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#they needed their revenge anyhow

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Callouses on his gentle hands was absolutely adorable! It kept making me thing of a continuation of the sorts where some years pass and the reader actually enlisted in the military earning the code name Bird too without Price having any knowledge. Only to show up when he's a captain maybe even to be part of 141 or something important.

Idk if this is a possible request as I don't want to bother you but it would be amazing if there was some well timed banter and just generally happy.

Again your writing is so good it leaves me speechless I love it so much! 👁️〰️👁️

Calluses and Milky Scars

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: It's been years since you've seen or heard from John and yet you still can't get him out of your head. But can a chance meeting rekindle old emotions? (18+)

Word Count: 16.1k

Warnings: Angst, typical violence & gore, talks of human trafficking, vulgar language, eventual fluff, banter, smut, honestly I think I wrote switch!Price without even realizing it, p in v sex, fingering, teasing, breeding kink, etc.

A/N: Imma be honest I hate the first part of this duology - it was one of my earlier works - so I made this as standalone as possible. So if you don't wanna read the first part (please don't) you can still understand this one just fine by itself. (this is also an excuse for more smut practice). Anyway, enjoy! Part 1

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

They only saw the glint of a blade, the metal reflecting the light of a mist-filled night back into the whites of their eyes. You could see the result of your form in their terror-stricken visages as, one after one, they succumbed to the ministrations of your unyielding determination.

You had forgotten when the act of taking a life had become so easy for you. It was as natural as breathing, now. Elementary. Your fingers could pull a trigger just as fast as they would raise for a handshake or a wave. There was little need to be shy about it – your days as a victim were far behind you, and ‘Bird’ was nothing more than a callsign uttered under hushed breaths. Said behind back alleys by Human Traffickers with fear-slick eyes.

It was no longer uttered in a deep British accent, the word making your skin tingle and cheeks heat. No matter how much you longed for it to be.

You were a Captain in the military now. Working hand-in-hand with the CIA under the direction of a certain Kate Laswell. You even commanded your own Squad that specializes in getting others out of the very situation you had been in years ago with no mercy or hesitation.

Revenge, you decided, was most likely why this was easy for you.

You enjoyed it.

“Perimeter clear, Captain,” Wren speaks into your earpiece as you step over the bodies at your feet, boots splashing through puddles of blood so starkly contrasting the grass it makes you smirk.

“Move up.” A balaclava covers your face, and sweat dribbles down your brow before you blink it out of your eye.

Around your chest, the M4A1 sits with its familiar weight, and you wipe the life-fluid from your crude combat knife before sheathing it at your thigh. You had taken out three stragglers at the South End of the current Targets territory, your blood singing sweetly in your veins at the prospect of finally crossing another name off your list.

“Eagle,” Your voice bounces off trees and low shrubs, and you continue forward as your fingers press the button on the old-issue radio. There were better versions nowadays, and you got teased for still using the ancient one you have currently strapped to your chest, but it was sentimental to you. An old friend had given it to you for safekeeping a long time ago…How many years now was it since you had seen or heard from John Price? Ten? Fifteen? Who could really tell, anyhow? Time moved quickly, and you ran through it even quicker.

Your sharp eyes flick out over the view as you exit the brush, standing on the top of a large ridge – a series of warehouses lit up with large spotlights below your perch makes you frown.

“Let’s get this started then, shall we?” You mutter, shifting your feet and rolling your shoulders. “Blackout in 3.”

“Roger that, Ma’am.”

You watch the guards walking like obsidian ants below, your predatory gaze missing nothing – you spot the mannerisms fairly quickly; who limps, who favors their left over their right. Who’s sleeping on the job. A first victim was almost immediately chosen as you tilt your head and feel the chilled breeze on your visible skin. Your Unit knows the procedures you’ve ingrained into them and they’re watching just as closely and predatory as you are.

All four, including you, are stationed in a circle around the area, with Eagle, the man with the sniper rifle, taking point far off into the trees on a higher portion of the topography. Three seconds of prep time come and go quickly. And so do the lights.

A series of muffled pops and a shattering of glass break the night into chaos, and then the illumination goes out entirely. The area is plunged into an inky darkness of your own command – you revel in it. And then the screams begin.

“Take ‘em.” You mutter through the open channel, and your feet then propel you forward, dodging trees and jumping downed branches as you skid down the slope. Your heart beats with adrenaline, the hunt making your nerves twitch.

In your grip, you ready your weapon, flicking off the safety as shots begin to ring out over the land. Eagle was taking off the ones he could, but if you had to guess, Shrike was already in the fray, letting her face get bloody from the close quarters she favored. You only hoped the woman wouldn’t go overboard this time. Thrush was usually the one to help keep her head on, but the man was across the territory with his own hostiles to wipe the board of.

You fire at the first shadow with a light finger, watching it drop and pivoting to pull the trigger at two more before they knew what was happening – too panicked by the sudden assault seemingly out of nowhere.

“Shrike,” Your voice wafts over the buzzing line, “mind yourself. I don’t need you put on Suspended Leave again.”

“Don’t worry, Ma’am,” Thrush’s light voice meets your ears as you take cover behind a vehicle directly in front of one of the warehouses, “I’m making my way to her now.”

“Ah, Fuck off, Thrush!” Shrike growls, and there’s a distinct sound of someone’s gurgling last breath in the background. It makes you let out a huff of demented laughter. “I know the limits!”

“I don’t think she knows the limits, Ma’am,” Eagle grunts over the call, and a shot sizzles past your head and takes out a charging man that was making his way to your hunched and hidden form. “I really don’t.”

Rushing forward out of your cover, you chuckle breathlessly as Wren’s dignified voice pipes in.

“I’m making my way to the main building and getting set to download the data. Target’s nowhere to be seen, Captain.” Your lips thin under the fabric and you grunt, feeling a bullet graze your bicep. Ducking in an instant, you set your feet and fire, running past before the sound of the body slamming to the ground behind you can reach your ears. A burning heat enters your arm, but you barely acknowledge it.

“Eagle, cover her until I get there.”

“Affirm.”

“Shrike, Thrush, report. How’s the other warehouse lookin'?” Your body skids across the ground, and your hand connects with the warehouse you needed to clear before making your way to Wren and the Mainframe.

Half of the Op was data retrieval, and the other was taking out a human trafficker only named in his file as Buck – bastard’s been running for a long time, and you needed to leave him a bloody mess before he kept his ‘business’ going. Laswell only sent in your Squad because she knew you could get it done with an efficiency no one else could. Nearly a perfect success rate got the attention of people worldwide; your waiting list was long of the places the CIA wanted to send you and your team.

But you didn’t care, as long as your own list was getting checked off they could fly your ass to Antarctica for all it mattered.

“Our warehouse is cleared out. Must not have expected us…they were running around with their heads chopped off.”

Shrike snickers. “Just like chickens.”

“Good. Join up with Wren and make sure she can get the download completed. Copy?” You grasp the large metal handle and growl, locking your arms and pushing with all of your strength. The weight makes your thighs shake, but you only open it enough for you to slip inside, gun at the ready as breaths puff from your mouth.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Boots shuffle over the concrete floor, and your ears twitch in the quiet darkness at the crunch of stray gravel underfoot. Your finger shifts slowly to the trigger, glaring into the nothingness.

It was silent.

You heard it then, like a spike to the heart – the panicked breathing; the sounds of shaking lungs and grasping hands. Sounds all so familiar it made you pause, mind for an instant blanking at the implications.

There were people here. Drowning in fear.

You could see them in the corners, scores of bodies piled on top of one another to find some semblance of comfort. Their eyes wink in the moonlight of a single window in the roof, and the stench nearly makes you want to gag. Blinking, you lower your gun, feet shifting to stand straight like a statue; heart racing. These people weren’t supposed to be here, and already vicious comparisons to your own rescue by a certain man a long time ago invade your mind. Calluses seem to burn your hands under your gloves, and a gentle imaginary prod at an injury on your forehead makes the milky scar ache.

He readies the wipe in one of his hands, the other coming up to your jaw. When you tense he freezes, but as soon as the hesitance leaks away from you like a wave, the slow motion returns to his limbs; his fingers come to grab at your chin, gently holding your head in place. When you place more weight into his hold and release a deep-chested sigh of content he quirks a dark eyebrow.

“This might sting, Doll,” John whispers.

“That’s alright,” You mutter back, staring into his beautiful eyes as the wipe comes into view in the side of your vision. “Not your fault.”

He only releases a puff of air from his lips before adding the smallest amount of pressure to your forehead, running the wipe over the red and swollen flesh.

Taking a deep breath one of your hands goes to your radio stiffly. Eagle needed to know about this so he could send a message to Laswell – get an immediate Medical Evac for these people.

In your hyper-focussed state, memories you wished would stay away rear their head; infect your intuition and common sense. You missed the click of the safety until the barrel of the pistol was level with the back of your head. Freezing, your fingers tense over the device, your body going rigid and muscles tight as the people in the corners gasp and cry out into the night.

A panting man stands behind you and you feel his hands shaking as the barrel digs into the balaclava’s fabric.

Well, that’s unexpected.

“Show me your hands,” He breathes heavily, and you feel his puff of air echo out over the open space. Tinged with fear. Dripping with adrenaline.

Your lips pull back into a steady, hidden, smirk, head tilting as your hands slowly drift from your radio and let your weapon hang from its strap around your chest; feeling it bounce off the various packs and supplies you carry with pride. They splay beside your head, fingers lazily loose and leather gloves squealing into the night.

Selene herself holds her silver breath, the winds sucked down into Hades as Cerberus breaks sinner’s bones with his savage jaws and blood-slick teeth. It was silent.

Born and bred to violence, there truly wasn’t a better place for you to be than in the CIA. This was Hell, but you could play that black-clad ruler’s game just the same. You’d been dodging him for years.

“T-toss your gun to the floor.”

“You know that won’t matter.” You look behind you, side-eyeing that shaking would-be threat. Phobos lives in his very being. Coward. Pathetic. Red-hot anger lights your nerves, iris narrowing to black slits. This thing – he was little more than an entitled boy in a man’s body. Using others for his gain just like others had used you. This was your Target.

This was Buck.

“So this is the one who made an empire on the suffering of innocents.” You mumble, unafraid and unbothered with a scoff. “I really expected more than a man who plays with his food.”

Yes, the adrenaline was running in your veins; you were human. It was natural. But the way the wailing birds rampaged in your chest wasn’t – you should be afraid, not angry. Not enraged to the point you were shaking; fingers twitching for your knife. For spilled blood to coat the earth.

Phobos was this man’s ruler, but that Fear God’s father was Ares. And Ares was yours.

“I…I said drop your fucking weapon you bitch–!”

Your opposite hand knocks Buck’s wrist to the side and your body twists. In a single fraction of a second between the loud misfire that hits the floor and the ringing in your ears, the knife at your thigh finds purchase in his pliable neck. Crimson sprays over your eyes; staining the balaclava as your body falls to the ground as you jam the blade deeper – all the way to the crossguard.

