard the word before. And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe someone never looked at him the way Steven looked at you. Although something told you that tonight might in fact change that. You never saw yourself falling for Steven—for anyone really—but Marc was a welcomed surprise.
“I don’t want to take Steven’s food.”
You shrugged. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—”
“You don’t know Steven honey.”
There was that fucking word again. A rush of flutters overtook your stomach, your heart racing with the glint of annoyance in his eyes as he stared at the mirror behind you. You could practically see Steven trying to reason with him. Trying to keep Marc from ruining this night. If only the both of them could see in your mind—how you longed to get closer to Marc, to see if you could make him feel the same as you did now.
So you did.
He looked startled, stepping back a bit with his hand outstretched. The sight brought a smile to your lips.
“I want to have dinner with you Marc.”
“You’re on a date with Steven.” He sighed, eyebrows pulling together. Strange how it was so different to Steven’s frustration, so unlike the soft man you knew. “Lemme fix the radiator and you can have him back,” he muttered.
“Marc—”
“Just need a tool. Which is somewhere around here.”
“Wait—”
“And I’ll be—”
With a quick lunge, you grabbed hold of Marc’s (Steven’s) button down, pulling him close enough to feel his breath on your chin. He froze, hands hovering over your waist as you kept him there and fixed him with a look that made his heart thump loudly against his chest. That glimmer—the want—was suddenly on him. And he felt as if the breath would fly out of his lungs if he tried to make a move. He was afraid he’d scare you off.
“Eat with me.” You smiled sweet and honey like he could practically taste it on his tongue. “Don’t make me tie you to the chair just to join me.”
He huffed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Then you’ll stay?”
He nodded. “I’ll stay.”
“The food’s cold.” You sighed, twisting in his hold to catch a glimpse of the darkened street. “And it looks like the whole street is down.”
You never saw how his eyes lingered on your lips, how he drank you in with ease. His own tongue swiping along his bottom lip quickly, chest stuttering as he sucked in a breath. If there’s one thing Marc knew it was this—you were the most beautiful person he’d seen. He wasn’t sure how Steven found you, but suddenly he found himself thanking every god he knew of that he did.
Perhaps that’s why he relinquished control so often. Solely to keep you around. Marc ruined things. He knew this. He understood that whatever he touched came away broken, but Steven…he fixed things. He brought light to the darkness and made sure it burned bright—he saved what Marc destroyed. And Marc couldn’t destroy you.
He’d die before he broke the one thing that made everything good.
“I have an idea,” you said, joy lighting up the room.
“Hm?”
You smiled, digging into your purse for your phone, the small screen lighting up your face. It was harsh to look at after nothing but candlelight for an hour, but you managed. At least long enough to find a good playlist, a jazz one Steven made for you in the first week of dating. Songs you’d danced to time and time again. It sounded echoey and small in the flat, but you played it regardless, setting the phone on the table as you reached for Marc.
“Dance with me?”
He stuttered this time. “W-What?”
“Dance with me.”
“Baby I’m not much of a dancer…”
Sighing, you pulled him close, your hand sliding into his. “That’s okay.” You felt him shudder slightly at the way your hand slid on his shoulder, your body pressed against his. “I’m not either.”
Marc knew that was a lie. He’d caught glimpses of moments between you and Steven. The soft love you both shared. It made him ache in ways he couldn’t describe with words, and maybe this was going too far. Maybe Steven would be pissed when he finally came back, but Marc refused to feel sorry for this. He wouldn’t apologize for loving you. Because there was nothing to apologize for—not when you felt so right in his arms.
He managed to sway gently with you, his feet shuffling—albeit a bit clumsily—along the hardwood floor. You didn’t notice. At least if you did, you never said anything. The music hummed a soft tune behind you, the yellow glow of the candles casting shadows across your supple skin. And Marc felt the ground vanish from beneath him.
How could someone be as perfect as you?
“I’m thinking we should go to the Italian restaurant on Friday.”
Flutters overtook his entire body. “Friday sounds good.”
You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder gently. As if you were entirely at ease, planning dates with him like this had happened before. Marc did what he could to be the same. This was normal. This life, this flat, this…relationship. It belonged to him in a way; he just hadn’t seen it.
“We can go walking afterwards,” you said, your words soft—your breath washing across his neck and causing goosebumps to form. “See the moon.”
He smiled. “I see too much of the moon.”
“Then we go during the day.” Marc wrapped his arm tighter around your waist, daring to rest his hand a bit lower. You shivered at the touch. “See the sun instead.”
Marc realized then why Steven loved you, why he fought to keep you in his life. You gave all of yourself in a way he might never be able to. You jumped in wholeheartedly, with a smile on your face. Consequences be damned. And like the lights finally came back on in the apartment, he realized why he loved you. Steven—the man meant to protect him for his entire life—was an exact reflection of you.
You wore your heart on your sleeve just as he did.
You loved fiercely, hoped endlessly, and gave your entire soul to the one you chose.
Whether he liked it or not…you chose him too. Even if he couldn’t give over all of himself. Yet.
“Okay,” he murmured, resting his head gently against yours. “We’ll see the sun.”
#marc spector x reader#marc spector x you#marc spector x y/n#marc spector#moon knight x reader#moon knight x you#moon knight#my writing#moonknightevents
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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 26 all chapters
WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘
-The next day, he does not even try to ply you with the promise of release. He is not cruel, but he simply takes what he wants from your increasingly sore body, offering nothing in return. You almost prefer this, at this point, except he is absolutely running you ragged. You’d thought you could wear him out with your advantage of youth, but this man is fucking insatiable.
By the next day, you can’t stop yourself from begging, when he wakes you with insistent kisses on your neck and sweet nothings delivered with a growl in your ear. “John…I can’t,” you whine. “Please, I need a break.”
He dismisses this with a disbelieving snort, thinking you are crying wolf, no doubt. But when he flips you to fuck you from behind, something he’s grown increasingly fond of over the past few days, because he likes the shape of your ass, the tight angle—or that he doesn’t have to look into your accusing expression—you find yourself crying into the pillow.
It hurts.
You are bruised to the point where you cannot sit comfortably, and even with the impossible buckets of slick your body has somehow produced in his presence, he has rubbed you raw.
And he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
This is the litany that runs through your mind, and it breaks your heart more than anything else he’s done to you so far. That he is so far gone in his madness that you hardly recognize him…
This is the thing that breaks you, and certainly not in the way he intended.
You start to cry even harder into the pillow, the wound in your heart far more devastating to you than anything physical. You feel it in your chest like you did take a blade or a bullet, an agonizing ache that makes you wish for numbness more than anything that has transpired. This is worse than the kidnapping, worse than him dangling you on the edge of pleasure for days on end.
This is the thing that will sap your will to live, and you can almost see the spiraling dark maw of the abyss that looms before you.
This is also the only thing for days that has given him the slightest pause. He drapes himself over you to gather you in his arms.
“Are you crying, baby girl?”
“Yes,” you sniff.
You’ve pretty much taken everything he’s thrown at you until now with a lifted chin and a do your worst. Tears of despair actually seem to throw him.
“Why?”
“Because you’re hurting me, and you don’t care.” You know you sound as despondent as you feel. “The man I fell for protected me, he killed for me, but I never thought he would hurt me. Who even are you?” A new wave of anguish makes you sob into the pillow. It is not pretty crying, sweet glittering tears sliding down your cheeks. This is ugly crying, the expulsion of pain from the darkest depths of your soul, and once it starts you cannot stop.
He goes still as a statue behind you, ceasing even to breathe, the only motion the throb of his rock-hard cock still buried inside you. You do not know if you have displeased him, and he’s dreaming up some new punishment—or if just this once, he actually hears you.
You’re not exactly a religious person, but you find yourself praying to whatever laughing god that might take mercy on you, that he finally hears you.
He stays like this for what feels like an eternity, but can’t be more than a minute at most.
You are shocked, when carefully he slides out you, rolling to pull you against his chest, his big hand protectively cradling the side of your head, holding you hard enough to squeeze the breath from you. You realize, to your astonishment, he is shaking too, and he lets out a long, slow breath, pressing his lips to your hair.
This would have inspired excitement in you, if you weren’t so goddammed exhausted. Wrung out, body and soul. As it is, it takes all your control not to break down and weep again. He doesn’t say he’s sorry outright, but he holds you like he is. At this point, you’ll take what you can get amidst this madness you’re trapped in.
He kisses you again with a promise of, “I’ll be back,” and disappears into the bathroom. You hear the taps of the bathtub running. This too, you have learned to dread. But you cannot fight him, when he returns to scoop you up in his arms, and lowers the two of you together in the rising warm water.
You wait for the usual shenanigans—but they do not come. He just…holds you, and you only keep yourself together by a thread. With a tremulous sigh of relief you dare to settle further into his arms, savoring this closeness without the threat of sex in the air.
“I’m sorry,” he says against the top of your head. “You just…you make me crazy.”
It’s perhaps the closest thing to the truth he’s said since you’ve gotten here.
“I’ll give you a rest,” he promises, and if you hadn’t been sitting you might have fallen over with surprise.
“Thank you,” you say, relieved to the tips of your toes, kissing him sweetly. It’s a gentle press of lips that curls your toes, and a strangled little sound escapes from somewhere deep in his chest.
You pretend not to see it, but there is a glitter of a tear in the corner of his eye too.
After a little while he kisses your cheek, saying again, “I’ll be back.”
You watch him exit the tub and cinch a towel around his narrow waist. Despite everything, you admit that you have yet to tire of the view. Water beading on that man’s skin is a thing to inspire the songs of angels.
Or demons, perhaps, but either way it is divine to behold.
You wait, but he doesn’t return.
You linger in the water until it begins to cool, wondering what he’s up to.
It is telling of what a cautious creature you’ve become, for the way you are reluctant to move from the place he left you. But your fingers are turning to prunes, so you get out of the bath, drying yourself off and slathering yourself with the wonderful smelling lotion he’d gifted you, that cost a whole day’s pay from your time at the coffee shop.
It is hard not to gauge the cost of things against hours of your life, when you work in service. What are your hours worth now? You realize you don’t even know what day it is.
For the first time in a while you take a moment to actually look at yourself in the mirror. Your body is riddled with constellations of love bites in various states of healing, bruises in every shade of the rainbow. John Wick has marked you in just about every way a man can, yet still, you hold out.
Perhaps it is you who is delusional about this situation.
When you exit the bathroom you freeze in your tracks, hardly believing your eyes. The door—THE DOOR!—is hanging wide open, almost in invitation.
Rather than excitement, your first reaction is a thrill of fear running down your spine, as you wonder if it is a sick test.
But in the end, you cannot resist.
Wary of appearances, you throw on one of your numerous new silky nighties and a blue robe that is impossibly soft upon your skin. What mad woman would attempt to make an escape dressed like this? You hope the odds are in your favor.
On soft feet you pad to the top of the stairs, peeking over the landing. The smell of fresh brewed coffee wafts up towards you, and the sound of something frying in the kitchen. Cautiously you descend, making your way towards the promise of culinary delights.
For the second time in ten minutes, the sight before you makes you freeze in your tracks.
John is busy cooking in the kitchen, wearing a black kimono-style robe that gapes over his bare chest. He is very intently reading a recipe, whipping something in a bowl, and watching a sizzling hot pan.
You stand there, still as a statue, drinking in the sight until Dog blows your cover, trotting over to greet you with a wagging tail. You get down on your knees to hug him and scratch his ears. You have not seen him since your first escape attempt, and though you strangely hadn’t really doubted John would keep his word, you are relieved to receive proof of life.
“How does French toast sound?” John asks, as though today is a normal day in a string of normal days, and you live and eat together like two normal people who cohabitate.
“It sounds lovely,” you admit, cautiously perching on one of the barstools. “Can I help?”
“No, sweetheart, let me take care of you.” You wonder if this is more to keep you away from the potential weapon of a heavy, hot pan full of bacon and grease, but you are fine to sit and watch him.
You notice the knife block is completely emptied of blades.
When you are seated together in the breakfast nook, your legs tangled under the little table, dining off melamine plates with plastic utensils but enjoying a very good meal none the less, John throws you for yet another curveball.
“I’m sorry, that I’ve been so…insatiable,” he says. He could have knocked you off your stool with a feather. “I…” He shakes his head, clenching his fist on the table, the tendons in his forearm popping. “I just want you, so much.”
Your lip quivers at hearing that, and the truth spills from your lips before you can even think to hold it in. “I want to be wanted by you, John! It’s all I’ve wanted, since…the first moment I saw you.” If you’re being honest. “But all this…?” You wave your hands in an encompassing manner, unsure how else to express what he’s put you through.
It’s a lot, would be the understatement of the year. You’re not able to get it out though, because there’s a stone lodged in your throat, and suddenly you’re not sure if you want to cry or throw up.
Seeing you’re distressed again, he opens his arms to you. “C’mere.” It’s like walking into the claws of the dragon, you know, but you shuffle over to fall into his lap anyway. How insane is it, that this man is the flame that burns you, and the only balm that soothes you? He holds you tight against his chest, rocking you gently. You manage not to cry again, but you can’t stop shaking for a long time.
Only once you settle down does he speak again. “You are tough, you know that? I didn’t realize I was hurting you.”
You blink, unsure for a good minute what the fuck to say to that. The truth is that it is unfathomable, what savagery women can endure, when they have to. You’re not sure you want to say that aloud to him.
It might come off as a challenge.
You are hardly winning any trophies for fastest comeback, when finally you quip into his collarbone, “You forgot you’re dealing with a junior blackbelt. We are trained in the ways…”
He looks down at you for a long second, as though he’s not sure if you’re joking or not. And then it is like the sun breaking from the clouds when he smiles, a genuine, toothy flash of mirth that mercilessly squeezes your heart in your chest. He looks almost boyish in that moment, and it is beautiful to behold.
“So I forgot,” he admits, kissing your forehead.
“I guess you’re like…50th dan or some shit?” you ask, referring to his own belt ranking.
He chuckles at that, though there is a note of melancholy beneath it. “We don’t count dan where I trained, sweetheart. Just bodies on the ground.”
“That’s a lovely thought over breakfast…”
He snorts. “You remind me of me, you know, when I was younger,” he tells you quietly.
“How so?” you ask, thinking you’re not that tough.
“Too stubborn for my own good.” He smiles again, softer this time, but no less heartbreaking. He is not making fun of you. It is almost like he’s…commiserating with you, and it’s weird as hell. “I’ll give you a week to heal. Alright?”
You didn’t expect him to give you an hour, much less a week. “Okay…”
“Ok, what?” he prompts with a smirk, that breathtaking twinkle in his eye that makes you want to throttle him and kiss him all at once.
You can hardly refrain from rolling your eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Wick.”
He sighs at hearing it, like a sated lion.
You wonder if he’ll keep his word.
#john wick#john wick x reader#john wick x you#john wick x y/n#keanu reeves x reader#john wick fic#yandere john wick#bittersweet john wick imagine
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What were you thinking about when that buzzer sounded?
Pairing: König x Reader
Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he’s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.
(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)
AN: The latest chapter is finally here, and it is the penultimate chapter of the series. I hope to update this soon so you aren't left hanging too long for the finale, so fear not, I will put every effort into getting it written! Love you guys, and appreciate all the asks and comments you send me 🥰
Part 9 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here
-☠️-
For a moment, while you swam between waking and sleeping, everything was dark. The floor felt like it was shifting from underneath you. Piercing noise filled your ears and rattled throughout your entire body. Barely a few seconds later your retinas were scorched by sizzling orange light.
This isn’t right.
What’s happening?
You felt yourself frown despite the crackling ache that hammered into your skull, the wrinkle in your brow was more like a molehill. Even in the brilliant glow of the light around you, you couldn’t make anything out. You were only seeing hazy shapes and thinking thoughts that were barely more coherent. The piercing noise turned into a low buzz, though the room still felt like it was on an unsteady foundation.
What happened?
Where were the others?
You strained a moment, breathing heavily and stretching your body out. Were you lying down? You looked downward at your crumpled form and groaned. You’d confirmed it alright, as if the cold damp ground weren’t proof enough. It was difficult to tell how long you’d been laying like that, however if the prickling in your arms and legs were anything to go by it had clearly been a while.
You were struggling to try and work out what had happened. It felt like you were fighting for the last plank of wood in a shipwreck, your head feeling like it had been knocked and rolling in the foaming waves for some time before you’d come to. Though finally through the spray of racing thoughts you were able to grasp onto something more, a dull thudding sound that rhythmically beat behind you. A groan of anguish followed not long after, and then something that sounded like a string of choked curses.
“Looks like your friend has awakened, Captain. Shall we give you a break…?”
You frowned deeper, but you didn’t get long to work out who those words belonged to before you were seized. Suddenly Your body was being hoisted up by a pair of rough hands and you were all but thrown down in a deeply uncomfortable metal chair. As if that wasn’t enough to contend with, the unexpected movement sent your stomach and head roiling into green sickness. As you slowly started to snap out of it, you came to realise you were being bound to the chair that you’d been slammed into. A couple of pairs of hands were grabbing you and fastening you tightly to the cold metal, leaving you all bound up like a christmas turkey.
“You don’t look so good, Sergeant,” the voice from before taunted, sounding from somewhere above you. “But that makes sense, ah? My men already gave you quite the head wound back at the market. I wonder…are you even hearing me right now? Has your head been cracked open too many times now?”
You choked down the lump that had sat heavy in your throat and jerked your head up, facing the dark shape that had cast such an oppressive shadow over your eyes. Whoever it was, was standing in front of the light. You had no hope of seeing them, trying as you were.
“Fu-...fuck you,” you muttered, blinking your eyes up at the silhouette of your tormentor.
The man chuckled, a raspy sound that came from deep within his chest.
“You’re not lost to us yet, I see.”
You gritted your teeth and continued to desperately try and focus your eyes on the man. Something within you was burning, there was bile trying to force itself upwards the longer you held your head up, though intuition told you it wouldn’t be much of a shame if you spat up on whoever it was that had captured you.
“Who-oo are you?” you demanded, throat too dry to carry the threat you wanted.
“Oh, Sergeant, your condition might be worse than we’d feared. Don’t you recognise me?”
You shook your head up at the shadow man, growing tired of your confused state. Even tied to a chair you still couldn’t seem to piece together how you got there. The last thing you could recall was telling Soap and Ghost to run, warning them of an oncoming party of men that were approaching the back of the truck.
The trucks.
That’s right, you’d stolen yourselves away on the trucks - you’d all been waiting to see where they’d set up camp. Except…. They hadn’t stopped at any kind of base. The trucks had stopped so that they could get some respite after having to quickly pack up and leave their old haunt - it had been Soap that had said something about that. Soap had translated something they’d said.
Then König had said something through the comms…what was it again? He’d said-
“Am I not keeping your attention, Sergeant? How rude.”
If the disembodied voice wasn’t enough to tear you out of your thoughts, the slap that knocked your teeth together was.
Fresh pain blossomed over your cheek and you groaned out. It only served to make you even more acutely aware of the sorry state your body was in. Everything was hurting and nothing felt right. You’d been in some scrapes in your life, but for the second time you were sure this was going to be the end of you. Slowly but surely, whoever it was that held you captive was going to rip you to shreds.
At the very least, you decided you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of finding it pleasurable. You weren’t going to beg for him.
“Maybe you need a familiar face to wake you up properly.”
You glared up at the man above you, ready to spew vitriol that could outspark a petrol fire, but you didn’t get the chance. The wind was knocked from you when the chair was kicked on its side and you’d gone tumbling with it. Back on the grimy floor again, you thought, maybe if I’m lucky I’ll fall in a puddle and drown.
Self pity had stopped you from immediately looking ahead. Though the moment you managed to concentrate on anything other than the searing pain that was winding itself around your wrists, ankles and back, you were unpleasantly surprised to see a thunderous face over on the other side of the room. One that looked much like you felt.
“Price?” you croaked, locking gazes with his wide eyed stare.
He couldn’t answer you back. Price’s mouth was gagged with a thick piece of cloth, something like an old tshirt scrap. The fabric was wrapped tightly around his face and it was trapping all the expletives he’d normally be hurling from exploding into the tiny room. You strained as you looked at him, what was that that was dripping from his face? Had he been bleeding that much? It looked too thin to be blood alone.
You’d never seen the Captain like this before, he was in a sorry state. His face was sporting a rainbow of different bruises, and, from below that, swollen skin that had bubbled up into painful lumps. His armour and his weapons had been stripped from him, his jacket and hat as well, his hair was limply slicked back on top of his head. His shirt had been partially torn and that too was wet, it looked like they’d used a knife on him - you could see the bloody evidence in the form of a thick cut that striped roughly through his pecks.
“Price,” you said again, not quite sure what else to say. “Captain!”
You’d never seen him look so vehemently possessed by rage. He hadn’t even been this angry when he’d called you out for the whole König debacle. No, now that he was faced with you lying on the ground and lost for words he was the most furious you’d seen him in his life. If it weren’t for the gag, you’d have been convinced that he’d have spit fire.
“Speaking more confidently, Sergeant. This is good. Maybe now we can begin, yes?”
“Begin what?” you spat. “You think you can learn anything from me?”
The man chuckled, the sound emanating as if from a wide rocky cavern. The sound filled the room uncomfortably, squashing you, causing you to wince just before you were picked up by the back of the chair and set right upright again.
It was when you finally widened your eyes, that you were more clearly able to see the man in front of you. The sight of him made your heart drop. It was John Rousseau himself. His determined gaze was set on you as if he’d ripped himself free out of the photographs on your briefing documents and sprung to life in all his terrible glory. Though unlike the photographs, - taken when he’d been captured earlier on in his life- he was smiling now. He held something of a more deadly glint in his eyes.
You were left speechless then. What were you to say to the man you’d been chasing all that time? Now that he was standing in front of you in the flesh, tight black clothes showcasing his rippling arms and powerful legs. You weren’t going to last long if he was going to keep kicking and hitting you, you knew that then.
“This isn’t an interrogation, soldier - I don’t need to learn anything from you. We’re in the middle of making a very special video, a little gift for your superiors. They will get the benefit of seeing that you are alive - mostly. And they will know we are serious in our demands. In return they will give us back my brothers. If not then…you will not remain alive for much longer, will you?”
Rousseau’s widening smile reminded you of a venomous snake slithering out a dark crevice for the hunt. If that weren’t enough to unnerve you, the sound of something metal being scraped across the ground and the following rush of sloshing water lapping against its edges was enough to do the trick. All at once you realised exactly what Rousseau intended to do.
Price roared from the otherside of the room, in the corner of your vision, struggling futilely against his impossible bindings. Though you didn’t focus much on him. A shadow crossed the room and you painfully twisted your head to meet the barbarian that made it. You watched as another familiar face, the man from the market that had killed his associate, stood silently above you. He held a cheap old digital camera aloft in his hands and smiled slyly, giving you your last glimpse of cruelty before a cloth was forced over your face and the world went dark once more.