Buck grumbles wetly from under you, hands coming to weakly grasp at your arms and attempt to pry your unyielding body from him. His grip is as strong as a child’s, and as blood spurts from his mouth and entry wound, you slap your free hand over his face and twist the knife. Strangling the hilt in your grasp, you viciously jerk your limb, sending the edge sliding over his neck; cutting tendons and arteries. Creating a red-lipped smile from ear to ear that explodes with gore.

Buck was already dead before the puddle over the ground grew an inch in diameter.

Ripping your weapon out, you shove your boot into his chest and push off, stumbling to your feet as you stare down wide-eyed. Your digits shake, but the flickering of your gaze goes from the dead eyes to the open mouth of the corpse. Flicking your wrist, you splatter more blood on the floor to rid some of it from your blade before sheathing it.

Gripping your radio, you speak clearly into the line.

“Eagle this is the Captain – get in contact with Laswell immediately. Civvies in the far South warehouse. Ask for Medical Evac.”

Say to bring only women, you want to growl but refrain. That was impossible to manage.

You stare at them now, the innocents, and see your own path reflected in the many colors and the feral glints in their irises. In the way their bodies huddle like cats with their backs flared. If life had been different, would you still be in a situation like this – waiting for your own John Price to break you out? It was a difficult question. Far more challenging to answer than why the body behind you was staining the concrete with blood and tears.

…What would have happened if he had never kneeled down before you that day? Offered you his hand stained with calluses and gunpowder residue?

You blink at the thin bodies, gaze flowing to each and every one in turn. With a slow motion you begin forward, hands at your sides and visible; you draw the memory to you. The one you think of often.

You had stayed there in fear, curled up in the corner, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Until John.

“Ma’am,” He had said, kneeling on one leg while his hands clutched his M16 to his chest, the muzzle still smoking, “I’m Lieutenant John Price in Command of Unit Bravo. You’re safe now.”

Unit Bravo? Safe? You had wondered, looking up at the man with confusion. How can I be safe?

Nonetheless, when he offered you a hand, you had taken it, looking in awe at how gently he gripped your limb in his own; John’s limb completely swallowed yours and yet held you like delicate glass.

You stopped before a woman far too young to be in a situation like this and kneeled. She watched you with a shaking body, the others curling away in fear. They didn’t know you, and so they feared you. Taking a breath, your hand raises, and the woman’s eyes are laser-focused on your form.

I should make myself smaller, you think. And so you do.

The fabric is sweat-heavy; laden with dirt and other substances, but you grasp it without hesitation and peel it off of you. It sits in your hand with the weight of the past in the thick polyester threads. Swallowing down saliva at the breeze that hits your face, you watch the lady blink at you, her gaze filled with confusion.

An easy smile comes to your face; if they hadn't just seen you murder a man, they would not believe you to be the same person. Yours was not the face of a killer – of someone who twists the knife deep and revels in death. It was soft beside the scar above your eyebrow, easy to look at. Innocent.

A simple Bird, no. A vulture perhaps suited you better, if they were to get into specifics.

You clear your throat and they all flinch.

“Ma’am,” Your voice carries. Again, not the voice of a monster. But even Ares marries a beauty. Could you not be a spawn of them? Beautiful and utterly bloodied by the rules of war? Oh, yes, that’s what you were, you had to be. Nothing else would make any sense. But they gravitate to you nonetheless – war and love often go hand in hand. Especially when one killed the ruler of their torment. “I’m the Captain of Raptor Squad. You can call me Bird, if you want. It’s alright. We’re gonna get you out of here and get you some help, okay? You’re safe now.”

The woman can’t help but nod sheepishly.

Who says no to an offspring of Gods themselves?

—

The helicopter ride back was silent, with everyone tired and covered in more blood, dirt, and sweat than they can recall. Buck’s body was stuffed into a black bag and sitting in the walkway at your feet – you needed it for positive identification back on Base. You had shuffled back into the balaclava, taking comfort in the security and anonymity it lent. Below, your eyes watch the word whizz past, one foot limply hanging off the side thousands of feet above the ground; you swish it back and forth like a child and allow yourself to think.

You had joined the military only a few years after John had rescued you – much against the wishes of your therapist, but seeing as you were of sound mind, it wasn’t that difficult to enlist. The brown-haired Brit had sent you letters for the first three months after you had left the Base you had been recovering at and then, inexplicably, they had stopped. No letters, no contact. The radio – along with you – was too far away to get a signal; that was how it ended.

Not with a kiss or a soldier’s goodbye, just nothing. Silence.

But you never held it against him. Perhaps, you reasoned and partially believed, he was already dead. At the end of the day, he had been a great motivator for you, and over the years your fists and skills had propelled you to top ranks. Laswell had been in contact soon after you had been promoted to Lieutenant and Raptor Squad had been formed when you had chosen the most violent and perfect bastards to join it.

From there it was win after win and the CIA soon counted this team as one of the most lethal in its roster. You’ve been all over the world.

More than I could imagine I would become in a concrete corner and locked in a cage.

Your eyes watched the expanse of forest outside, but there was still something missing. Why had John just…stopped? It was the one question you could never answer.

Did I really not matter to him at all? Around your vest, your fingers twitch as the helicopter bounces on airwaves. Blue eyes still haunted you – the ones that held silver starlight hostage. How they used to soften with care when they looked down at you. John shouldn’t have mattered this much to you.

Why can’t I just let go of him?

You bite at your hidden lip with sharp teeth, peeling back the skin as Wren shifts in her seat beside you. She speaks into the comms to avoid yelling over the drowning sound of helo blades and you lock your eyes on her form.

“You might want to look at the info I retrieved from the Target’s mainframe, Captain. Didn’t Laswell mention she had a separate Task Force going after someone named Casilda Kalpana? She’s mentioned in this file.” Wren hands you her tablet, and you hold it in one of your hands as your hard eyes slim down the screen, taking in compiled sources.

Casilida Kalpana was on your list of Targets to take care of, but Laswell had given the job to another Task Force – designated TF-141 – for the small difference that this woman had ties to multiple terror organizations. Raptor Squad was no stranger to that, but Kate had also stated that the Captain of that group had been incredibly instant on taking it himself.

Your head tilts in memory.

“Kate, I’m not understanding why you think we can’t handle it.” You huff, shaking your head with an exasperated expression. “It’s no different than anything we’ve done before.”

“I have no problem with you participating, but the Captain pulled in a favor. Said he ‘felt obligated’ or something like that.” You pull a face, and Laswell glares at you from behind her desk. “Bird, I really don’t have the time to argue today – I’m stuck with stacks of papers because Keller decided to get himself lost again.”

“I’m not trying to argue, Kate.” Holding up your hands you chuckle and roll your eyes. “The only thing that matters is that the Target ends up six feet under at the end of the day. You know what it means to me.”

The Agent looks up from her papers and pauses for a moment, a pen placed between her digits, and her eyes soften around the gray edges.

“I can personally assure you, Captain, that this Task Force will see it done…Now hurry up and get ready for your own mission – I hear South America is warmer than usual this time of year. Pack a cold drink.”

The words in the file make your stomach churn; leading to your eyes widening. You flip the tablet back to Wren and radio Eagle who’s blankly watching Shrike and Thrush play rock-paper-scissors across from you.

“Eagle,” the man’s head snaps to you and he blinks, “Patch through to Laswell. Tell her to gather Task Force 141 in the meeting room on Base and wait for me. Under no circumstances should they be allowed to leave on the Op for the HVT Casilda Kalpana. We’ve got vital intel.”

Eagle nods and gets to work on a secure call to Kate, as you turn to Wren, clapping her on the shoulder and leaning close to speak into her ear over the noise.

“Good work, Sergeant. Get all that transferred onto a flash drive for me, yeah?”

“On it, Ma’am.”

This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? You sigh deeply, tilting your head back as the sun starts to slowly rise over the land, bathing it in an orange glow that spreads out like fire. The large Cargo plane following behind the Helicopter would carry the innocent victims of Buck back to Base, and you fight the urge to get in contact with the pilot's headset to ask how it was going for them. It was hard to not get attached – especially when you knew what was probably going through their fear-stricken brains.

Left wondering in silence, your fingers pick at themselves over your gloves, peeling at frayed threads and durable fabric. As the minutes stretch into hours, you lift a hand and run a digit over your scar, caressing the skin as the forest pulls back and buildings emerge. Turbulence overtakes the helicopter, and your hand grabs the net on the side of the wall to steady yourself as the descent begins.

Settling your nerves, you wait until the ‘all good’ from the cockpit before you hop out, signaling with your finger for your Squad to follow close behind. Someone else would come and grab the body bag – it wasn’t your problem anymore. Your feet pound the Tarmac, and you can’t help the look you send up to the sky, watching the cargo plane on the horizon as it comes closer. Frowning under your covering, you re-focus.

I need to stop thinking about it – I always get like this with civvies.

It was hard not to. You only wanted to bring them the same comfort that John had brought you.

God, stop fucking thinking about him! His phantom haunts your every step like the two of you were Orpheus and Eurydice – only one of you wasn’t dead in the first place. One had left; abandoned you to the wolves. You had said you held no bad feelings towards the Brit but was that true? And if he was really dead, would you ever even know it?

Your feet carry you forward as the helicopter blades slice the air, making your clothes ruffle and shake under the combat vest and around your ankles.

The last time you had contact with the brown-haired man, you had been reading his letter in a free-of-charge home given to you until you could get on your feet and secure a job. John had been sent back to the UK on another assignment, leaving you a nervous wreck surrounded by people you didn’t know the intentions of. You had been excited to go to the mailbox at the time – even if being outside still made you nervous. Everything was just so big to you back then. When your fingers had opened the small metal box and found the white letter with the elegant script on top, you felt a smile rip open your face.

But the contents had been less than they usually were. Stiffer; formal in a way you had yet to associate with the man. He had always been nice to you. But maybe he had grown past that – you feared that thought.

“This’ll be my last letter for a while, Bird. I’m going Black. Make sure to remember to go outside and drink water for me, yeah?”

-Price

There had been the start of another sentence before it had been scribbled out and then had been it. No updates; no return address this time so you could write him back. And then you had bever received another letter until you had gotten fed up with your life going nowhere and enlisted. John Price had disappeared, and whether he was dead or halfway across the world you knew not.

He had been the only man you had trusted until Eagle and Thrush had become a part of your group. Still, even now, the opposite sex made you hesitant – you didn’t like being alone with a man you didn’t know. Your line of work didn’t help that notion, either.

“Bird,” Shrike’s voice brings you back, and your eyes slide to your side to look at the smaller woman. You hum in question. “What was in the file Wren downloaded? And who’s Task Force 141?”

“All in due time,” You mutter back, your hand opening the front door of the main building. No one was bothering to remove their gear or clean themselves – they all understood from the way you were walking faster that this was important. “And as for TF-141, I have no idea. Never met ‘em.”

Wren coughs, and Shike looks over as Thrush and Eagle listen silently, the former handing a cigarette over to the other.

“One-Four-One is a Multinational Special Operations Unit comprised of operatives from all over the globe. Much like what we do, but on an infinitely larger scale. I believe Laswell asked our Captain to join it a year ago…” Wren trials, not bothering to look up from her tablet where she still reads through files and other intel from the mission.

Thrush’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit, really? And you passed it up?”