They were going to do to you exactly what they had done to Price. Finally you knew why he was so wet. Your body shook.. You could hardly breathe. Though you had to. Your training demanded it. You’d been waterboarded before, though now it wasn’t going to be a test. This was the real deal, there was no end goal in sight. You could hear the bucket being lifted off the ground, it was almost too late to remedy your panic.
No, you had to steel yourself.
Deep breath in, soldier.
And Hold it.
Hold it.
-☠️-
Ghost and Soap stood over the group in front of them with expressions so solemn that they could've dropped birds from the sky. Soap kept wincing as he’d shift his weight and forget his bad leg, and Ghost couldn’t stop staring off to the side, clearly replaying what had happened, turning it over and over in his mind until his eyes glazed almost grey. It was clear to see that neither one could reconcile with what had just gone down.
After a moment of empty silence, considering what to say, both the men eventually recounted what had happened to the others, facing Laswell and the rest of the men with their blank eyes and flat voices as they tried to stay professional. No matter how hard they tried though, their minds still lingered on the soldier they’d left behind, ceaselessly wondering what had happened to you.
Around halfway through your impromptu truck ride, with you on top while the two men hid inside, Gaz had reported that his group had reached exfil and regrouped with the rest of the team. Most of the remaining soldiers had made it there, along with a very rattled Laswell who’d explained to everyone that the safe house had been compromised and Price had been taken by surprise, caught in a trap laid out by the first rogue truck that had left the compound. Ghost, Soap and you of course had heard this through Gaz’s comms, one of the last lines to remain working - the other’s had faced multiple blasts and close combat bouts.
From that moment, now that they had contact and were aware of where Rousseau was headed, everyone was concentrating on regrouping with your team. They were tracking your signal and speeding along in the last of the working vehicles, hoping and praying they could reach the trucks and bring everyone back.
The men’s eyes flicked between each other as they let the story unfold, remembering what it was like standing in the almost pitch black of the cargo container while you lay above them. The tension that had yet to leave their bodies, only had them straining their tired muscles more.
Soap told everyone about you hissing over the line from above, telling him and Ghost about the trucks slowing down. You’d asked for orders and Soap had looked warily at Ghost then, watching as the man loomed over him and quietly searched for an answer. He’d curtly told you to lay low and stay quiet, tell them if anyone got out. It wasn’t long before you reported just that, and Soap had plastered himself to the doorway, straining to try and hear what they could be saying out there.
His French was rusty, rustier than his Spanish, but he was able to make out parts of a conversation that had broken out. They were talking about how glad they were that they could finally stop, one said something about needing to piss, the other laughed with him and said it was a wonder he’d managed to hold it in through the blasts. Another man had approached them and shouted over, saying that they needed to check the cargo first and ensure it wasn’t damaged or he’d make sure they’d never piss right again.
It was at that point, that it was evident that you all had to move. Though none of you could think of a way to make it past the small army undetected, especially if Ghost and Soap were required to burst from the creaking metal doors. Therefore, they’d decided to go with the distraction that you’d come up with, not a great one, but one that gave them a semblance of a shot to get away nonetheless.
König had intervened, he’d cut into the conversation with a new level of fury and demanded that you rethink your plan. ‘You can’t do this! Don’t you dare go ahead with this suicide mission!’ He thought it was sheer stupidity to throw a frag out into the middle of the group and just hope that they were too distracted by the fallout to track the direction it had come from. He’d all but ordered you to wait for the team to reach you all, but you’d argued back, saying that they couldn’t count on not being discovered until then. They were too far away.
You’d told him you loved him over the line, seemingly uncaring what the rest of the team thought of it now, and said that he had to let you work. Next thing they knew, you were informing Ghost and Soap that you were sending the frag out. It was difficult to hear König’s frenzied screams after that, they were just higher notes floating on top of the discordant din that was soon to follow.
When you’d pulled the pin all hell had broken loose.
Ghost and Soap clattered from out of the truck and you scrambled down from the top, rejoining the two men before sprinting like hell into the thin treeline. The wood’s were no longer as lush in the place they’d stopped, probably by design so they would know if they were being approached. Unfortunately it meant they were able to track your group running away as well. You could hear the distant sound of their cries start to get closer again.
Gunfire had broken out, peppering the air with loud shots. What seemed like hundreds of soldiers but was probably a group of around twenty, chased you all down and shot at your feet. They were demanding that you all stop, shouting in English and French and possibly other languages too.
For a wondrous minute it had seemed like you all might get away with your lives, but just as you hit a thicker portion of the woods, a single grenade was tossed in your direction and all of you were sent flying.
Ghost took over the report then. Soap’s voice cut out as he remembered the sickening churn of his stomach just before he’d blacked out. He was struggling to keep aloft. Only the thought of you out there somewhere kept him standing, the thought of your determined eyes as you fought like hell for the two men that had been intent on icing you out. All because they thought you were going to break up the team from your fooling around… And what did all that matter now?
Ghost slyly knocked his elbow into Soap, getting him to stay out of his mangled thoughts before he continued. He told everyone how Soap had been knocked out when he’d hit the ground, but you and he were still awake.
Soap had managed to rouse again, but he was hardly up to walking after his dodgy landing - never mind running unassisted on that bad right leg. Ghost wasn’t feeling a hundred percent either after being slammed into a thick tree trunk, but he was able to carry on. He’d tried to insist that you should help with Soap and you could all run together, but you’d shaken your head and denied him any assistance. You’d told him to take Soap and send the others forward, he had to direct them to you, or they’d never find you all in time you’d said. You could defend yourself from there, you’d assured them you could do it.
Ghost had tried to reason with you, pleaded with you not to be a fucking idiot, but you weren’t hearing any of it. You pulled out your gun, like a knight drawing their sword for the last stand, and told him simply that he could insult you after the job was done and you’d recovered Price. You’d reminded him that when you were all home safe, there would be a meeting to discuss your forbidden relationship, and he could get all of his famous remarks on record as well. Ghost’s face soured at the memory, but from there everyone was all caught up on what had happened.
He and Soap had reached the others and then they had pushed forward. Only, they didn’t find you by the rocks, or in the place where the trucks had been. That spot was empty save for a few men that had stayed behind to try and fight them off and prevent anyone from following. It was then that they knew they’d lost you and Price and the mission was over. They had failed completely.
König had heard enough. He’d been listening to their little tale with a curled lip that quickly turned to a full sneer and with every passing second that he spent revising over the details of their quest of incompetence, he felt his body temperature rise by another degree. He was so angry, he was shaking.
He stormed forward, slicing through the team of men that stood between him and Ghost with precision, ramming the Lieutenant down before he could think to do anything. It wasn’t possible to stop him, he’d borne down on Ghost with an animal force and soon he was swiping and clawing at him like he might take out his throat. The screams that were bursting out of him were nothing short of feral.
“It should have been you! You should’ve stayed behind, you rat fucking bastard. You lead your team on a suicide mission and yet here you stand telling us all about how we failed. You failed, you failed Ghost! You failed Sneak! Do you hear me? I will tear you apart! I will rip the skin from your bones and burn what’s left of you and then I will piss on your ashes, you fucking swine!”
“König!”
Horangi tried to be his voice of reason, but König was too far gone. He was incensed.
As if it weren’t bad enough that the love of his life had professed their love while they actively ensured their own destruction, he now had to listen to the Lieutenant prattle on about what had happened as if you hadn’t been pressured into being the sacrificial lamb. It was too much to bear. His head was ringing with your love confession and with the thoughts of what those men could be doing to you even as he tried to tear Ghost apart. The images were inspiring him to further cruelty, echoes of past sins and future vows.
König continued to pummel Ghost, trying to target his weak spots with prejudice, but he didn’t get to keep the upper hand for much longer. The Lieutenant wasn’t going to allow himself to be turned into mince. He wasn’t any good to Price or you if he let himself face König’s punishment.
Ghost grabbed out at König’s wildly swinging fists and caught one, using the moment of struggle to punch him in the ribs and swing round so that he was on top of the Austrian. König howled and flailed like a banshee, but he couldn’t do much of anything once he was on his back. Gaz and Horangi had joined Ghost, they assisted in pinning König down and now his shouts were reduced to heavy breaths as he stilled against the pressure. He was like an alligator with its mouth taped shut, the moment that the binding came off he was determined to strike again, bite through his prey in one clean motion.
Soap stood watching in horror from above the little skirmish. His face was paling to an ill shade. It was then that it finally occurred to him that maybe you hadn’t thrown away your position on a stupid fling. You weren’t turning your back on your family, you had just found someone else worth letting in. Why else would König sound as if he was ready to face death itself for you? You both had to be far closer than anyone could have comprehended.
Soap was left blinking silently as he gazed up at Ghost and then to Gaz, wondering, had they realised the same thing?
“König you need to calm down,” Ghost advised, voice straining as he fought through the pounding headache that blossomed in the base of his skull.
“Ghost…” König trailed, thinking on his words for a moment. “Unless Sneak is returned safely, I will never be calm again. In fact, I will make it my personal mission to break you. I will take you to some god awful hole somewhere and make sure that you live long enough through your torture to forget what daylight looks like. Only once you’re empty, will I bury the shell of you alive!”
Ghost’s left eye twitched, the lid took a moment to settle. König could hardly have known that he’d strike a nerve, but as he saw Ghost’s expression behind his mask he let his mouth curve into a smug grin behind his hood. Even if he couldn’t hit him physically he could settle for mental warfare.
Ghost struggled not to take his revenge. There was a brief moment of inner turmoil where he wanted to reach out and smash every tooth out of the mercenary’s head, but there was a voice in his head that demanded he didn’t. They needed every resource they had to retrieve their missing Sergeant and Captain. As much as he hated König, he couldn't deprive the team of an effective member, and loathe as he was to admit it he knew you’d need someone to come home to.
Ghost rose up off of König then, silently glaring down at him before he looked over at Laswell. His golden lashes caught the light, and then so did his eyes, showcasing the dangerous glint that settled just underneath the surface.
“Well, until we find Sneak and Price, why don’t you just keep yourself under control. Yeah?” He said gruffly, stepping away from König before he got second thoughts about beating him to a pulp.
König was allowed back up again, only when the others were sure he wouldn’t try and tackle Ghost. He hated having all their eyes on him. He’d never felt so afraid in all his life and now he was being put under a microscope by people that, as much as he tried not to for your benefit, he despised.
Horangi was his saving grace. His old friend turned to the others and shooed them off with a jerk of his head before he turned back and gave König a sympathetic tilt of his head. He knew better than to try and offer any words of comfort or to try and stick around. König was beyond calming, it was obvious to see from his flexing hands and narrowed eyes.
König’s mind was a storm of emotions. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so much, so deeply. He was furious with you, upset that you would throw your life away just to try and save the stupid teammates that had gotten you into such a predicament in the first place. His heart tore thinking of you trying to salvage your relationship with your brothers while they let you fall to the enemy.
Most of all though König felt terribly frightened. For once he had no control over the situation. He couldn’t smash his hulking body at the problem, nor threaten his way to the outcome he wanted. He just had to wait and hope that you would be alive somewhere and that you were ok. He could feel his breaths shorten at the thought of you being hurt by those awful men. Men just like him - men with no qualms about ignoring any sense of empathy in order to get a job done.
Was the world punishing him?
For some reason König couldn’t help but feel that whatever happened to you was his fault. Was it the divine justice? After all the people he’d torn through, all the faces he’d beat unrecognisably in the name of getting the job done, was one of his most treasured people going to be lost to him in exchange for his misdeeds? You were the one that had called him out on it all, how could you be the one to pay?
König felt dizzy, as if the world were spinning double time and the sky was waving and distorting in his vision. The light blue and purple hues were starting to fade with the closing light, and soon enough the sky would fall completely to black. Were you being kept somewhere dark? Did they have you bound and screaming?
He thought he was going to be sick.
All of a sudden he was locked in a glass cage, everyone around him was muffled and his body was constricted. He couldn’t breathe. He was cursing internally, gasping for air all the while.
Why couldn’t you have fucking taken me instead?
“König.”
König’s eyes flicked up, he jerked when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly he realised he’d been standing with his arms wrapped tightly around his body like a safety harness and let his hands drop to his sides. He peered down at the man connected to that stupidly brave hand and then locked eyes with Soap.He sneered, throwing the appendage away from himself before he gave into the compulsion to break it.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” König hissed.
“Laswell’s ordered us to move, mate,” Soap answered softly.
König looked off to the spot that everyone had been gathered in before, and realised that they’d all begun dispersing into the transports. Everyone was heading along to the beaten up trucks and piling in like cartoon clowns. Ghost was at the head of them all, König didn’t miss him, keeping a wary eye on Soap and König as he directed everyone else.
König laughed darkly to himself and started walking. Ghost didn’t need to worry yet. There was still time to save you, they were all safe for the time being. While you remained alive.
“Kind of you not to leave me behind,” König said, his voice coming out harshly through his gritted teeth. “Better you stay away though. You’ll convince me give into my temptations if you give me too much opportunity, Sergeant.”
König expected Soap to turn tail and run ahead of him then, but was surprised and annoyed when he noticed him keeping pace as they walked to the trucks together. It made König wonder if Soap wanted him to break again.
“You and Sneak have been seeing each other off base, haven't you?”
König stopped in his tracks again and locked eyes with Soap, looking for whatever evil had to be lurking in the abyss of blue. However if there was any ill intent, he couldn’t see it in his body language. Soap looked at him in earnest.
“Why would you bring that up?”
Soap ran a hand through his frayed mohawk and looked away for a second, nervously meeting König’s eyes again once he gathered his courage.
“Well you’ve been…” Soap paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “datin’, right?”
“This is hardly the time for your morbid fascination with our relationship,” König sneered, finally walking ahead again.
“It’s not morbid fascination.”
“Then what?”
“This team has been Sneak’s life for a long time now - we’re a family. When I thought they’d gone behind our backs and fooled around, was going to break up the team for the sake of some fun I was angry…but I know that’s not what it was now. So I just wanted to say I'm sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry are you? I would never ‘fool around’ with Sneak,” König growled. “You all wanted to see our relationship with each other as a stupid crush because none of you think of me as a person. I’m not some dog that they picked up off the side of the road, I’m a man the same as you. I love Sneak with everything that I have. And now you’re claiming to love them too after the way you acted? Sorry doesn’t cut it. You and Ghost, fuck, the whole 141 failed Sneak. Don’t come to me with your pathetic apologies, Sergeant.”
König didn’t give Soap any time to answer his verbal lashing, not that he had much of anything to say to that. How could he stand and defend himself when he’d been the cause of your guilt and the reason that you’d felt pushed to send him and Ghost to their safety while you fell? He was motionless as König picked a truck to settle into, picking a relatively empty section of the bed that only grew more sparse as the other men inside scrambled to keep their distance.
Soap stared a minute longer, but he was forced to move when he realised he was one of the last to load up. His feet marched automatically, but his head never left the conversation. He’d think about it until the moment he knew you were safe again. He had to be able to get his chance to apologise properly, he had to prove that he loved you no matter what, even if Price wouldn’t let you stay on the team. He could live without working with you, but he couldn’t go on knowing he’d been the cause of your death.
König watched Soap trudge toward Ghost and closed his eyes, willing his breaths to remain steady and for his tears to stay safely welled behind his lids. He couldn’t let himself cry. It felt too much like admitting that you were dead already. Then where would that leave him?
Instead, he put his hand into his trouser pocket and clasped at the little wooden bird that had stayed safely hidden inside. His thumb traced along the smooth stretch of the swallow’s back and towards its beak, gently landing on the tip. He silently hoped that wherever you were, you’d feel the gentle kiss of his spirit and know that you would be safe again. However improbable that was - it was the only thing that could give him any thought of comfort.
-☠️-
It’d been a long and sweaty ride over to the next town, for the start of the journey anyway. Toward the end, night was falling and the temperatures cooled dramatically, suddenly leaving the soldiers glad for all of the heavy layers they were wearing. It made some of them look at König, Horangi and Ghost jealousy, for once, wishing that they too had full face coverage in the chill of the dark winds.
Ghost’s eyes had remained far away for the duration of the ride. No matter what Soap or Gaz said, they couldn’t get him to focus much on them. He was completely distant. It was as if his consciousness was held hostage from within his body, like his mind was replaying the days events over for him and holding him to his mistakes. Though when Soap had been brave enough to try to confirm his suspicions of Ghost’s guilt he was greeted with a ‘fuck off’ for his efforts.
Gaz put his hand on Soap’s shoulder, then gave him a gentle look. It had Soap swallowing thickly at the lump in his throat and soon enough he was looking away, doing everything not to turn into a screaming wreck in the wake of his dark eyes. Gaz looked away too.
“We’ll get them back,” Gaz mumbled, patting Soap’s shoulder again before he removed his hand. “At least for now, we know that they have each other.”
“Aye, and how do we know that?” Soap said bitterly.
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t know that they’re together. They could be holding them separately or could have them blindfolded and gagged. Hell, they could’ve killed one of them and only taken one back with them - there’s a lot more risk having two soldiers. We have no idea if Price and Sneak are-”
“Shut the fuck up, Soap,” Ghost growled.
Gaz and Soap’s eyes flashed over to Ghost in an instant. His tone was hard, and his slouched posture straightened back and returned all of his missing height.
“We’ll get em’ back,” he vowed. “Or we die trying.”
Ghost had no way of knowing quite how daunting that promise would be in light of things to come. Though when they finally reached a safe place to stop and reconnect with command back home, the severity of the situation landed upon all of them like a ton of bricks.
Laswell and Ghost managed to wrangle an empty room and took a private call with General Morrison. It was then, in the dark of that claustrophobic room, that they learned about the ransom video that had been sent over during their journey to their makeshift base - a tiny village with a few homesteads and farm land.
The general didn’t seem to want to give much detail about the video, he was shifty with them both. It was only from some not so polite prodding from Ghost, that the General revealed that they weren’t permitted to have any dealings with the terrorist group.
“They’re going to splash this all over the fuckin’ press general. This is going to be a disaster, and you’re saying that our response to this is to just do nothing?” Ghost spat.
“It’s all about optics, Lieutenant, you know that. The Captain and Sergeant will be a great loss, but we can’t be seen to be releasing criminals like stray dogs after said dogs were convicted of kidnapping civilians and blowing up markets. We can’t make the deal.”
“Then fuck the deal!” Ghost said, glaring into the camera lens with hot fury.
Laswell baulked, quickly realising that Ghost was going to get himself into trouble if she didn’t step in. She put a hand on his arm and looked pointedly toward the laptop, hoping to appeal to any shred of decency that might be lingering in the greying general’s arsenal.
“I think Ghost is trying to suggest that we put a team together and we track them down. We get our people back and take down that bastard Rousseau once and for all, sir.”
The harsh lines in the general’s old leathery face settled and his stare was neutral once again. Laswell untensed too. Only Ghost was left seething, he wasn’t going to be calmed at a time like this. The only thing that would put him at ease was knowing that you and Price were going to be returned safely. That wasn’t going to be anytime soon.
“John Price is a good man,” the general said after a long pause. “I can grant you a small team, but it can’t be on record. If this blows up, you’re on your own.”
“And if it goes well it was all a great effort organised by the cunning officers who sat bravely by their desks.” Ghost muttered.
Laswell kicked out at Ghost from under the table and was grateful that the general didn’t seem to catch his snide remark from through the terrible connection. She quickly smiled toward the laptop and nodded curtly. She could work with a few men, and she was pretty sure she knew of where to get a few more.
“Thank you, General Morrison. We’re grateful for the aid. I’ll have my people try to find out what we can and once we gather enough intelligence we’ll move in on the target.”
“Good luck, Laswell,” The general said warmly, face going cold when he stared to her left. “Ghost.”
From there the screen went black. Ghost and Laswell were left discussing plans, Laswell messaging her contacts as they talked, both agreeing that they would find a way to reach out to Farah while they formed a potential team. It was all a matter of muscle memory. They sparingly used your names while they were talking. It helped to keep emotion out of it.
However, they didn’t get to remain like that for long.
They had to find the video so that Laswell could send it to her intelligence sources and as soon as they were exposed to those first few painstaking seconds, it was all so real again. This wasn’t one of their usual jobs, this was a rescue effort to save two of their own. Two of their family members, that as they were speaking, were being hurt in all manner of horrible ways just to emphasise the sincerity of Rousseau’s threats. He was so morbidly calm as he stood making his demands from in front of the horrible abuses just inches behind him.
When it came time to tell the others what was going on, Ghost and Laswell were practically as flat toned as the general. It was taking a lot for them to go through it all, to explain that at that present moment they had to sit tight and wait for transport to take them away so that they could go back to base and refresh and resupply while you and Price passed the hours in unknown amounts of agony.
No matter how matter of fact they tried to keep things, it didn’t stop König from speaking up and forcing everyone into reality. He waited until everyone had been dismissed to reappear in front of Ghost. His steps were heavy and slow, his strides purposeful as he got into the Lieutenant’s face once again.
“I want to see the video.”
“No.”
Ghost’s answer was simple, no nonsense. There was no room for discussion. He folded his arms and straightened his back, ensuring that he was able to steady himself against the bigger man’s potential attacks. Luckily for him he could see Soap and Gaz nearby should he try to start a scrap again. His personal animal control unit.
“What do you mean no?” König grit out.
“It’s not a good idea” Ghost reaffirmed. “You don’t need to see that.”
“I have to see it. I have to know what they’ve done! Show me the Video!”
“It won’t help, König,” Laswell said, appearing at Ghost’s side. “We watched it to the end and it was…it’s something that will haunt me for a long time. It was bad, but Sneak and Price don’t seem to have any permanent damage. Take that as a comfort and refrain from watching that awful thing.”
König clutched harder at the little bird inside his pocket, holding it so tightly that the beak felt like it was going to pierce a hole through him. He was so hot. Even despite the dreadful cold of the night, he felt like he was going to overheat and his limbs were going to vibrate out of their sockets.
“No permanent damage,” König repeated. “What have they done then?”
Ghost and Laswell exchanged a brief glance. The air was thick between them, like they were looking through water.
“We need to know,” Soap said, coming to stand by König. “When we find them, we’ll need to know how bad they are.”
“Soap, don’t do this,” Ghost sighed.
“He’s right,” Gaz said, taking his stand between the two parties. “Tell us what happened.”
“Or show us,” König said darkly.
Ghost glared through the dark hollows of his skull mask, it really did feel like he was the grim reaper. He was the harbinger of doom. It chilled him to have to think about the horrible sounds and the terrible things he’d seen. He even wished he had just looked away at some point, but he couldn’t, he had to force himself to face it. It was his fault they were suffering, he’d thought to himself.