“Obviously,” You snort, itching at your bicep where the bullet graze still sits in dried blood and dirt. You repress an annoyed hiss of pain. “Why do you think I’m still stuck here with you lot?”

“Awe,” Shrike coos, scrunching her nose, “She loves us.”

“Loves to hate us,” Eagle whispers. You send a half-serious glare as Wren chortles to herself.

“I can always ask Kate for the offer again.” A loud uproar makes people in the hallway turn and stare, and you laugh under your face-covering, chest light.

You all arrive at the meeting room door and you don’t bother knocking, shoving your way inside with Shrike still giggling behind you. There’s the presence of five others in the room, and one stands at the head of a large table, a blank projector behind her in dim lighting. You don’t bother looking at anyone else – still keeping that habit of being nervous around new people.

Laswell sighs as she looks you over, crossing her arms over her blouse.

“We're all here, Captain. What was so urgent that you had to show us?” You slip past her and head to the computer atop a wooden stand, hearing whispers and muttered comments as your groups disperse around the room. Heavy stares that peel back skin like batter nearly make you sweat. They were boring into you, making your heart race.

They’re waiting for us, you remind yourself.

“Wren.” You call steadily and a second later you’re catching a well-aimed flash drive without looking and plugging it into the computer.

Before touching anything else, your hands reach up and grasp the balaclava, tearing it off your head in one quick motion and hooking it onto your belt. It was rare for you to wear it on Base.

A sharp inhalation of breath makes your fingers over the keys pause, but you only blink and return to typing – pulling up file after file. The air in the room was already tense, but whatever had just happened was setting off alarm bells.

Who are these people? What just happened?

Nonetheless, you get to work and turn to Laswell with the intel on screen.

“You’re going after a useless player. Casilda Kalpana is only a pawn in a much larger scheme.” Kate’s eyes snap from one digitized document to another as you continue, staring at her and no one else with a blank expression. “If you had sent your Task Force, they would have died. They already knew you were coming.”

“Well,” a distinctly Scottish accent makes your fingers twitch, but still you don't look as a comment is said into the air, “I’d have to disagree with that, now, Hen.”

Blood and sweat stain your skin, and you’re covered in more of it down your gear. Your gloves are stiff with dried crimson and even the small amount of interaction you had on the computer left stains over the keys. But you still find the energy to roll your eyes.

“Can you fight off upwards of one hundred hostiles while trying to sneak through a city so inhabited that it's practically a human ant hill? No offense, but if you answer that with ‘yes’ you may need a psych eval done.”

There’s a pause before a small masculine snort echoes out.

“Shut your gob, Garrick.”

“Laswell,” you remain on topic and the woman looks at you with inquisitive eyes, “The only way forward with this is cutting the head off the snake. I say we go one above Kalpana and take out the ring leader.”

“Abel?” Kate’s eyebrows raise, “Bird we’ve been looking for him for years – I don’t know what you expect us to do with noth–”

Your finger hits a key, and the next document pops up.

“You can thank Wren for compiling the sources. Lots of emails to go through on the helicopter ride. Some not as fascinating as finding coordinates for a Target.”

“You can say that again,” said woman huffs from the back of the room, “you know how many kinky photos these people send to one another. Shit’s disgusting.”

The Scot speaks up again, “really? On a scale of how bad it was – one to ten, Bonnie.”

“Fifteen. I need my eyes bleached.”

There is a gaze that doesn’t leave you; it hadn't since you had walked through the door. It is hard and unrelenting. It does not falter or blink away.

It makes you nervous.

Sucking down a deep breath you try to focus on what everyone is saying, but it becomes more difficult with every second. Your hand reaches up to your head, scratching at your scar as the presence follows your actions.

Who is this? You wonder, but clench your jaw and listen to Laswell speak.

“--reliable is this source?”

Shrike answers from near the door, chuckling, “very, Ma’am. Rarely do these people sugarcoat things. Small brains, you understand?”

“...At the very least I need more than a location and a vague date. Bird,” your head turns slowly away from the floor, “can you give me a week?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand.

“A week?” You frown, eyes narrowing at the blonde, “He could be off in the wind by then. Do you have any idea how much this guy runs – I’ve been tracking him down ever since I joined, Kate. This is the most I’ve gotten in that entire time.” Splaying out one of your hands for emphasis, everyone hangs off your words. “He’s the source of all of it. When you cut a snake up, the head can still bite, sure, but at least you know where not to step. Kill Abel now, and all of them are left bloody in the dirt. Ready to be picked off.”

Before the stoic agent can say anything, the radio on your chest sizzles to life and you forget about the hot eyes and the thick air.

The people from the warehouse.

Hand snapping up, you turn your head down into it, facing forward as your eyes stiffen.

“Cargo plane is clear for landing, Ma'am. Just thought I’d let the Squad know.”

“Thank you, Cadet. I’ll be there momentarily to help out…” You blink, “Try to make sure only female medics work on them but make do if you have to.”

“Copy that. I’ll spread the word.”

“Rog.” You don’t bother to take the USB from the computer before you turn away – they’ll all go over it while you see to the Civvies.

“How many this time?” Kate asks seriously as you slip past, her body pivoting to orient herself as you pass.

“Warehouse full.” You grunt, itching at your bicep and shuffling to the exit. “Less than last time.” The agent knew better than to try and stop you.

“That’s an old radio you’ve got.” The British accent makes you falter for a second; it was deep, aged like a fine wine that coated the vowels with clipped authority. Familiar for some reason, but you took no notice of it. “Must be one helluva long story, eh?”

“Very long,” You say as your nimble hand connects with the door, “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to tell it–”

Your body freezes as you send a quick glance to the voice’s owner; stance suddenly locked tighter than a bank vault as your optics find familiar blue eyes.

…John? There was suddenly a violent silence in your head, a sheet of white paper held in front of your brain to block it from firing.

He looked older, but then again, it had been years. Many years. But the build of his face hadn’t changed so much to a point you’d be unable to recognize those blue eyes. Oh, that blue. Like deep water and sea foam on a cold shore. Was it possible to know someone only by their eyes? You had to argue that, yes, you could. Because the man sitting down at the table, flanked by three others that all watch the interaction with confused eyes, is not the Lieutenant you remember.

The beard was new – shiny brunette like his hair under his bucket-hat-covered head – along with the stature. Before, Price had been large, sure, but now he was built like a bear. Your tense eyes slip over the tight compression shirt covering his arms, the bulk of his thighs as he shifts in his chair to stand up firmly. John clears his throat, and your face heats under the flesh, but upon the doorknob, your fingers strangle the metal. He was taller.

In your chest, the aggressive pounding of your heart rivals a cheetah.

What the fuck is he doing here? You can’t help but glare when the man frowns, his eyelids half-down in a studying look as his eyebrows push in. Like he was just as surprised as you were. Hesitant. But I’m not the one who disappeared. I’m not the one who made the other think they died.

When your face shifts to anger, John freezes, his hands coming up to cross and grip the collar of his beige combat vest looking about as awkward as he can. When you huff out a breath through your nose, his feet shuffle shoulder length apart. Ever the soldier – waiting for a lip-lashing. You watch the wrinkles on his forehead with growing hatred.

“Bird, I…”

Breathe.

“Well, this just keeps getting fucking better and better.” Without another glance, you wrench the door open and shoulder though, tossing it back with a decent enough force to make the wall rattle as you disappear down the hall.

But he won’t leave your thoughts. John Price. Alive. Here.

What kind of game was this?

Your hands are shaking at your sides when the door, already far down the hallway, opens quickly. But the feet are not heavy. Wren slides up next to you, her feet pumping. She doesn’t say anything, just walks next to you as your eyes shutter closed and you take a deep breath.

“You up for helping out in the med ward?” You force yourself to say, hoping to distract yourself as your face once more moves back to a picture of innocent calm.

How can he be here? Fuck…h-how? John was part of the 141 for this entire time? Did he know I was here? He couldn't have, no. But what if he did…

Why didn’t he say anything?

“I’m certainly more inclined to lead my abilities to the nurses, Captain. You’ll find no resistance from me.” You liked that about Wren. She never pried about things she knew you didn’t want to talk about.

“Good. They’ll need them.”

—

“John!” You laugh, hands coming up to your head where the Lieutenant had placed his beanie, the chill outside had made your nose hurt and your breath puff out in clouds.

Standing just outside the main exit of the medical ward, you grab the fabric as your face turns up to the tall man at your side. He had just shown up from a meeting, and the door closed behind his back as he locked his arms on his vest collar and set his feet shoulder length apart.

“Well now, what’re you doin’ out here?” It was rare for you to be out of the building – open places still scared you. “You alright?”

But you needed to think.

Stiffly smiling, you try to hide your running thoughts from the man who narrows his deep blues at you. He shifts closer, and you can feel his heat melt into you, making your shivering slow for a moment. He made all of it better.

John huffs.

“You’re about as easy to read as anyone, Bird. Go on, then.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” You play with your fingers, skin pulling tight. “I’m just overthinking everything.”

“You’re nervous.” He states, glancing ahead with a tilted head and a raised brow at no one.

Under your feet, the snow shrieks as you shuffle, looking to the ground and sighing deeply. There was no point in hiding anything from him and his damn hawk eyes.

“It’s just…I’ve missed so much, y’know?” Your teeth bite your lips as you feel his firm eyes on you, locked onto the side of your face and caressing your visage with their path. You blink out over the base, seeing everyone move from one place to another with a purpose in their steps. “I have no idea what I’ll do with myself all alone.”

Whispering out the last sentence, you look at the ground, lips in a line.

It’s a good while before the Lieutenant speaks, and he sighs deeply before he does. You don’t suppose he’s ever had to deal with something like this before. But he’s learning. All the others at Base and in Bravo Unit had been surprised that the two of you had formed such a tight bond in the limited time you had known each other. John Price wasn’t known to be the easiest person to speak to – especially when traumatized victims were on the other end. His stoic and quite confident attitude was the main deterrent, usually, but his hard eyes and face that rarely showed any emotion were a close second.

But to you, he was the nicest person you had ever spoken to. He never made fun, poked, or prodded, and he certainly didn’t act mean or bossy toward you. John was kind and warm; gentle when you got to know him.

And you quite liked his company.

John’s sigh puffs out over the air, and you grab the sides of his beanie and pull it farther over your head to cover your ears. You send him a curious glance and watch his fingers tighten, one eyelid creasing farther than the other when he looks at you in turn. Locking eyes, you can’t help the small smile that twitches your lips, liking the natural handsomeness of his face. You wonder what a full beard would look like over his cheek beside the current scratchy stubble that you had always known.

His eyes flick to your lips, and his teeth grind against each other for a moment before they snap back to your face.

“They’re sendin’ you out in three days, yeah?” John asks, scratching at his jaw with three fingers before settling his hands back into his vest.

“Yeah.” You affirm, smile turning to a frown. The man tenses minutely beside you before clearing his throat.

“Well, where they shippin’ you off to? Someplace nice I’d imagine. Heard somethin’ about bloody Oregon, but they wouldn’t give me much more than that.” You tilt your head at that, expression turning amused.

“You asked?”