“They were waterboarding them,” Ghost revealed, “beating them too.”
Everyone was quiet, taking in the information.
“That’s not all, is it?” König asked.
“They stripped them down with knives and left em’ tied up and naked on the chairs while Rousseau spoke. They posted it up on social media, the video is everywhere despite the efforts to get it deleted. They weren’t doing very well. I think Sneak had taken in a lot of water, they were covered in sick.”
König felt his palm slicken and looked down, tilting his head when he noticed his trouser pocket turn from beige to bright scarlet red. One of the swallow's wings had broken off under the stress of his grip and lodged itself splintered side down into his hand. Now he stood motionless, looking down at the mess with empty fascination. He didn’t even feel the sting of it. He couldn’t get past the sight of his blood, the same colour as the tint in his vision.
He slowly withdrew his hand and inspected the tender flesh, gently pulling the wing from his cut and depositing it back into his ruined trousers with the rest of the broken bird. From there his plasma continued to drip, a flow of bright red washing over his hands like a tiny trickling fountain.
“You said, your people are on this Laswell, yes?” König asked, not looking up to see the disconcerted stares of the 141.
“...yes,” Kate confirmed, hesitating to answer. “They’re trying to see if they can find a source or get any clues from the room they’re in.”
She was scared that this was going to König’s final tipping point. The room was too quiet, there was too much electric energy charging through the air. It felt too much like the calm before an earthquake.
“Ok,” König replied, his voice sounding far away. “I should go deal with this…I will clean this up. I will fix it. It will all get fixed”
With that he disappeared like a spectre, trailing out of the room and out into the night as if he might completely disperse into nothing. It was like watching a plastic bag float away in the wind, no one could be sure of where he was off to.
“Should one of us…y’know?” Gaz asked, directing his head toward the open doorway.
“Maybe go find Horangi and see what he says,” Ghost shrugged. “He knows König best.”
“And the rest of us?” Soap asked, feeling his own fists clench at the thought of the video.
“We rest up and wait until we can give those cunts the pincushion treatment,” Ghost said, looking down to Soap’s leg. “You think you’ll be able to heal?”
“I feel better already knowing we’ll take those fuckers down,” Soap said, a ghost of a smile playing on his face. “Payback’s gonna be a bitch.”
-☠️-
“Bloody hell.”
Your eyes snapped open and you looked over to Price, watching as he slowly rose up against the wall and struggled to right himself. Your gaze flashed off to the side as soon as the ratty old blanket that’d been draped over him started to slip. Not that you hadn’t seen what was underneath it already, at that point you were just trying to do him a courtesy.
“Good to know you haven’t left us,” you said weakly.
From out of the corner of your eye you noticed him rush to fix his blanket, the whoosh of material sweeping up his body was like music to your ears. Knowing that he had the wherewithal to cover himself seemed like a good sign. You offered him the best smile that you could, more of a grimace really, and scanned over his face. It didn’t look much better than from when he’d been sleeping. His left eye was swollen almost completely shut and his mouth was still flecked with dried bits of blood and god knows what else that had stuck to his beard.
If there was anything to be grateful for in that moment it was the fact that they’d dropped the buckets of water over you after they’d finished recording that awful video. It’d at least cleared the putrid sick from crusting into your battered bodies. Some relief. Not that it helped with the pain that pulsed through you like a lightning strike.
“Where the fuck are we?” Price groaned, spitting out a clump of phlegm to his side.
You winced.
“No idea. I only woke up maybe a few minutes ago,” you sighed. “I remember them dragging us down a hallway and then being outside…I dunno, things are spotty for me.”
Price nodded and cast his sore eyes around the cell, looking from the dark metal walls to the crackling painted floors, to the little lamp in the corner that cast long shadows from your bodies and to the few feet between you, and finally he looked to the solid door on both your right sides. He groaned then and shifted his position, almost fumbling and crashing forward as he forgot to account for the bindings on his wrists and ankles.
“Fuck me!”
You remained quiet, glueing your eyes to the floor. There was something that felt so inherently disrespectful about looking at Price when he was like that. You’d never caught him in such a moment of vulnerability before. It was like seeing your father cry.
“I think we’re on some kind of transport, a truck maybe,” you said quietly. “They probably have us on the move so that they can’t be infiltrated again.”
Price grunted, barely acknowledging you as he struggled piteously from his side of the tiny cabin.
You tested your own restraints again, peering down at the cable ties that were painfully stretching around your wrists from over the scratchy blanket. The fabric was old and stained, a faint smell of fish emanated from it that you preferred not to think too much about. Nothing about the situation gave you any hope- it seemed awfully like you were the characters in the movie that wouldn’t make it. Maybe they’d give you both a few medals for your sacrifices.
You shivered at the thought.
“Have you tried to break the ties?” Price asked, pointedly breaking you out of your stupor.
“I attempted it when I woke up, but I don’t have much strength,” you said. “My ribs feel fucked. They’ve bruised them, if they haven’t broken them all the way. Hurts to move.”
“Bloody mediaeval cunts!” Price cursed. “They must’ve been planning this for months now. We fucked ourselves listening to anything those animals had to say to us.”
“I guess we underestimated how far Rousseau was willing to go to get his brother back. All those other men too.”
“Didn’t count on a snake like him to get sentimental.”
“Well, he seems plenty sentimental. Got us back something bad for that little redecoration job we forced him to make,” you noted, seething as you tried to laugh off your predicament.
“Some upgrade he got,” Price said sourly, “Wonder how the fuck he managed to set all this up. By all rights he should barely have any men left after what we’ve done.”
“I dunno, he had a whole lot of pick up trucks and a couple transports on the move. Probably had about one hundred men still loyal to him in just that group. No telling who else he has scattered around.”
“There were other trucks? I only saw two. The one that I was chasing and the one that came up behind us. How many did you see? Matter of fact, how’d you even end up here in the first place, Sneaky?”
You held your breath - though not for long. Your lungs still dully ached from doing that too much already. At the sound of the whooshing air leaving your body and bouncing off of the metal walls, Price immediately narrowed his one good eye.
“What happened?”
“It’s…a long story,” you said quietly.
“I have time,” Price snorted, looking around the cabin for effect.
You huffed out a breath at him and clutched at your side, feeling the pain shattering up your ribs like the crack of a whip. This was it. Who knew if you were going to live to even see the end of the day. You didn’t even know what day it was, or if it was even day time at all. You were finally going to tell him the truth.
“Me, Ghost and Soap were all tracking the trucks after they blew the old base. Gaz, König and Horangi went to exfil to try and regroup with the other teams. We were all supposed to reconvene and try to find you together but...we got held down by their forces and Soap took a bad hit to his leg. I told Ghost to take him and go get the others. They didn’t make it in time though,” you said, voice cracking as you recalled the foggy events like a broken down projector.
“Why the hell would Ghost leave you by yourself against an entire force of men?” Price growled, body snapping to attention.
“Because I forced him to.”
“Why?”
“Because they can go on and do some good, they’ll be able to avenge us and keep taking down the Rousseaus of the world. I wasn’t worth saving,” you said bitterly.
“Don’t you fucking dare say that. Why the fuck would you say that, Sneak?”
The look in his eyes was enough to shatter a million hearts. His anger could’ve melted the walls down, it beat so palpably between you both. It only made you hang your head in shame to think you were going to disappoint him. To think that that fierce protectiveness was going to be overridden by disgust.
You couldn’t keep lying to him anymore. You couldn’t leave the world weighed down by your secret.
“Because I was only going to be kicked off the team after this mission. I…I went against your orders. I’ve been seeing König for months now. The guys found out about the relationship. It wasted time and caused an argument that could’ve got us killed if we’d hung around the base much longer. I fucked up Price, I went against my word to you and I’ve only gone and gotten us killed! This is all my fault!”
You threw your head against the metal behind you, feeling the tears weigh you down like canon balls and sobbed. No matter how pathetic you felt, you were at a complete loss of control. Everything hurt, your throat constricted and dried like sand, the noises you emitted were barely human.
It was all crashing down on you, the full weight of your cursed fate coming to fall on your lap.
This was all you deserved for going behind the team's back. You were probably going to die a slow horrible death, getting thrown in front of camera after camera until there wouldn’t be enough of you left to send back home. Every piece of you would be ripped away by whatever dark hole they chose to make a stop at, until you would become another part of the world’s fabric. Another soul for someone with willing hands to take.
Even despite that horrible line of thought, the thing that hurt you most was knowing that König would remember your last moments together spent in bitterness, and that would be all he’d have to hold onto. He’d think that you had turned on him again, he would be so full of hatred for what you’d done to him. You’d burst down his walls only to go and reinforce exactly why he’d had them in the first place. You wished you’d told him more than just that you’d loved him. You wished you could tell him that despite everything that had happened, he was worth it all, you loved every second that he shared himself with you.
You would still rather walk willingly to your death a thousand times than put König or anyone else at risk.
“...Sneaky. Hey! Are you listening to me…fuckin’ hell. Oi! Sneaky!”
Price’s voice somehow managed to break through the impassable swell of your emotion and soon his face was in front of yours, demanding to be looked at. You felt yourself frown, sniffling as you wondered how on earth he’d managed to shuffle all the way over to you in his condition. Even with his hands and feet tied, and his vision probably barely there, he had launched himself over to you and exploded through the barrier of your guilt.
“Listen to me. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Breathe with me! In and out. In and out…”
You gulped sickened gasps of air and tasted the salt of Price’s body in the back of your throat. It didn’t matter though. You didn’t care that he, and probably you, fucking stank. It was just nice to have him there, bringing you back from the brink of a full on mental collapse.
The same mental voice that had coached you through your torture, was the same that gruffly directed you now. Price always had your back. He didn’t let any of his soldiers go easily, and he had always tried to do his best for you. Even if you had spited him for keeping you from König, he was always going to be the man that felt like another father to you.
“Sneak, do you really think that this is your fault?” Price asked, finally breaking from his instructional regime. “Do you think it really matters to me who you’ve been shagging right now? I need you to stay on the level with me here Sneak, you’re not to blame for any of this happening.”
“Why?” you asked, coughing harshly as your throat tried to adjust.
“Why aren’t you to blame?”
“No, why aren’t you angry with me?” you wheezed.
You could hardly believe it. Your Captain was perched in front of you, a blanket barely covering his battered skin, and he was telling you that he was ok with the fact that you deliberately disobeyed an order. Had the torturers knocked a screw loose after all? You gawped him as if to convey just that.
“We might very well die here. I’m not going to waste my last moments angry with you. Especially when the reason I warned you off of that man in the first place, was in case he got you killed…It already happened once. I already lost Alex to love on the field, I didn’t want to lose you too, not to a man with enemies in the numbers of god knows what. Now you’re trapped here with me because you were too stuck on your own guilt to save yourself. You didn’t fail me or anyone else. I failed you, Sneak,” Price affirmed, bowing his head in shame.
The rough spikes of his hair were glistening and the skin on the back of his neck was washed out by the pale white light. He looked like a ghost of himself already. You shivered and bit the flesh inside your cheek, trying to process everything that he’d said.
Had you really been absolved? Just like that?
“Captain…”
He slowly lifted his head up and offered you a small smile, his grime speckled moustache lifting cartoonishly with it. You found yourself choking back your stupid tears and smiled at him in return, relaxing into the wall and soon into Price as he ambled to the wall and laid back with you, settling into your side.