“‘Course.” He raises a brow, and his eyes crinkle down at you. “You expect me not to?”

Face suddenly hotter than the sun, you blink rapidly, snapping your head to look out at the base once more. You may have imagined it, but John’s chest jerks in velvety chuckles you miss due to the ringing in your ears.

What was happening to you?

A small silence wraps its arms around you before you gather the ability to speak again.

“I think it was Washington, actually.”

“Hm, that it?” John frowns to himself, “Lots of people, Love. How are you feelin’ ‘bout it?”

“I don’t really get a choice,” you chuckle, licking your chapped lips as your pulse rises, “whoever has space was kind enough to offer it, how can I say no to that?”

“By tellin’ ‘em you don’t want to.” Price shuffles so he’s standing in front of you, blocking the people you were watching. He splays his hands at his sides and waits, blinking with a loose jaw. You nod an approval, though feel confused.

His hands go to rest on your arms, holding them incredibly light; barely applying pressure but you lean into him anyways. You enjoyed it when he touched you like this – the only person you would allow to do so besides nurses. Your tension softens into pliable clay when he watches you.

You could get lost in them, you knew, his eyes, if you stared for too long. There was an undeniable attraction to the man that you wanted to push away, but couldn’t help yourself. John was everything to you – he brought you books to read, sat with you as you ate in the cafeteria; he sat up with you when you radioed him about nightmares in the small hours of morning.

That memory made you giddy. Price would stay in his barracks – unable to leave because of curfew – but would speak to you over your shared channel. Use that soothing tone of his to make your eyes flicker back into slumber until he hears your soft breath over the line and sighs.

John’s throat releases a grunt, bringing you back to the present. He was staring at you softly, a small smile on his lips. You try not to suck in a soft breath. How long had you been staring at him?

“Focus, Bird.” You can’t stop the mute giggle on your tongue.

“Sorry.”

The Lieutenant's head tilts, and his usual expression shifts back. He studies your face, eyes sliding over to the bandages above your eyebrow.

“If you don’t wanna go, tell ‘em, okay? No one can force you to do anything.” He sighs. “I need you to understand that.”

“...Where else would I go?” You mutter, keeping your eyes locked. “It’s not like I have a home, John.”

His eyes snap away to look at the wall behind you, narrowing. The expression makes you grin, finding it funny when the man thinks so hard. John blinks, cycling back to stare at your lips.

The air heats and in your chest, you feel your heart beat just a tiny bit faster. Grumbling, Price peels back and releases you before his hands travel up to his beanie. He pushes it down farther, lightly ruffling your head in the process.

“Hey!” You huff, annoyed. Your hands flap above your head, shoving his digits away as his chest jumps in low chuckles. “Jerk.”

You shove the fabric from your eyes and beam.

“Couldn’t help myself, Love. Here, let me.” John’s hands find your chin, fingers so delicately, brushing the chilled flesh that immediately warms at his work. One limb stays, while the other goes to fix the position of the hat.

Sucking in a slow breath, you look up into his eyes and blink as he focuses on your head with a concentrated furrow in his brow. How did he always manage to make you feel safe? Take away your worries as if they had never existed? If there was one man on earth that could make all of this better, it was the one standing right in front of you.

It would always be John.

“Will you keep in touch?” You whisper, nervous for the answer, and his eyes momentarily snap to yours as his motion slows. A pause.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Hm, well then, I'll write ‘til you tell me to stop.”

—

The reports make you want to bash your own skill in. In the dim light of your office, you sit into the deep hours of the night in your chair, spare reading glasses on your nose to help you force away the blurriness from fatigue. You had spent the whole day with Wren in the medical ward helping the civvies get settled and the nurses with the workload. Such a large influx of patients had set them back for weeks, but it couldn't be helped. They weren’t the people to push anyone away – you knew that firsthand.

You were still in contact with a few nurses from your own stay all those years ago. Good people.

Swishing another of your signatures on a confidentiality document, you slide it to the side and stifle a yawn with the back of your hand before picking up the next file. Your fingers flick the manilla paper open to where you plan to write gruesome details into the blank lines of the sheets inside, and you just begin to let your ink bleed into the paper when your mind suddenly runs to a brown-haired Brit. Pausing, you blink sleepily before pulling the pen back and setting it on the table with a long sigh.

“Fucking hell.” A groan escapes your lips. This had been going on for hours. You’d try to start something and then the thoughts would get blocked by that damn man.

He was even more handsome than you remembered him. Lightly tapping the tabletop with your nails, you can’t deny the heat that had entered your body when you had seen John again. The coarse beard. The writhing muscle of his thighs paired with that tapered waist.

He had aged beautifully down to the very atoms of his makeup to a point it made your breath go thin; pupils widened in a primal display of need. It was pathetic. But the carnal attraction had always been there along with the normal crush. There was something you had learned a million times over – it was never going to be anyone else but John Price. Even so, it wasn’t for a lack of trying. You’d had plenty of boyfriends throughout the years – small flings that never lasted.

None made you feel as secure as the once Lieutenant’s simple presence had. Wren had told you in the med ward that he was a Captain just the same as you, now. Captain Johnathan Price. If anything, it made you mad that the title had a nice ring to it.

Your face twists into thinly-veiled annoyance. What gave him the right to come waltzing back? You thought he was fucking dead. Instead, you had been ghosted so bad you joined the goddamn military to help cope. Fuck, maybe your therapist had been right all along.

You’re just about to let off a spring of audible curses when a knock on your office door makes you flinch, eyes scrunching before sense finally finds you again.

Can’t I wallow in peace? You ask yourself, hoping Shrike hadn’t gotten into a fistfight at the local bar in town again. I swear I need to put Thrush on watch duty for that woman. Maybe Eagle’ll convince him for me.

“Come in.” You stand as the door opens slowly, hinges echoing out as you slide the reading glasses off your face and toss them down. “I swear if Shrike got suspended again I’m going to hit her over the head with the code-of-conduct manual.”

Snapping your fingers and cracking your neck, you huff when no one responds before turning to the door.

“What’s going–Oh.”

John stood in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a thick black cotton shirt that covered his large arms and hugged just the perfect amount over his triceps. It showcased his large shoulders before being tucked into his cargo pants. For once in your life, you think you’ve seen him without some sort of hat on his person.

Freezing, you stare wide-eyed at him. John frowns from where he lets the door automatically shut, nodding his head towards you firmly in greeting as your heart kickstarts. His large hands enter his pockets like some guilty teenager as you gape at him.

John clears his throat.

“Bird.”

“Get out.” You deadpan, not bothering to hear the man out. Price groans, head tilting to the side to glare at the wall as his jaw clenches.

“Love, would you let me explain–”

“No. Frankly, I’ve had enough adrenaline rushes for one day, you damn jerk. Now, get out of my office.” You begin making your way from around the table; pulse flying through every point in your body.

You can’t be here, John, you clench your fists, please, you can’t be here.

Annoyance sparks in those blues that you love to stare into, but all you do is go to stand right in front of the man with a violet frown that he mirrors.

“Bird.” He says again, setting his feet.

“John.” You raise a brow and cross your arms. The Brit growls, gaze flicking away with a heat to it before wafting back like fog over water.

“What’re you doing here?” He says slowly, trying to keep the peace between the two of you.

“Well,” under your arms, your hands shake, “what the hell do you think? Working the same as everyone else. Or at least I was trying until you showed up.”

“That’s not what I bloody fuckin’...” John trails off, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath and letting the tension in his shoulders loosen. His hands exit his pockets, and you stare as they splay by his waist. “Please, Love. I’m not trying to argue with you.”

“Arguing is the least of what you should be worried about.” Grumbling under your breath you lick your lips as his eyes lock with yours.

There was something there you couldn’t name, but it sat on the tip of your tongue – perhaps close to the emotions of guilt and horror that left the Brit’s jaw tight and his eyebrows constantly furrowed. Had he really never expected to see you again?

Yes. You figure with a heavy heart and a spark of hurt. Had you really been so discardable? In your mind, you had thought that you meant something to him. But maybe that was just another lie.

Letting out a scoff, you roll your eyes before looking away.

“Weren't really many options for me.” You concede a small portion of yourself if only to get him to leave so the way he makes your lungs sputter and face heat can cease. The others would make fun of you for this. A pointless crush on a man you hadn’t stopped thinking about for ages and held a great deal of resentment toward. When would the self-sabotage end with you? “Thought it was a better way to help others like me.”

You turn back and raise an expectant brow. “Happy now?”

John just continues to stare, lips thin and pulling under his beard hair as he raises a hand to itch at his jawline. A growl digs at your throat.

“John. Leave.” Not able to help yourself, you spit out, “if you wanted to quit talking to me all those years ago – you could have just told me instead of making me think you were fucking dead.”

The man’s head immediately flinches back, face scrunching in genuine confusion as his mouth parts. Under his shirt, you see his heart skip a beat.

“What are you sayin’ Bird? I never did anything fucken’ like that. What are you on about?” He shakes his head, “you stopped answering me.”

“The fuck are you saying? No, I didn’t!” Reeling back, you throw your hands above your head in a display of surrender; about to slink back to your desk and try to forget the heat of John’s body and the blaze of his eyes. “God, I give up on you and your stupid accent. I have reports to get done without your presence making me want to vomit.”

“Oh, my presence,” The Captain throws out a humorless chuckle that makes you want to cry. “Eh, you’re angry at me – you have every right to be, Love. I fucked up,” He growls, teeth gnashing, “But don’t fuckin’ lie to me. That is not what bloody happened – I never stopped writing you.”

“What the hell do you mean that’s not what happened?!” Your scream surprises you, with your voice bouncing off the wall like a demented banshee was in the room. You snap back around on quick feet and stalk over to the man. John’s eyes widen at the enraged tone and he blinks in shock as you continue, backing up a single step when you get in his face. “I waited and waited for you to send another letter – I waited months for nothing! Do you know how that felt, John? To-to go over in my head that maybe you never made it back from that Black Op at all? That you were dead somewhere in a fucking jungle or a desert or anywhere? I tried to get in contact with everyone, and nothing panned out. They wouldn’t tell me shit. So don’t stand there and say it never happened like that, because that is exactly how it happened!”

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears are dripping down your chin, hitting the floor with muffled plops.

John is slack-jawed, eyebrows all the way up on his forehead and orbs stuck on you – on your obvious panic. His breath is heavy, and you feel it spread over your face from how close the two of you were; you had ended up pointing a finger right into the Captain’s peck. Under your harsh press, your flesh felt his pulse flying off the rails. Your nose scrunches as you sniffle, aggressively ripping your limb back to your side. Oh, but he had been so soft under you; his skin beneath that fabric reacting to your own by pulsing to life. John’s tongue wetted his lips.

Scoffing, you take a step back, but the man speaks before you can get far enough away. It was quiet, how he said the words, and his expression was one of genuine confusion and concern. His eyes were brighter than the moon – that gray space rock put to shame by the rolling beauty of his optics that reflect light far better than she ever could. Gentle Selene, how did it feel to be beaten by a man covered in more death and blood than anyone? Who’s skin is tough and callused so perfectly that a child of Ares wants to feel those fingers caress her in forbidden places. Oh, to be kissed and loved by him. To be worshiped like a god.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” It was nothing more than a gasp, and you see his fingers twitch to touch you; to hold you to him as if nothing had ever happened.

“John, I’m not repeating myself.” You sob down a breath, looking away and shrugging pathetically.

“Bird, listen to me. Eh, eh. I…I never stopped sending you letters, yeah?” Blinking, you turn back to him and frown dumbly, your eyes furiously dancing from one wrinkle of his forehead to another. A minute passes where you feel more tears drop to the floor.

“...What?” Confusion laces your eyes, “but I never got anymore after…”

You trail off, letting the sentence die as your heart does.

What does he mean he kept writing letters? I…I waited and I never got any. None of this made any sense, but the man in front of you was never one to lie. Ever.

John takes a step forward and you tense. He freezes, face hard and jaw set beneath his beard. You can tell he’s still confused – just as you are, but his attention is fully on you.

“Can I touch you?” He asks lowly, hands outstretched but never even grazing your shaking shock-filled form. His thick fingers are all separated, the digits lightly curled inwards to the palm. Those hands. Would they even feel the same as they did back then?

But did that matter? Neither of you was the same person anymore. Both of those people had been lost in the annals of history – their story was already over and done. The pages turned. Cover closed.

Those two kind people had died. They were buried together under the ground, bones turning bleach white and wrapped in vines; nothing more than a ghost of a dream.

“Bird?” John whispers, his head tilting down to look at you closer as his chin bumps his chest. His feet move carefully as his hips shift and you feel his body heat like a noose around your neck. Your resolve was slipping, but it had already been fraying when you had first laid eyes on this changeling – this person wearing the Lieutenant’s face and eyes.

John.

You nod without looking at his creased eyelids, and he slips you into his firm hold without a second thought.

“Oh, c’mere, Love.” Standing heavily, you breathe in a deep breath as your head meets his chest, body wound tight. How many times have you dreamed of this? Finding him again despite all of it? It felt…wrong.

You had been sure he was dead. How was he not dead?

“Little Bird, I’m so sorry.” Your eyes widen, and a sharp gasp is ripped from your mouth; lips instantly begin to shake and pull tight.

No, you want to scream, no don’t say that to me, John. Don’t do that to me.

But he mumbles it again into your hair as his hand cups the back of your skull, weakly swaying back and forth in this dim office surrounded by blood and death. His body is like a rock all around you, and as your arms rise to wrap around his waist, you hear his breath shutter down over your forehead; his lungs hitch.

“I thought you died.” You hate the whimper that gets muffled by his shirt as you nuzzle into it. Hate it with a burning passion. When was the last time you had let yourself break like this? Left staining someone's shirt with tears and muttering fears into their chest. But this wasn’t someone, this was John – John had promised you he would come back for you, always.

And so John just holds you tighter and kisses your forehead. He lets you cry. He makes you feel safe where no one else ever could.

The man – a triumphant Orpheus – keeps you close until you can breathe firmly again. Only then does he carefully peel back, and you catch a glimpse of his soft face. The face that you missed ogling as you walked beside him. His hands go to cup your cheeks, thumbs slipping to wipe away tears that clog your vision with his quick eyes falling to study your visage; you liked when John took care of you, even if you knew you could handle it yourself now.

He made everything better.

Peering into his eyes, you catalog the new aspects of his face as your breaths mingle, bodies close and intimate. He had more wrinkles than you remember, and his eyes were even more cold. John’s beard was perhaps the change you liked the most besides the nicely trimmed head hair.

“MacMillan.” He grunts out and you frown as he continues with a sigh. One of his arms goes to slither around your waist, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t be separated for one more second. “He didn’t like that I was writing you, Love. Said I’d been too distracted. Must have stopped the letters from gettin’ out…bloody fucken’ bastard, he is.”

You hum, content for the first time in a long while. John’s chest moves against yours – pressing into it and making you ache with every fast puff of air. Noticing the rapid movement of his heart, you look deeply into his expression and find his pupils blown wide, a deep heat taking root around the room.

“If I had known, I would have found a way to give ‘em to you myself.” Your body tingles, and your fingers dig into his skin from around his waist as your noses nearly brush. He doesn’t pull back. “You know that, don’t you? I’d have hopped on the first damn plane – shown up on your doorstep. Gear and all.”

“Now, I would have paid to see that, Captain Price.” He purrs, and the vibrations of his chest make your eyelids flutter. “Standing on my porch like a husband who came home from war. Pity.”

Chuckling breathly, you can’t help but giggle back, leaning into his hold on your cheek. You don’t remember ever feeling this happy.

A moment of stolen breaths and wandering touches ensues; beating hearts that make muscles writhe and inner tensions reach a breaking point. Finally together again after so long apart – there were so many things to say to each other.

“Hm, Love?” John mutters as his nose bumps yours, making your head lightly tilt to the side to make his lips brush yours with every panted gasp. You lick your lips and accidentally slide your tongue against the side of the Brit's mouth; you watch his eyes darken with a smirk.

“Yes?” You wonder aloud, eyes hooded, and his gaze narrows on you – a blatant enticing accusation making John’s skin thrum with electricity.

“Can I kiss you?” A breathless grumble.

“Yes.”

Your lips meet with a clash of hellfire and a song of lust, sparks like jumping embers lighting across lit flesh. Digging into his waist, you enjoy the way John’s ribs flare with large lungs as his teeth clatter into yours, the way his grip on your face trails to your neck, digging and making you gasp into his mouth when he slightly presses into your pulse point.

He chuckles pridefully before reconnecting his face to yours, feeling your heart pound outside of your body. The two of you were so close to one another that it was nearly like you were trying to melt into one being – an amalgamation of calluses and milky scars; violence and unspoken words.

The both of you had been waiting for this for years. Ages.

A swipe of his tongue over your lips and suddenly your mouth is wide open, letting the muscle delve into you before retreating once more; leaving strings of saliva as you let him separate. Face hot and breath panting, you both stare at one another with swollen lips, red and bitten. There’s a small moment of quick inhalations and banging chests before your nails suddenly dig into the small of his back, dragging him forward once more as he heaves under your hold.

No need for talking, you could get everything you wanted to say across just by how you bite into his bottom lip, how your knee brushes his crotch and leaves him jolting into you. Groaning into your mouth.

John’s fingers kneed your flesh, every brush like a cattle prod. Without even realizing it, both of you had started to back up, your feet skimming the floor as one of your hands went out behind you to connect with the desk edge.

“Lift.” You mumble into his mouth, and not a second later the man’s large hands grope at your thighs, squeezing once before he effortlessly manhandles you upwards. Your legs spread and go to wrap around his waist, locking at the ankles and producing a deep churning in your gut.

When your backside lands on the desktop, your lips have traveled to lay nipping kisses on John’s neck and under his ear; hand now over his abs and dragging down while your nails leave him shivering. He grunts and clenches his jaw when you bite into his flesh, the delicious tickle of beard hair brushing your nose as you watch with feral satisfaction upon the flush on his complexion.

The Captain’s hands run up and down your hips fervently, mapping out the flesh above your loose sweatpants. Before long there’s the feeling of pressure forming above your core, a deep imprint of tented cargo pants leaving a familiar feeling of passion leaking out into your panties. The both of you were utterly addicted to the other.

“Eager?” You breathily wonder, teasing, leaving another hickey on John’s pulse point as he side-eyes you with blown pupils. Your gaze only catches a flicker of a smirk before his hands suddenly bore down into the skin of your thighs and his hips cant into your core.

Gasping out a moan, your fingers twist into his shirt, face falling onto his shoulder.

“J-jerk!” You keen, face hot, and mouth open to help you suck down air before he does the same motion again, liking how you look when his erection rubs the right spots. Shaking, you feel John leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on your skin, beard coarsely stimulating your already warm skin. Under his unrelenting hold, your legs quiver to try and move faster.

Smug bastard, he was enjoying this.

“Now, then, who’s eager?” A confident superiority was stuck to the tone like the slick was making your underwear stick to your slit. It felt dirty, but you liked when he talked like that – tried to use your words against you as his own pleasure was making him go slack-faced.

How would it feel to have him moving inside of you? Leaving you sobbing from pleasure as your shared release dripped over the floor and his veins caught your ridges just right?

Your back arches into him, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling as his hand presses into your tailbone to angle you upwards into him as he groans into your shoulder and stutters his animalistic pace. The feeling was unlike any other you had experienced; you could feel the electricity every time he stimulated your clit, leading to involuntary jerks on your part and thin breaths. There was barely time to suck down air over the lightheadedness.

“I-” Your voice cuts as cold wetness slides down your folds, and you shiver despite boiling. “I think you’re the one rutting into me like a bitch in heat, John.”

“Well, you’d be right,” he growls, and your fingers slide down his shirt before you can slip into his pants. The Brit sucks in a sharp breath and his other hand, once on your thigh, goes to slam onto the desktop in a quick motion when you play with the strap of his boxers. “Fuckin’ minx.”

You smirk, angling your head to the side to watch his normally stoic face begin to break when your nails trace the trail of hairs that lead down. Close but not close enough to where his cock strains violently; twitching as the telltale leak of precum stains his underwear and pants. You doubt your appearance down there is any better. Everything sticks to each other so tightly that you were slightly worried your desk would need a deep clean.

John’s eyes are closed tightly, teeth clenched tight when your nails trace circles along his prominent ‘V’ line while his abdominal muscles tighten to an attractive degree of internal yearning. Around his waist, your legs are vibrating with eagerness, your skin so sensitive it was like every nerve was being fired. Oh, you liked that look on his face more than anything.

“You’ve got to say it, Love.” You watch as his biceps tighten and strain, hand over your desk clenching into a fist behind you. Your hand dips lower in his boxers as your core begs for something to fill it – anything to make the cum drip out of you and give overstimulated aftershocks. Your other limb goes to pop the front button of his cargos as your sweaty face angles itself to connect your nose with the Captain’s larger one, smashing against it desperately. “Open your eyes, John. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Breathing over his visage, he flickers his eyes open with a small struggle and you almost moan at the heaviness of them as they gaze at you. He says nothing to you, but his digits at your tailbone leave their position to mirror your own actions. Your confidence stutters when John deftly pulls at the string and slips his rough pads under your panties, stopping on your body where you wait on his.

Your eyes slightly widen and your heart beats impossibly faster.

So that’s what this is…some kind of cat-and-mouse game? Alright.

The desk is uncomfortable under you, but you find you don’t even care anymore. Staring into John’s unblinking eyes you raise a brow.

“Not saying anything?”

“I’ll leave it to you. Do what you wish, Princess.” Your fingers experimentally skim to the base of his cock, playing with the hairs and feeling his fingers mirror, stopping just above your aching clit and barely touching you. This would be easier with the clothes off, less awkward angles if you would just fuck each other like you both desperately wanted. Raw and fast, no time to breathe before starting another round to make up for lost time until the two of you were too tired and sensitive to even rut into each other without passing out. But the two of you were too currently obsessed with battling wills – this was a game that made you even wetter, and him harder.

But, fuck, it physically hurt not to have his dick inside of you right now. Maybe a substitute could work?