“On the off chance we do find a way to survive this, I need you with me, Sneak,” Price said, his hoarse voice buzzing through you. “You can’t check out on me, ok?”
“Is that an order, sir?” you deadpanned.
“Affirmative. And If you go against this one, just know that my Ghost is going to make your ghost move puddles and dig ditches in the afterlife. Got that sergeant?”
“Loud and clear, sir.”
-☠️-
“Do you understand what you’ve done! You are sending your precious special forces to their deaths! Know this; fellow brothers and sisters around the world,” Rousseau shouted, his voice booming off the dour cement walls. “Your government does not care about you, it is you the people that must rise up from nothing and take what is rightfully yours. I will continue to take down your soldiers until you give me back my family and allow us to take our territories without interference. Let's see how many deaths it will take until your governments take us seriously, uh!”
You winced as Rousseau grabbed you by the neck, though you could barely summon the strength to fight back. He’d taken you out from the transport and into dark deserted buildings more times than you’re sure that you can accurately collect. There was so little of you left anymore, you could barely hold onto your promise to Price. That last blow would be the one that ended you.
You cast a weary eye over to Price, tilting your head slightly to your left, watching him as he struggled to stay upright. He’d been wheezing for days now. There was a time you’d become convinced he’d already died on you. You couldn’t really remember when that was. They hardly fed you or allowed you to drink. They didn’t want to deal with the toilet trips - or the open bucket trips more like.
You’d both held on far longer than what you might’ve predicted, but now your time had run out.
You’d kept Price entertained with your stories about König, tried to force him to stay awake. After telling him a little about your relationship, they started flowing out of you like a great epic. You'd told him about the time you’d made him wear a bright floral surgical mask after he’d lost a bet to you, and then an old lady had approached him to say how stylish he was. You’d laughed till you’d fallen into a coughing fit when you remembered him surprising you back at your little apartment that you shared together with a rose in his mouth, and you’d had to clean the blood after he forgot to remove a thorn - he’d moaned for days about his stupid cut lip. You’d melted at the thought of him hugging you tightly after, not telling Price that König had huffed out to you in a pathetic whimper, telling you that he was sad he couldn’t kiss you with his mouth so sore.
Oh, König.
You whined, closing your eyes as you watched Rousseau arcing his thick metal bar high above you. Rousseau was ready to strike, this was really it. For both of you. He was going to make Price watch his Sergeant die and then he would surely be next.
You zoned out, falling back into the dark recesses of your mind.
Even if he was far away, it felt like König’s lips were whispering quietly in your ears. His spirit was with you, even if his form was elsewhere utterly devastated.
Think of better things. Think of me, Schnuckiputzi, and how you’d threaten to slap me for calling you that. I love you.
There’s nowhere you can be sent to that I won’t find a way to reach you.
Just keep your eyes closed and think of me.
Next Part Here
#König#König x reader#könig fanfiction#modern warfare 2#modern warfare fanfiction#mw2#konig#konig x reader#a rocky start
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Mirror, Mirror On The Wall...
I... honestly don't know where this came from. I finished it while half asleep so forgive the writing quality dropping towards the end. I'm not much of a smut writer, so... good luck?
Warnings: Smut, sub Harry, handjob, edging (m receiving), pain kink, crying?? I guess? Also some (short) but slightly fluffy aftercare at the end
Wordcount: 1.5k
“Shit-”
“You know the rules, baby. Look.”
Harry trembled against your chest as he whimpered, thighs quivering where they were hooked over your own. It was hard to remember how the pair of you had ended up here, the haze of lust and want clouding your mind as your hand gave Harry another long, tantalizing stroke. You didn't even really know how long you’d been at it, but from how wrecked Harry looked… it had been a while.
You could see how tearstained his cheeks were in the mirror in front of you both and could feel the warm drops splatter against your collarbones when he threw his face into your neck with a cracked moan. It was delicious. It gave you such a power rush at the sight of such a broad, well-built man crying in your lap, lips bitten a tantalising raspberry red from when he tried pointlessly to muffle his loud noises. Harry’s glazed mossy green eyes met your own in the mirror, watching almost dejectedly as your hand danced away again from where he ached most. He didn't even try to beg you this time, head falling back against your shoulder, eyes shut in defeat, slumping slightly into your arms with a groan.
You let him rest for a moment, your hand tracing faint lines across the taut lines of his abdomen in fascination, eyes watching his chest heave and Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed sharply. He was so pretty like this, skin shiny with sweat and flushed pink with exertion, head thrown back and his unmarred throat exposed. It was tempting to suck deep purple marks there, mark him for weeks, but you feared any more pleasurable torture would make him fracture, turning him into wobbly slush in your hold*.* Soft lips only left a soothing peck there, your chin settling back on his shoulder as Harry took a shaky, scratchy breath. **You let your eyes wander to where his hands had relaxed on the bedspread, painted nails glinting in the dim light as his fingers painstakingly relaxed, stiff and wooden from where they had been clenching around warm, white fabric. Another calming kiss to his shoulder. “You okay?” He only hummed tiredly, and you could see his cock bobbing slightly in the mirror. “I need words, Harry.” He took a deep breath and lifted his head. “Y-yeah. I’m okay. Just… a bit floaty.” He fell quiet then, eyes blinking slowly at your own in the mirror, body tensed, waiting for you to do… something.
Your finger ran slowly teasing circles down his abs, lips biting back a smile as they tensed and twitched at the featherlight touch. Harry whined softly, hands gripping tightly at the bedspread again while his hips tried to buck up. Your other hand kept him pinned as he keened faintly, not even seeming to be aware of his anguished noises. You ignored it, eyes locked on the way his angry red cock twitched against his lower belly, precome bubbling from the slit and dribbling down slowly as your hand crept closer. It looked painfully hard by now, the head beginning to turn an uncomfortable shade of purple, as more precome blurted out against Harry’s skin. The sight didn’t surprise you, you’d edged him, what, three times before this? That was his usual limit, but you were planning to push it tonight, as discussed. Only by one more time though, no matter how much Harry had insisted he could take it.
You carefully wrapped your hand around his base, smiling into his shoulder as he practically sobbed, going fully limp in your arms. After one stroke, he was trembling, after two, he was babbling nonsense while staring at the vulgar view of himself in the mirror. “Thank you, thank you- oh fuck-” You hummed encouragement while he mewled brokenly, your hand twisting as your stroked up, thumbing once at his slit just to make his breathing stutter.
He was so warm and wet in your palm, it was absolutely filthy. It was debauched, the way he pulsed under your fingers and whimpered in your ear. “You really close, baby?” The noise he made was indecent when he realised what was happening, hands almost tearing at the bedspread and hips trying to buck up into your hand to chase his end. “Y-yes-” Your hand fell away to rub soothing circles on his thigh and he almost screamed, back arching before falling limp against you with a wail. It almost scared you, seeing him so distraught but you could just see the glint of half-crazed delight in his lidded eyes. It made your mind spin, knowing you did that to him. That you were making him feel this good. You just had to trust that Harry would tell you if it was too much.
“Did that hurt?” You couldn't help asking, fascinated at the way he arched and writhed as if in despair but still moaned and mewled in bliss. Pleasure tinged with pain was not something you had… tested out for yourself but it intrigued you to no end. “Like a bitch.” His voice sounded rough and ruined, but the undertones of utter satisfaction were still clear as he grinned. “Just the way I like it.” You huffed, pinching his hip lightly to make him squeak and flinch, but it broke into a groan as his cock bounced against his abdomen. “Yeah, you masochist.”
Through the mirror, you could see him breathing heavily through his nose as his cock settled back against his skin, his face beginning to lose the enjoyment and border on actual pain. You couldn't help frowning slightly, hand running gently up and down his thigh to try to comfort him. “Still okay?” He whined softly, eyes flicking open to reveal glazed, dopey eyes. “It’s j-just really sensitive now.” You cooed softly in sympathy, pressing kisses across his shoulder to try to settle him a little bit. “Oh, I know. But you did it, managed to go further than you did before. Let me make you feel good, then we can have a bath and go to bed. That sound good?” Harry sighed weakly, leaning more into you, his back feeling flushed and sweaty against your bare chest. “Y-yeah.”
You didn’t waste a moment, quickly grasping his angry red cock and beginning to stroke quickly, now completely focused on making him come and getting him tucked into bed. Harry whimpered loudly as you pumped him, one of his hands sliding up to cup the back of your head and pull your face into the crook of his neck, while the other gripped your forearm in an iron grip. It felt like the gates had been opened as he thrashed in your lap, and you couldn't help nipping and sucking your way across his unmarked skin. His fingers tugged harshly at your hair, a muffled moan falling from your lips as you bit harshly at his shoulder, tongue quick to soothe the sting. The pain only made him moan louder, and your other hand fought to keep him steady in your lap as he squirmed. It was clear that he was close already, the night of teasing leaving him far too sensitive and aching to last any longer. “You can let go whenever you want, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He sobbed quietly as your fingers worked their magic, hands falling from where they gripped you, floppy from exhaustion against the bedspread. “Come on, darling, let go for me.” It seemed those words were all he needed, coming with a long, tired-sounding moan, come spurting high enough to hit the edges of his butterfly tattoo. Some of it dribbled down your fingers, and you couldn't help licking the warm salty liquid away as you moved Harry to lie back. He looked like he had passed out, eyes fluttering and mouth slack as he lay there, hands twitching occasionally. It was a sight to behold, and it was difficult to leave him there as you fetched a washcloth to clean him up. God knows he needed it.
It took a few minutes for Harry to properly come back to you, sprawled on his back while you wiped him down gently with a washcloth. The poor thing looked exhausted now, eyes fluttering and chest heaving, the picture of ruined and freshly fucked. Hickeys littered his shoulders and neck, red flush and sweat adorning his skin while his hair was mussed in every direction. It was a view you never wanted to forget and when you saw his moony eyes gazing lovingly at your face, you knew you never would.
“Don’t fall asleep yet, love. Just a little longer for me, okay?” Harry could only groan in response, slumping forward so you could wash the shampoo suds out of his hair. You giggled from behind him, quickly rinsing his hair out while he stayed slumped, blinking sluggishly at the bubbly bath water. “There, all done. Now you can sleep, my love.”
Manoeuvring a half-asleep Harry from the bath to your bed was certainly a mission and Harry himself wasn't much help. He was bigger and crucially, heavier than you, so it took quite a bit of tugging and pushing from him to curl under the sheets. He was asleep almost from the moment his head hit the pillow and the sight made you smile fondly, fingers brushing rogue damp curls from his forehead. You settled in next to him, tucking him into your side while he snored softly. God, you loved him.
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles fluff#harry styles blurb#harry styles oneshot#harry styles imagine#harry styles headcanons#harry styles fic#x reader#harry styles smut#harry styles fanfic#harry styles x reader smut
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Alright so i MIGHT have accidentally deleted the ask that @mac-and-thefox sent like a dumb ass but she requested rulti for the kiss prompts with 'on a place of insecurity'.
With a few little splashes, the flat stone skimmed along the mirror like surface of the lake sending disruptive ripples across the water. Inevitably gravity took hold and plunged the rock beneath the surface and Swiss watched it go with a furrowed brow. Briefly interrupted, the lake settled back into its serene state. Unbothered by him and his influence on it like always.
He laid back against the dock and stared up at the glittering sky, stars winking down at him in his misery. Swiss knew he'd regret the choice to collapse onto the dock and not the grass, sensing splinters and a lecture from Aether in his future, but the deed was already done. Resigned to his fate, he threw an arm over his eyes in an attempt to block out the silver moonlight.