Your fingers grip him inside his boxers, and before you can laugh at his throat-strangled moan of carnal pleasure, his own are delving into your drenched heat relentlessly.

“Fuck!” You whimper, hips jerking as your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back. He has the audacity to steal your laugh from you and throw it back as it puffs out over your cheeks.

When John feels the drowning wetness stemming from your slit and he curls his digits, he can’t help the vile smirk that infects his lips; a raised eyebrow, and a comment on his hot breath.

“All this for me, hm?” You don’t answer, too lost in the blue of his eyes and the sparks that emulate at having another living being pulsing over your tight walls.

“S-shut it.” Groaning, you pant trying to move your hips before he growls in front of you, making you pause as your hand around his cock twitches.

“None of that, now.” There was no amusement in his eyes, but a steel-like determination and a demented tilt of his head as his forehead connected with yours. “We’re gonna help each other, yeah? Make it a little game of who can get off first. Can you do that for me, Dear?”

Where has your confidence gone? Has it leaked out of you?

You whine as your eyes crinkle, desperate for something on your clit despite the feeling of being stuffed by two of John’s large fingers. John frowns, and his thumb hits the perfect bundle of nerves like he could read your mind. Writhing, you feel your eyes wet with pleasure-tears.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your mind is going so fast that it’s blank, only able to focus on John and how his hips sputter to try and fuck himself on your hand. He was just as needy as you were, skin flushed and muscles tight under his clothes.

“C’mon, Love.” He groans, nipping at your wet and red mouth and pulling at your lip as his calluses rub in small sparking circles, trying to get you to respond. Your hips careen forward to chase him. “Where’s my sweet Little Birdie gone, eh? She’s so wet for me, can’t have lost already. Listen, now, okay?”

He begins to fuck you with his fingers, moving painfully slow in and out, pushing and prodding as you moan and gasp when he runs over the tense walls. But you do listen – God, how couldn’t you?

“You hear that?” Your eyes widen and your hand tightens over his cock like a vice. Your own cunt was so soaked that every motion of John’s fingers made an obscene squelch, and your walls tighten in retaliation around him as he groans deeply, feet shoulder length apart. “There she is.”

You match his pace with your hand, collecting his precum at the tip and spreading it down the shaft as you both get each other off with fast breaths and locked eyes.

“T-that’s a girl.” John can’t help the way he moves faster, eager to release the strain on his balls, his fingers rapidly moving and thumb pressing tightly as you squeeze around him. “Fuck.” He growls, hunching over you and taking a peek down to where your sweatpants and panties strain to hold his hand inside as you work him. “Fuck,” he repeats, “such a lovely fuckin’ cunt of yours. Grippin’ my fingers like a damn noose, you are. Can’t wait to—”

A strangled whine breaks through his clenched teeth when you twist your hand, creating a rhythm of your own that makes sweat break out on John’s forehead.

“Bloody…” his head falls to your shoulder, where you lick and bite at the side of his ear with hard teeth, thighs burning as you jump every time his thumb weakly stutters over your clit. Your ankles dig into his tailbone.

“C’mon, John,” you gasp, sweat trailing your spine and soaking into your clothes as the sound of rabid slopping echoes off the walls along with loud moans and guttural grunts. “This is what you wanted, right?” He bites into your shoulder through your shirt.

The Brit was close, you could feel it in the fast careening of his hips; the way his dick in your soft hand was twitching and covered in just as much wetness as your splayed slit was, where John’s fingers continue to spread you violently wide. But his motions had faltered, but still, that tightening in your belly was there even as he slowed at his impending release. Your pleasure stemmed from seeing him lose it under the twist of your wrist and the lick of your tongue under his ear.

His groans were getting louder, body hunching in around you as the desk knocked into his knees.

“Little more,” you like the way his beard burns your neck flesh, how his body pulls you even tighter against him so you won’t take away his climax at the last second. “C’mon, let me feel it.” He gasps and twitches a whine stuck deep before it is expelled from his lungs as he shakes like a leaf against you.

He shoots his cum down to stain his boxers and cargo pants and you look down in a daze to look at the patch, but his locked fingers inside of you involuntarily curl all the way up, pressing into that spongy spot as you clit it pinched so tight your eyes widen. Before you can stop it, you're moaning out loudly and breathlessly, back arching and releasing just like that. Spazaming, it’s cutting through you like a knife, filthy stickiness coating John’s hand in a thick layer in an instant as your walls clench.

The both of you shake into one another, bodies coated and clothes wreaked – fingers and hands not willing to part from the other's wreaked pants.

Whining, you force your flicking eyes open and feel John breathing heavily into your neck. Sucking down fast breaths, you lick your lips and state, perhaps a little smugly, “I…I win.”

A panting moment of sweat-coated silence.

John starts laughing, deep bouts of shaking movements that make you follow. In the dim office atop a ruined desk, you both lean into one another, clean hands digging into the others’ clothes and hair. The lingering pleasure was addictive.

“Fucken’ hell…yeah, Love, guess you did.” The brown-haired man pulls back, and your hand falls from his cock and lands in your lap. You unlock your ankles and shiver when his fingers brush inside of you when he takes them out, teasingly running over your overstimulated clit and huffing, amused when you whimper pathetically and slap his hand away. Glaring, he smirks and you roll your eyes. Raising a brow as sweat falls from your nose, you shift over the wood and stare at John as his hidden emotions wash over you in the form of blue water.

You can’t really think that I’m done with you? You want to say.

“What do I get, then?” Your thighs twitch, legs still splayed around his wide hips. He frowns teasingly.

“What’s that?”

“I won, didn’t I?” Staring intensely, both of your hands go to hold you up behind you, leaning back so you can place weight on them. Already, your slit is aching again, your navel pounding as the room smells like sex and messy release. “I want a prize.”

“That how it works, then, Captain?” John sighs, crossing his arms and puffing his chest as your leg moves up and down his thigh, “You expect to be rewarded? Hm, you’re in the wrong profession, you are, Love.”

“No,” you smirk, “I’m not.”

Reaching, your fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt, feeling John’s eyes bore into your skin as you pull the article over your head and let it hit the floor. You hear his breath get shallow, and, disliking how the cum staining your lower body feels, you lift your hips and slide both your panties and sweats to your ankles with a quick motion.

Looking up at John, you smile innocently, only clothed in a bra.

“Take off my shoes for me?” His blue eyes are barely visible anymore, black already taking over as his piercing look stays on your shiny cunt like a dog with a bone. You see his breath get shallow and the hard-on under his clothes once more grow larger. “John?” Prompting him to move, you take one of your hands and spread your folds.

The man’s hands twitch, feet shuffling, but other than that he stays stone still until you speak once more, even if he’s almost physically vibrating at the sight of you.

“I’ll let you clean me up if you hurry up and get my clothes off.” His large hands snap to your laces, untying them expertly and pulling them from your feet so they clatter to the ground. The remaining fabric follows.

Giggling, your breath gets caught when John’s fingers trail up your ankle, his free hand going to lay firmly at your opposite knee. Using one of your hands you reach up and unclip your bra, slipping it off your shoulders. The reports on your desk are all most likely ruined – you’ll need to rewrite them tomorrow – but for right now you’re transfixed on the sight in front of you.

John looks into your eyes and utters, “you sure you know what you’re doin’ Sweetheart?”

“Take off your shirt.” You smile in return, your fingers going to slip into your eager cunt, still burning from John’s long-gone relentless digits. Your eyelids flutter at the fire. “And your pants. I wanna feel your muscles movin’ when your tongue cleans up my cum.”

His chest is heaving like a wounded animal, and you whine when you curl your own fingers in your heat, wishing it was John’s dick. Fuck, you needed him to hurry up already. Your digits couldn’t satisfy you as he could – when you had been stroking him you had marveled silently at the girth, the sizable veins that pulsed in your grip when you squeezed.

Watching like a hawk, John slowly moves and pulls off his shirt as you lazily fuck into your wet entrance. You spy his large pecs and nicely shaped waist as chiseled abs make your mouth water and lips part in soft puffs of breath. The coarse hair over him was the same shade as his beard, and you followed the trail with greedy eyes until it disappeared below his unbuttoned and stained pants.

Your chest gets just a little bit together; cunt tightening dangerously.

“You’re droolin’, lovely,” John smirks down at you, “careful now, don’t wanna finish on yourself. Just makin’ more of a mess for me, hm? Naughty.” He strips off his pants and boxers, kicking his boots off, and you stare wide-eyed at the spring of his dick, noticing the way it hits against his stomach with a molten red tip.

You would have gotten on your knees and sucked him off, but he beat you to it.

The Captain forsakes his own needs and does as he’s ordered – he kneels to the ground and levels his face where your cum stains your skin and nudges your fingers out of the way. He begins to lick along your thighs as your wet hand goes to slick his hair back, gripping the strands and observing the phenomena below you with a slack jaw.

Oh, hell.

He stares at you as he does it, cataloging the flesh that makes you jump and the places that leave you shaking with need. His tongue sucks and bites, but never goes where you want it to, instead, he just spreads your legs farther and makes comments as you grunt above him.

“Such a mess, Princess…I’ll have to take care of you.”

“That’s it, Love, fuck my face – try and get off. Good girl.”

“Fuckin’ delicious, that is, eh? Here, have a taste.”

You’re left a shaking mess by the time the remnants of your orgasm are traded for saliva, his muscle slurping up every droplet without complaint as his fingers leave bruises in your thighs from how tight he has to hold them to keep the limbs apart. This wasn’t going to plan for you.

Whining and whimpering, you ache for him, your lower body throbbing as more slick begins flowing. At this rate, he was going to suck you raw and leave beard burn all over your inner thighs.

“J-John,” you plead, disheveled as your hand grips his hair tighter, biting into the brown whisps. You were going to climax without him even entering you.

“Hm?” He groans out, licking a long stripe over your entrance but never sinking into it. Your body shivers and jolts, chasing that friction but he moves away too soon. You nearly sob. No, no, no. I can’t take it. “What is it, then?”

“Fuck me.” You feel the twist of his lips more than see it.

“Yeah? That what you want?”

“I swear to God, John–!” He stands so quickly that you yelp, legs wrapping behind him as his arms go around your backside and hike you into his hold.

Moaning loudly, you feel the press of his cock over your slit, whining and immediately trying to shift in his grip to attempt to slip him inside of you with a twisted face. But the Brit’s hand on the small of your back is tight, keeping you trapped against him.

“Not yet.” He growls in his ribcage, and you connect his forehead with yours and force yourself not to beg as he narrows his eyes at you. But you're not a fool, you can practically hear his cock trying to move against your heat; his thighs quivering. “Fuckin’ hell – you’re impatient. Your whole squad like that?”

“You’re a damn tease.” You huff, rubbing and pressing your nipples over his chest hair to stop the throbbing in them. “Ruder than I remember. Didn’t even let the girl suck you off.”

“Then you’re gonna hate what I do next.”

Your confusion bleeds into your expression as he situates himself in your desk chair, leaning back into it with a groan and squeezing you in his arms. His dick slaps at your backside when he lets you go and just stares. Furrowing your brow, he tilts his head down at you as your arms rest on his pecks, playing with the hair there and tracing scars.

“Go on.” The Brit prompts with a tilt of his head toward you, a nonchalant expression on his face that makes him look more like he used to – outwardly not caring but studying every move and twitch of your body.

He watches you like a wolf.

“What?” Questioning, your head pulls back as your legs fall limp at his sides to dangle above the floor.

He huffs. “You said you wanted your prize – take it, then.”

“...b-but…”

“Go on. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You glance down, utter exasperation showing on your face, “how am I supposed to…?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure that out, Love.” John’s hands go to sit on the armrests, fingers swishing as they hang off the ends. Your face burns, annoyance filtering into your veins as your eyelids crease.

Trying to prove a point, you stave off the awkwardness of the angle and shift upwards, using John’s broad shoulders as a way to lift yourself up. Taking a shallow breath, your breasts are shoved into his face when you free one of your hands, going to grasp him to line the joining up. You feel him distantly nipping at the supple flesh, his hands over the rests jerking as his legs open wider under you. When you grab him, he grunts, and your nails leave crescent marks on his skin as you clench your jaw as it rests on his head. Huffing, you jerk him off a few times to make his body writhe before, in one fell motion, letting yourself fall onto his dick.

You both let out sounds that are more animal than human, deep wails and keens that shake the office walls.

“Fuck, John,” you make noise like a damn porno, head slotted in his neck as you shake and jolt this way and that with rapid nerves that shoot down your arching spine.

He was tearing you open – ripping you apart with the spearhead that curves so deeply you struggle to breathe correctly. Jesus, was he in your throat? Gasping, you feel so full in such a unique way it leaves you addicted, your cunt so tight around John’s cock that the walls inside of you quiver with every small movement. When he gasps out breaths with his closed-tight eyes, you notice the way your body convulses, red-hot pleasure rocketing to your brain and pumping endorphins before clenching around him.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit, I can feel his goddamn veins digging into me! Your small mewls of pleasure spill out even as you both stay still to adjust. Sex had never felt like this before.

John spasms, hands immediately snapping to your thighs to keep you there as he wheezes.

“Fuckin’....christ!” Blinking rapidly, you bite into John’s neck to ground yourself, hips rocking despite his pleas. “So tight. Squeezin’ my cock just perfect. Take it, Love. Fuck, c’mon, take it.”

Your slick and his precum make it easier, the wet squelching once more resuming at a faster pace than before. You release his skin, intent on chasing after the orgasm building around this man’s dick that hits every spot like it was target practice.

“John, feel so good,” you moan, breathing loudly as the Brit watches you take him like it was nothing.

“H-hell.” He groans long, hands helping you jump when your legs shake too violently every once and a while. He’ll have blood dripping from his shoulders from how hard you dig into him, but watching your cunt swallow him over and over again is payment enough as a ring of milky white forms at his base. “Look at you. Fuckin’ good girl. Keep it steady, now.”

“P-please,” you sob, eyes shiny as your walls ache – your needy clit was burning. John watches wide-eyed; blues boiling. “Clit. I need…”

Trailing off you connect your lips to his when one of his thumbs goes to your nerve bundle, quickly working at it in tight circles that molds your lips onto a silent scream. John whimpers when your pussy clamps, his senses all covered in you – your scent and how your tits bounce so beautifully – a second later he can’t help himself any longer.

His feet plant themselves to the floor, and he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth as his hips rapidly thrust, skin on skin the only sound above high moans and muffle pleas of release.

It was far past words anymore, just feral animals seeking an earth-shattering orgasm at the other’s hand. Drool was slipping down both of your lips, splattering down chests and cheeks as sloppy kisses miss marks.

So close. So close.

The snake was coiling, walls shaking and alternating between squeezing too tight and letting John hit as far into you as possible. You suddenly wail into his hot mouth, eyes rolling back when he angles his thrusts back towards himself as he slouches in the chair.

“There it is. Bloody bastard.” John hits it again, leaving you collapsing onto his chest as his hands go to wrap around your back, large arms using you to stay still as he pants ferally, eyes wild as they stare down at your blessed-out expression. Fuck, were you even able to speak anymore beyond whines and gasps? The clench of your pussy?

“Don’t worry, Love,” One thumb still plays with your overstimulated clit, making tears splatter his chest hair and get stuck as every sliver of skin that’s coated in sweat and joined slick. “I’ll make it up to you, yeah, I’ll fuck you proper later.”

Your eyes roll back, back arching into him. God, was this not fucking you properly? But then again, John was a gentleman at the end of the day – his idea of proper was probably a bed and a glass of water on the nightstand.

But this was so much better. The neediness of it, the emotional release besides the physical. John could fuck you anywhere at any time, as long as you got to hear him speak to you like that. Breathless, whiny like he never was and probably never will be outside the company of just you – even after being separated, you knew he was never one to do things like this.

“Tell me you’ll let me cum inside this cunt, eh, Love,” his accent is stronger as he gasps, raspy, with muted growls, before his head tilts back behind the chair’s backing. He speeds up until you were sure the chair was going to break in two, the material squealing. “Let me breed you like I always wanted to, yeah? Watch that spent cunt drown before I pump back in and stuff you full again. Please, Bird, let me…Let me…!”

You're about to lose it, hands raking down his chest and legs numb before you can gasp out a single sentence before the rope snaps.

“God, John, don’t…don’t let any go to waste.” You moan and slot your head under his jaw, feeling his beard bristles burn your nose when you finally let the snake strike.

Freezing, your lower body jolts as if connected to an electrical line, walls constricting around the foreign entity inside of you as it continues to chase its own high. One firm thrust, two sloppy ones, before a groan so loud you feel it reverberate in your heart enters the heavy air. There is an undeniable fullness to your womb that shoots deeply into your being, splattering your thighs and staining John’s abdomen. From there it’s small instinctual thrusts as your ringing ears twitch at the sound of cum dripping on the floor. Panting, you can’t help the fucked-out way your mouth parts to release a satisfactory sigh at the feeling of euphoria in your brain and cunt.

It felt like you were floating on air when John finally started rubbing a hand up and down your back, shaky fingers hard and sure as they trace old marks.

Still short of breath, the two of you revel in each other's company with palpitating hearts and half-lidded eyes. Still slotted under his jaw, the brown-haired man mutters softly.

“New?” As he taps a bullet wound on your right side that’s been healed for years now.

“Hm,” uttering softly with a hoarse voice, you smile weakly with warm cheeks, “old. Three years.”

“...I have a lot to catch up on, then, yeah?”

“Very much. But don’t worry, I’ll be patient.” He chuckles, making your form move with him. You take a deep breath, finally feeling yourself come back to earth, albeit on unsteady feet.

A good bout of calming silence forms before you speak through a haze of fatigue. It had to be late by now – incredibly late. Maybe just using the pullout bed would be better than doing the walk of shame back to your barracks. John could join you here, you decide internally.

“How did you know I’d even speak to you in the first place?” You ask as the man shifts under you, lightly lifting your black and blue thighs as you begin to whine quietly; he shushes you with a calm presence. Delicately pulling out, he lets his spent cock exit your red and swollen hole as more combined fluid falls from you to run over his hips and pool below. Resettling you, he brings a hand to the back of your head and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“The radio. You kept it.” You grin shakily, feeling him run his fingertips down your spine, finding more milky scars and caressing them with callused hands.

You’d have to tell him all of your stories later, and in turn, he’ll tell you his. There was a lot to learn, but this certainly wasn’t a bad spot to start. Nuzzling farther into his neck, you sigh dreamily as his pulse sings you to sleep like a lullaby. Before you drift off you whisper out a reply that leaves John shivering.

“...I guess I did, didn’t I?”

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @antigonusyuki, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @lora21, @330bpm-whiplash, @michirulol, @john-pricee, @cl0wncxre, @jade-jax, @anna-banana27, @lothiriel9, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @bespectacledhuman, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @wolfyland07, @shoe1412, @jaimiespn, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaut2029, @shmaptin, @levietc

(if anyone has any idea why some aren't working I would love to know lmao)

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ghcstao3 · 6 months

Text

based on the addition of this because i think it’s silly

It didn’t look my different from the other tapes, and that’s about as far as Ghost’s defence goes.

Dated and labelled accordingly as is every other tape in the box Ghost had unearthed while digging through his old things, he hardly thinks to be deterred by something titled Tommy’s wedding—it sounds perfectly normal, a happy glimpse into a life Ghost misses dearly from time to time, and he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t show Soap what had been recorded of a great memory.

The tapes were the only way Soap would ever get to know the Riley family, and Ghost supposes the wedding would be the perfect captured moment.

Except, whoever penned the label on the VHS thought it’d be real funny to betray the organization system just to play some practical joke on whoever decided to put the tape into the player more than a decade down the line.

Normally, Ghost might blame Tommy—but once the incriminating footage begins to play, the fault is obviously on Beth, because no one else would have ever had the need to see this tape in particular.

Soap immediately curls back into Ghost’s side as he returns to the couch, content to watch as he had all the other tapes Ghost had decided to show—a gentle fondness is inscribed into his expression as grainy chatter fills the space, a soft smile on his lips as a camera is shakily—and stealthily—set up in one of Tommy’s old mate’s living rooms.

Ghost frowns. Because distantly he recognizes the scene as Tommy’s stag, and not at all the wedding.

Though, he supposes, to lend credit—the precursor, ceremony, and reception could very well all just be mashed onto one tape. It’s what Ghost presumes, anyway, until he hears playful jeering and the clunky click of someone pressing play on a CD player.

It happens too fast, and realization comes much too slow as Tommy and a younger Simon appear just off-centre of the screen, entirely unaware of the camera pointed at them. Simon hears the first notes of the song and scrambles for the remote—only to find that Soap is holding it out of his reach, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he seems to come to some sort of revelation, too.

Ghost narrows his eyes. Commands, voice low, “Pause it, Johnny.”

Soap grins. “Don’t think so.”

It’s too late, anyhow.

Ghost is well and truly fucked as the Spice Girls’ Wannabe filters through his TV’s speakers. He’s never been so mortified.

He wishes he could melt into the couch along with his shame, watching his brother and younger self dance to the song in the same way they’d choreographed when the thing first came out. As stupidly drunk as they were at the time of the video playing on screen, Ghost is surprised they remembered any of it at all.

Any being too much, of course.

Soap only pauses when the song comes to an end, looking to Ghost expectantly, biting his cheek to surely keep from bursting into laughter then and there.

Ghost refuses to look him in the eye.

“We were pissed,” Ghost grumbles. “Bachelor party.”

“You still remember the dance?” Soap goads.

Ghost turns to glare at him. “Johnny.”

“What?” Soap’s face twitches. “Just a question. Of which you didn’t answer.”

Ghost folds his arms petulantly across his chest. How he wishes Beth were still around so he could get revenge for this embarrassing incident. Beyond embarrassing, really.

“No, I don’t.” Yes, he does. “A word of this to anyone and you’re dead, Tav.”

“Aw.” Soap folds back into Ghost’s side, and Ghost could never deny the way he softens, even if just a bit. Soap trails a palm from Ghost’s bicep to his forearm, almost soothing if his only intention wasn’t to tease. “You don’t mean tha’.”