"There you are...Started to think you were hiding from me." The dock creaked under added weight, Swiss didn't know if he trusted it to hold two people.
Swiss lifted his arm long enough to look up at the upside-down face of the water ghoul looming over him. Just as pretty from this angle, outlined in a soft white glow.
"Not from you, from her" he gestured vaguely towards the sky and Rain's head tilted. "She's been mocking me for days."
"The moon is mocking you?"
"Yes! Yes, it fucking has. I know you've felt that tug in your bones all week." He watched Rain straighten out his spine, arms folded neatly behind his back as he tipped his head back. Natural and elegant in her presence like he belonged there. "Calling me back to the water despite everything," he scoffed "she loves my anguish apparently."
"Now someone sounds a little too self important" he mused and seated himself on the space of the dock beside him, arms braced behind him, head still thrown back to admire the cloudless sky. "She doesn't call you for nothing, certainly not maliciously. You've got it inside you, Mr. Multi."
"Barely. Hardly a multi ghoul as imbalanced as I am, water just...doesn't stick. Not meant for it." Swiss frowned and turned his face to the side away from Rain, watching the lake gently lapping at the shoreline. "I can make a little wave or two but that's not impressive."
He turns towards him again and Rain's laying down as well, on his side, staring at him with a bent arm pillowed under his head. There's that tug again. Magnetic and persistent. He sighed and the other ghoul shifted closer, close enough their natural body temperatures clashed. It was impossible not to feel stripped bare when Rain looked at him like that - nothing short of adoring.
"Still runs in your veins."
Rain reached for his hand and pulled it closer, tracing the dark blue lines in his wrist with the tip of his finger. Examining him, studying what comprised the multi parts of him. Familiarizing himself with what made him.
"You may run hot," he paused to kiss his inner wrist. His pulse stuttered under the cool grace of his lips "but that doesn't mean the element has gone and evaporated out of you."
"Rain-" embarrassment crept into his voice, masking uncertainty.
"See her in your eyes."
His hand came to rest on his cheek, thumbing lightly at the space beneath his eye. Swiss exhaled, blinking sparingly as he stared at the silver rings in Rain's eyes. She resided there unapologetically, belonged amongst the sapphire.
"If anything, I think she's just pulling me back to you," Swiss admitted quietly and mirrored Rain's position on his side. Closer than they had been but not close enough for her incessant pushing.
"Calling you back to the water where you belong." Hand drifting, Rain cupped the back of his neck and Swiss laid his own on the dip of his waist. Touching to prove the ghoul in front of him, beautiful as he was, was real and not some fantasy.
Exhaling softly, Swiss could almost taste the rosewater on his breath. He breathed in the artificial vanilla scent of Rain's preferred chapstick and pressed his fingers into his waist. Not hard. A miniscule adjustment, never wanting to let him go. His eyes drifted shut before Rain's lips ever met his, already drowning in the water ghoul's embrace.
Rain kissed him like he's never tasted doubt on his name. It was easy to let him lead. Easy for Swiss to match the lazy pace, mouths moving together slowly with an unspoken coordination - Rain kissed him like it was his whole purpose in life to steal the air from his lungs and breathe his love back into him, and the idea was preferable to ever tasting oxygen again.
From his waist, Swiss' hand slipped under his shirt to slide his palm up his spine. He ran hot but Rain, cool to the touch, never failed to even him out. He needed that, balance in skin to skin contact.
Minutes, hours, centuries later is when Rain broke away and Swiss felt his lungs tight and hot crying for air. It was a feeling he could ignore with such a perfect distraction. Rain's gills fluttered as he drew his own breath.
"She loves you." Rain squeezed the back of his neck gentle, foreheads coming to rest together. "She loves you because I love you, and the water belongs to you as much as me."
#aka swiss is insecure abt his unbalanced he is as a mutli ghoul#writing#void writing#nameless ghouls#rain ghoul#swiss ghoul#rulti#rain x swiss#swiss x rain#the band ghost#ghost the band#the band ghost ficlet
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10 Best Black Sails Fics I Read in 2023
In honor of Black Sails' 10th anniversary, here's a list of my top 10 favorite Black Sails fics I read in 2023, in order from shortest to longest. Most Black Sails fic rec posts I've seen are now around 2 or 3 years old (though not all, bless @jaynovz and your #jay's esoteric rec lists tag) so nearly half of the recs in this list spotlight newer fics. It's amazing to see fantastic fics still being written and updated years after the show ended - y'all are keeping this fandom alive!
I didn't read that much Black Sails fic this year, comparatively speaking, so I'm sure there's plenty of newer gems that I missed. All the fics in this rec list are Silverflint unless otherwise stated.
1 - Gone To Port Royal by Apetslife (G, 3k) - a delightful oneshot from Gates' POV where they all go to a pirate afterlife. every scene is perfect. endlessly re-readable and never fails to make me smile.
Definition of Valhalla
1: the great hall in Norse mythology where heroes slain in battle are received
2 : a place of honor, glory, or happiness: heaven
2 - i’ll be seeing you by youatemytailor/@annevbonny (NR, 19k) - this is THEE post-canon Silverflint reunion fic. the anguish, the rage, the quiet jokes, the tenderness, it's all devastatingly in-character. particularly the chapter 5 climactic unspooling leaves me in awe upon every reread.
Silver is out of his chair and across the room before he knows it. He has a grip on the barkeep’s shirt before he knows it, and he’s pulling him up, hauling him eye-level, only to head-butt him to the ground again. The barkeep’s mouth is thrown open in a wail, but there’s no sound, Silver thinks, no sound at all, save for the blood rushing in his ears as he looks at the other man on the ground, watches him roll to his side with a groan. Flint, Silver thinks, and nothing else. It beats around the knife in his gut like a drum. Flint. And then Flint is looking at him.
3 - The Dark Lord Proprietor by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (M, 19k, Silverflintham) - a fuckin hysterical supervillain AU. Thomas has amnesia, Flint is pining, Silver tries to get them back together. what could go wrong? could not stop cackling.
A year ago, James Flint was in a stable relationship and was within spitting distance of taking over London. Now he’s single, with a dubiously loyal henchman, a lairmate determined to learn his every weakness, and a Secret Past with the new supervillain on the scene. And thanks to a new government program, it’s all a race to the bottom.
4 - the cross dimensional nassau bar of getting izzy hands laid by FortinbrasFTW/@fortinbrasftw (E, 19k ~WIP~, Flint/OFMD Izzy Hands) - a Black Sails OFMD Flint/Izzy Hands crossover. the very best kind of smut-as-character study. funny, gripping, and endlessly re-readable.
The first thing Izzy realizes is he looks absolutely fucking furious — which yeah, alright, fair enough. He’s got shorter ginger hair. A beard like Izzy’s but kept neater. Earrings like Izzy’s but worn simpler. Bleeding like Izzy but, well, maybe a bit less. And he’s handsome. Izzy realizes it suddenly and slowly somehow all at once. Bit like a bloody painting even. The kind you saw up on walls in rich folk’s houses. Only, well, no painting had eyes like that, did it? You’d have to be mad to keep a painting with eyes like that in your home. They were bright and clear and looked — honest-to-fucking-Christ — ready to set the whole damned world on fire. Izzy's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night takes an interesting turn thanks to a completely different sort of pirate captain.
5 - frail and fragile bars by Ajaxthegreat/@francisthegreat (E, 21k) - Silver realizes, post-shark date, that he's in love with Flint. an instant, iconic fave fic. SO many delicious scenes and quotes that live rent free in my head. just read it, you won't regret it.
“I think you fuck,” Silver says. By which he means, with great intent: I think you are human. I know you are human. I see you.
6 - the whole estate of mortal man by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (T, 43k) - Creature Silver AU where he'll grant wishes in exchange for souls. first read this fic in 2020 and cried. reread it this year and cried again. the nature of the AU intersects so cleverly with Black Sails' themes, and the end result is devastating.
Silver has a limited memory, an unlimited lifespan, and a need for human souls. He spends months trying to buy Flint’s.
7 - our feast is but beginning by x_etoile_x/@etoilesombre (E, 55k) - Flint teaches season 1 Silver how to cook. they're definitely not dating. no, really. this writer writes dialogue so in-character that it cuts like a knife. features sensual cooking, Flint being a queer mentor for Silver, fun genderfuckery, and Them Being Real Tender.
Flint should walk away. Silver can figure out how to feed the men, it isn’t his problem. But roasting a pig is so easy, and when was the last time he had a hand in creating something rather than destroying it? Anyway, what else is he doing, with Billy taking the crew in hand with such annoying competency? He absolutely does not think about why he is reluctant for this interaction with Silver to end. “Go get another pig,” he says before he can reconsider. “Do exactly as I say.”
8 - With Strange Aeons by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (M, 60k, Silverflint + Flinthamilton + Jackanne) - Came for the Silverflint, stayed for the Silverflint but also for holy fuck Jack and Anne are sent to Savannah and break out of there with Thomas to battle literal Cthulhu. How can you NOT read this. I don't typically read Flinthamilton, but by god Thomas is amazing in this.
After the disappearance and presumed death of Captain Flint and Long John Silver, Max smuggles Jack and Anne to Oglethorpe’s plantation. Thomas learns that not only do the three of them have a friend in common, but he is not the only one whose dreams are haunted by a strange city and a terrifying name. Meanwhile, Flint and Silver try to escape an island trapped in time, impossibly built and impossibly old. Along the way they’re forced question reality, each other, and themselves. And in his house in R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.
9 - The Salt and the Sea by x_etoile_x/@etoilesombre (E, 60k) - a between season 2 and 3 recovery fic. i still remembered months after reading that chapter 4 in particular left me undone. a harrowing journey into the ruins of post-leg loss Silver's mind, plus exquisite hurt/comfort.
John Silver was always able to make the best of a situation. If this particular situation had started to feel complicated, well, a vast fortune ought to prove clarifying. Whatever he might have imagined he’d seen in Flint, the reality was they had used each other. And he had been set to walk away on top. Except now he couldn’t. Now he was trapped.
10 - the straight walk home by vowelinthug/@vowel-in-thug (E, 73k, Silverflint + Jackanne + Maxanne + Billy/Vane) - A western AU and one of the best long fics in the fandom. Excellent comedy, amazing AU twists on our favorite characters, found family vibes, nail-biting action, and a fucking fantastic climax. Also, I can't believe this fic got me invested in Billy/Vane.
Let me tell you a story, about a vaquero named Vasquez...
#black sails#black sails fic recs#silverflint#fanfiction#fic recs#bsanniversary#10yearsblacksails#10bsfest
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Disengage: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader
Tagging: @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @littlebadariell @imaginecrushes @luckyladycreator2 @emersxn99 @flrboyd @nani-kenobi @areamir @@b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08
Companion piece to Rumours
Beau is angry, no he is fucking livid. He can feel that rage pulse through his veins as he stalks into the bedroom and tears off the tie of his dress uniform and hurls it onto the bed. His jacket follows next, he strips it from his shoulders before tossing it onto the sheets. He doesn’t know where the fuck his hat is, he thinks he might have thrown it onto the kitchen table, but he has no memory of it because right now all he can focus on is the agony in his chest.
Christ, it feels like you’ve ripped his heart right out of his fucking rib cage.
You say nothing as you enter the room. You’re still clad in your JAG uniform, only you’ve kicked off your shoes, leaving them alongside the front door he suspects, the blazer probably on the back of one of the dining chairs. You stand in front of the mirror, removing the pins from your hair, each one clattering into the small dish as your hair falls loose around your shoulders.
“Why…” he chokes out the word as he looks at your reflection in the mirror. You look back at him and he knows that you’ve completely shut down. It’s an ode to your father. When a man shows his temper you disengage. The lesson was beaten into you from an early age. “Why did I have to find out from another officer that you're deploying next month?”
“I tried to tell you.” You say calmly as you pick up a cleansing pad and begin to remove your makeup. “But we’ve barely been in the same room over the last couple of days.”
Fuck, he’s forgot how cold you can be when you get like this, how concise, how rational. It makes him want to scream, to shout, to shake you but he doesn’t do any of that because even at his worst he would never lay hands on you.
“For something like this, we make the time.” He snaps before shaking his head because he knows he isn’t getting through to you. “I don’t understand, you’ve barely been back a few weeks and…”
He trails off because you’re not looking at him anymore, your gaze has dropped to bottle of toner at your dressing table, your fingers toying with the label. You’re completely out of reach to him and he can’t…
He just can’t…
“I’ll take the guest room tonight.” He says, his tone softening.
You don’t say a word as he closes the bedroom door behind him and honestly, he doesn’t expect you to.
***
It’s hours later that Beau hears the door to the guest bedroom click open. He can’t sleep, he just keeps reliving the moment that Vice Admiral Henderson tells him that you’re leaving as he shakes his hand and thanks him for his sacrifice.
He says nothing as you take up residence alongside of him, the mattress shifting to accommodate your weight. He keeps his back to you, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares at the closed ensuite door, hoping that you’re about to tell him that Henderson’s made a mistake. He can’t express how badly he wishes for that, how in those moments of silence he prays to a God he doesn’t believe in because right now he would do anything to strip away the anguish he feels.
“If I do this deployment.” You say into the darkness. “Henderson gives me the position in the Victim’s Legal Council when Phillips retires in six months.”
He knows what that means, you’ll be stationed here on base for at least two years. He closes his eyes because he understands what you’re doing, you’re creating a future for the two of you, one where you can exist in the same space.
Six months for two years, maybe longer…
It tastes so fucking bitter on his tongue because he’s only just got you back and now, you’re leaving all over again. He turns to face you, and you lay down beside him, your fingertips tracing over the curve of his cheek as he meets your gaze.
“I don’t want you to go.” He tells you.
“I know.” You whisper sadly, your lips brushing over his. “But I have to.”
He fucks you that night, in the guest bedroom. It’s raw and intense. There’s a wildness in him that won’t be sated as he tries to claw back some semblance of control. He’s reckless and passionate, keeping you pinned underneath him as he makes you come with his mouth, his fingers, his cock. It still isn’t enough because he’s chasing the intimacy of those six months, the moments he’s going to lose with you.
He leaves you ruined amongst the sheets, an apricot flush across your features before he gets up and heads to the en suite, locking the door behind him before turning on the shower.
This is the part he hates the most.
The disconnection.
Already he can feel himself withdrawing from you, from the marriage.
It happens every time that you’re deployed.
It’s normal the handbook tells him, a way of protecting yourself, a way of coping. He still can’t believe there’s a fucking manual for this.
He stays under the scalding hot stream for as long as he can, his palms coming to rest on the tile, his head hanging low as the water pounds onto his skull, drowning out his thoughts, his feelings and all of the other emotional shit because what he needs right now is that numbness.
It’s the only way he’s going to survive.
When he leaves the en-suite you aren’t in the bed. He doesn’t expect you to be.
You know as well as he does that right now, it’s easier to be apart than it is to be together.
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Thread the needle
Thread the Needle Masterlist
Prologue >>> Chapter 1
God, you're so late for class. Your white sneakers squeak against the linoleum floor, feet running as fast as you can. Your hastily thrown backpack struggles to cling on to your arm. You regret going out last night, on a school night too.
Almost running past the classroom, your feet skid to a stop in front of the door. Taking a breather you take a second to fix your appearance, fixing your backpack properly, breathing out a puff of air, you mentally ready for the weird stares thrown your way once you open the door.
You open the door with a loud creek from the old hinges, cursing the metal for the loud intrusion. Grimacing from the sound, your eyes roam around the room, surprised to see that the professor's late too. You sigh in relief, sitting down in your station, you decide to clean up the mess that you left yesterday in haste.
While picking up loose threads, misshapen cloths and cluttered tools littered around your space, you accidentally listen in on a conversation.
"Did you hear? About our last project?"
"Yeah, I have a friend from the other class, heard it's a doozy. Can't believe Mrs. Williams' making it forty percent of our final grade "
Unbelievable, you thought. And here you go thinking that taking fashion as your major was gonna be easy. You sigh, pondering what kind of next stress is gonna befall you.
Suddenly the door opens with a loud creaking sound– your ever fashionable professor saunters in, clad in her stiletto heels, posture perfect and neck always covered in pearls. God, you want to be her when you grow up.
She stands tall in front of the whiteboard.
"Since this is your last two months here, I'm gonna make this last project the biggest and hardest one you've ever done," she doesn't beat around the bush, going straight to the point, speaking in her posh accent, making elegant gestures as she talks, "This final project will be sixty percent of your final grade, therefore if you fail this you might not graduate this year"
Various sounds of protests can be heard around the room, some groaning in pain, others straight up scream in anguish, but you just look at Mrs. Williams like she grew a second head.
Sixty percent?! This close to graduation? Does she not want anybody to graduate? You think, biting your tongue just in case it slips out.
"You've gotta be joking Mrs. W!" A classmate of yours shares your sentiment.
"Do I look like I'm someone who makes jokes, Flash?" The professor raises a neat eyebrow, side eyeing your classmate.
Fuckety, fuck fuck. You internally swear. This is so much worse than forty percent. Outside you might look calm but inside you feel like spontaneously combusting right there on your chair.
Mrs. Williams stares at her class silently. The entire room feeling the dark aura she exudes, they all clam up immediately.
"The project - find someone, I do not care if you're already close, or you're strangers to each other. Just someone who's willing to model for you-"
"For the record everyone, I'm available" Flash interrupts the professor, with one look from her, he sits back down defeated and embarrassed.
"This project requires you to make an outfit," she continues, staring daggers at your classmate "not just any other piece you have ever made. You have to cooperate with your model, in creating it."
That's easy enough you thought, you've already worked with models before, like changing some aspects of the clothing to match their sizes, and changing some designs if they're not comfortable wearing it.
Mrs. Williams raises her index finger, "This outfit, it has to encompass the both of you, so it's a requirement, a necessity, to pick a model that has an entirely different style from you"
Different style? Your mind goes to him immediately, with his heavy leather boots, spiked accessories, and overall Punk aesthetic, compared to your fluffy cardigans, sneakers and plain button ups. He's perfect for this project. The only problem is how in the world are you gonna convince THE Hobie Brown, your best friend of ten years, to model in front of the entire graduating class.
Mrs. Williams' voice brings you back to the present. "They, whoever you pick, must be willing to fully participate in making, and modeling it. They don't even have to be a student here, all that matters is that the final product must be a perfect blend of both yours and their style"
Flash raises his hand this time "How would you know that they have a different style from us?"
"Next meeting you must bring them, and" she emphasizes the last word "a picture of them with a timestamp from a year or two ago, this prevents cheating. And if I ever find out that you edited the photo's timestamp, don't even think about graduating"
"Um, ma'am, when are we presenting it?" A brave classmate of yours raises their hand.
"You have a month to work on it, the show will be three weeks before graduation, if you'll even be qualified for it"
You swallow down your anxiety at her last comment. Bringing Hobie in class will be a bitch and a half itself. You're already thinking about how to convince him.
"And remember this project fosters teamwork and cooperation with each other. Do not forget it has to be a perfect blend, not some smorgasbord of an outfit." The professor adds.
Great, now armed with the great task of convincing Hobie, you think, if he still owes you a favour, maybe you can call it in for this.
#hobie brown x reader#spider punk x reader#thread the needle#thread the needle series#thread the needle Prologue#spider punk#hobie brown#the kr8tor's creations#spider man across the spider verse#x reader#atsv fanfiction#atsv x reader#atsv fanfic#atsv hobie#hobie brown x fem!reader#spider punk x fem!reader#hobie brown x you#spider punk x you
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contains: reader with a vagina; “good girl”; hurt/comfort; gentle sex; crying but not necessarily in a sexy way lol; sweetheart steve; piv; oral (reader receiving)
han’s note: had a horrible day and i’ve been so sick with anxiety - so manifesting 🫶🏻
“gonna make you forget about it,” he murmurs, cock pressed up against your ass. his palms are hot against your hips, grabbing at the plushness that sits on them gently. his thumbs rub up and down in an attempt to soothe you while you fight back tears on the pillow below him.
“please,” you whisper, throat aching.
steve presses a kiss to your neck. “i’ve got you.”
he kisses down, down, down your spine, hot and a little wet. soothing. he kisses your ass once he’s at it, and he knows how messed up you are when you don’t make a joke about it. it fuels him to care for you more, to make any other noises than sad, anxious cries. he kisses, bites, sucks the swell of your ass, his thumbs moving down to open your cunt to him. you sigh shakily when he kisses your clit.
“there she is,” he says warmly. “can i play with her?”
“please.”
steve’s making out with your pussy now, breath heavy as it fans across your lips. you grip the sheets and whimper, more pleasure filled than anguished. he takes it as a win. he laps at your clit for a while before sucking on it until you squeal, then kissing down until he can fuck you with his tongue.
“steve,” you gasp, “oh fuck.”
he hums into you, using his hands to keep you pulled into him. you writhe, resting your head on the pillow and nearly drooling.
it’s nothing compared to when he finally slides into you. big, fat cock stretching you out. when he pulls out, you swear he takes your brain with him. when he thrusts back in, he knocks the breath out of you. he’s tender and careful with long, languid strokes, his hips pressing up against your ass until he finally flips you onto your back.
“there you are,” he grins, kissing the tip of your nose and wiping tears away from your cheeks. “are you alright?”
“i just need to cry,” you sniffle. “i want you - i want you t’keep… fuckin’ me.”
“are you sure?”
“please?”
he won’t - can’t - deny you anything. he presses and pulls his hips again while you cry under him, head thrown back. he kisses your throat and hushes you. quickly licks up the tears that spill down your neck like they’re a life source. salty and warm on his tongue. he shivers, fucks you slower. as intentionally as he can. a thumb moves down to your clit and he pulls back to watch your pretty face. you’re gorgeous even when you’re crying, he has to admit - even though his heart’s aching.
“it’s okay,” he shushes. “steve’s got you, yeah? not gonna let a thing happen to you. gonna stay right here. love you so much, honey.”
“steve,” you sob, fingers digging into his shoulders. you pull him down so that his chest is flush against yours. his weight is comforting and grounding and you hang on to him tightly while he keeps his pace. you cry into the junction of his neck and shoulder. steve pulls one of your legs up to wrap around his hips and he rubs the back of your thigh in slow circles.
“uh huh, so good for me.” he kisses your forehead. “all gonna be okay. such an angel. let me see you come, please? wanna make you feel good, make you forget it.”
you cum around him soon after, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that fresh tears spring out. your fingernails dig into his skin and he winces slightly, but his own pleasure is quick to take over. it’s not about him, though. it never really is. his sole focus is on your ecstasy and safety. “there we go, my good girl,” he mumbles against your lips. “i’ve got you.”
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