“I do,” Ghost insists, but really, he’s always been a bad liar.

Soap shakes his head. “Nah,” he sighs. “But… I won’t tell anyone, swear. So long as I get to see you do that dance—otherwise this tape is getting rewound and shipped to Gaz with the VCR.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Mhm,” Soap hums. “But only out of love, see.”

Ghost rolls his eyes. He plucks the remote from Soap’s hand and presses stop, not wanting to risk any more condemning footage appear. Perhaps he’ll have to start going through these tapes by himself first, from now on.

“Well, out of love I’ll let you live. How’s that?”

Soap smiles up at him, reaching up an arm to pat Ghost’s cheek twice. “Might be able to convince me.”

Ghost huffs. Convince he must, then.

He knows Beth and Tommy would’ve found this hilarious, the pricks.

In another life, he supposes.

#scheduled #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing

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viburnt · 4 months

Text

Leopard! Dabi Headcanons (Hybrid! AU)

Someone had requested this on my asks, but TUMBLR WAS A BITCH AND UPLOADED THE WRING THING. Anyhow, hoping this reaches that person. Please enjoy!

CONTENT WARNING: NSFW 🔞, mentions of breeding

• Leopards are opportunistic hunters, and they use their particular appearance to disguise themselves and surprise the prey they've targeted. Sounds a little familiar? Perhaps it is because it's something Dabi does. Touya Todoroki joined Shigaraki as Dabi, a false identity he created to take revenge on Endeavor; he didn't join Shigaraki because he supported his plans, but because he needed things he could provide like the resources and a team.

• Something very curious about this species is how they have variants according to the environment. We have grey/white snow leopards, yellow ones, and black ones too! It's befitting considering how Dabi's appearance has changed over the years: white-haired kid, black-haired villain. A snow leopard and a panther.

• Depending on when you meet him, you could either find deep black fur on his tail and ears, or you could still see his white fur. He also has a pair of large canines that you can see whenever he grins or when his anger is too much to handle.

• It is also a thing that leopards have super soft fur on their lower abdomen so... happy trail. Oh! Claws, by the way; my take on this is that Touya might've been declawed as a cub to avoid "hurting himself more" than he already did with his quirk.

• Leopards are also very active during most of the day, always on the lookout for prey. Leopard! Dabi is also plotting against heroes and his father most of the time. He's part of a very solitary species, not exactly forming bonds like other big cats such as lions. They get company, however, when it's time to mate.

• Leopard! Dabi is not the most talkative version of Dabi, he still is a cocky bastard, but he finds it hard to talk to you. So, naturally, when ruts happen, there's no verbal warning. Touya starts playing a little rough with you whenever he feels the need to breed you, pushing and pulling teasingly until he has you where he wants you: couch, bed, chairs, counters, floor...

• Touya often relies on body language to let you know you're his (even when he's not the most affectionate partner). He also has a thing for napping all over your clothes and messing with your stuff (say bye to your food, he'll leave the fridge empty).

• His go-to position is prone bone because of how similar it is to the leopard's mating technique. He bites your neck whenever he's buried deep inside your guts (cat things), groaning and growling whispered "Fucks!" And "Tight!". Regardless of if he can breed you or not, he always stays inside you for a few more moments to avoid his cum to drip out of you.

• His rut lasts around 2 or 3 days, and he can go as many times as he needs until he satiates the itch inside his body. If he somehow knocks you up, you'll have to put that cat on a leash or something, because no feline species stay with their cubs at all. Hates when people pulls his tail.

A wanton moan escapes your lips, feeling Touya sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your thighs. You can see him looking at your face from your angle, legs locked open as he meets your sensitive core with his tongue. "You told me to clean the mess... Don't look at me like that now." The man purrs, licking his lips with a teasing grin. "I'm gonna pull that tail of yours one day, see who's laughing- Oh, fuck!"

"Mhm, you're all talk now. But when I'm breeding you? You seem to be speechless." He murmurs, lapping you once more. "Dumb cat."

"Love you too."

Tagging: @trickster-kat @doumadono @shonen-brainrot @shionancientsblog @dabislittlemouse

#my hero academia #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader

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asjjohnson · 6 months

Text

What if Danny were half human, half ghost; as in half of the time?

Kind of like how werewolves have a schedule based on the moon, halfas have a schedule based on the sun.

So, he's completely human by day, and as the sun sets he turns ghost.

Perhaps his parents' inventions won't register him at all, or perhaps they would still be sensitive enough to pick up on something. But the situation would lead to more problems at night.

Since he can't shift between forms at will, it's like the fics about him being stuck in ghost mode, only every night.

Maybe his parents wouldn't notice during summer months. He goes to bed a little early; but that's good, his parents think, he's responsible enough to have an early bedtime for school. (when... school is in session, at least. He apparently wears himself out every single day during summer break?)

But in the winter months, when the sun sets before dinner, he never eats that last meal with his family. Always either not hungry or already ate. (is he... mad at them about something...?)

He's barely seen around the house in the evenings. They know he's around, but they only catch glimpses of him as he goes between rooms. And why is he wearing so many clothes does he have a fever here let me check—

And any event that takes place at night would be worrisome for Danny. Dances, going to the observatory with his family, camping... Even mornings can be iffy during the time of year when the sun rises late; when he has to get ready for school before dawn.

Vlad doesn't have much trouble with being a halfa, though. No one ever notices that he only makes appearances during the day.

Though the Bitter Reunions episode would have a few small changes. It might be easier for those two to recognize each other as halfas. At least if Vlad happens to see Danny Phantom in Danny Fenton's bed, or Danny noticing a ghost doing stuff Mr. Masters would do. Or Danny hearing Vlad's watch alarm going off just as Danny glances at his own watch as he wonders how to politely ask about the guest rooms. He doesn't even open his mouth before Mr. Master starts pushing them up the stairs, talking about how it must've been such a long and tiring trip.

Unless they're both pretty clueless and things happen more similar to in the episode. Except for them discovering each others' identities, because they don't go ghost at will. ...Though at least one of them would probably find out the other's identity anyhow. If they end up fighting until dawn they'd both find out quick. Or if Danny's defeated before sunrise, then he won't turn human, so Vlad might lock him up or something, and then Danny Fenton would be mysteriously missing the next morning. After determining he isn't in the castle or anywhere on the grounds and the vulture ghosts have not killed him, Vlad would probably put it together.

As for the reunion... those typically take place at night. But Vlad would probably have it start an hour or two before sunset, do a little mingling, and have his revenge plan take place after dark as Plasmius.

...The Maternal Instincts episode might be a little more iffy, though. How hard it would be to want Maddie to spend the night, to want to romance her, and yet, he can't be around her at night. He would need a butler or someone to greet her and Danny when they show up after dark, and it would be horrible to have to watch from a distance without being able to speak to her. ...Then again, she'd probably be too worried about her son disappearing out in the woods. When she's told that Mr. Masters has retired early but has a guest room for her, she would say to wake him up, her son is missing in the woods and she needs help searching. ...Although... Danny is probably having a very bad time if Maddie happened to lock the Specter Deflector around his waist during the day and he hadn't been able to sneak the key away before sunset.

Another thing that would be interesting to note is what would happen to a halfa during a solar eclipse. With the sun covered during the day like that, he might have some unique-looking features, stuck between ghost and human.

...Would Danny turn even more ghostly during a lunar eclipse? The sun's on the opposite side of the earth, but now even the moon is in shadow. He might run on ghostly instincts during new moons and lunar eclipses. (which doesn't necessarily mean evil. And that could possibly change the Control Freak episode by way of Danny knowing how he would behave as a full ghost.)

#danny phantom #what if #asj post #asj writing #halfa the time au #this was actually inspired by a post I saw about a cat. Very beautiful cat. ...by day. Corpse-looking by night. Ooh sorta like Danny. :D

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yunxi-11085 · 11 months

Text

Little intricates to treasure

Yanqing & Reader w/ Jing Yuan (platonic)

this is my headcanon but I want yanqing n reader being childhood friends and they are inseparable yk?? super adorable and maybe a vv mischievous pair

this is all platonic/young love as yanqing is not of age n please do not be+think sexual stuff when reading this. this is part of my incorrect prompts post!( you can find it on my pinned post++) I just had a rlly cute idea so Im continuing it yee!!

soooo let's start shall we~~

yanqing and you are an inseperable pair, the locals of the Xianzhou alliance are so used to both of your little tricks and mischievous acts that they just sigh and awe at the cute sight.

I mean who can dare yell at the general's most treasured liutenant? but no one can admit aloud that they think you two are really cute. the way both of you are whispering (but they can still hear you) about your little plan and the way you execute it is super obvious but they still play along with your little acts

yanqing would bring you to places while holding hands, he'd be super excited and run around when he buys new swords! you both would sit down and he would ramble til sunset about how the sword is designed and the handiwork he likes. and his eyes lit up whenever you agree with him too

it's funny n weird to imagine that yanqing will be as tall and bulky when he grows up, just like the general. if young boys could preserve their youth and cuteness longer...

speaking of the general, when you first met Jing yuan you were super scared, especially because this lion of a man was standing so tall in front of you—but you're now getting used to him being crazy over cats to worry about him killing you or crushing you in one step.. why were you scared abt that btw??

so one day yanqing wakes up with an idea.. he runss to you and starts talking about his plan. the general would be out today to sort some things and yanqing wanted to mess with his chess pieces!

he so wanted to get revenge to the general every time they play chess, because the general keeps eating his chess pieces without him noticing!

so his plan was to paint some of the generals chess pieces to black, because the general uses the white chess and yanqing just thought to paint them. as if the general won't notice how hes missing one chess piece when they start playing

you were skeptical because of the aforementioned possibilities... plus a normal chess would have 32 pieces with 16 per side, an advanced player like Jing yuan could tell from the start.

but the lil puppy eyes yanqing gives you— and then somehow you are seated in the private garden of the general (how is this sneaky?!) with a chess set and black ink in front of you.

I'm pretty sure the punishment this time won't just be the allowance cut in half...

anyhow you both start, but the ink had to be wet— yanqing just bought dry ink somewhere. so, with the strength of two teens you brought a bucket or two to start.

at this point you both are not painting chess pieces, you're writing a whole letter of apology and discipline

you just hope yanqing knows how to hold a brush.

turns out, he does not. it becomes a dark mess within minutes, and your hands and clothes are all dark with ink, and yanqing isn't all better as well

now its a real mess.

sucks for you but, Jing yuan arrives

I need to sleep now aaaaa

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stedefxckingbonnet · 6 months

Note

So this is gonna be entirely too much info but like. I've fallen into reading your reader x Izzy fics and I LOVE them! I've been going through a hard time with it getting to Christmas and having no family, and the Izzy fics just make me feel lighter. So mostly just thank you thank you thank you!

Now the cheeky bit - is there any way we could get a Male reader x Izzy with a pride and prejudice element. My friend said something about Con O'Neil as Mr Darcy and I damn near swooned. Either like a Colin Firth wet white shirt scene or like anything like the Matthew Macfayden Darcy (The hands! The sopping wet pathetic man!)

If not, that's more than okay! I still love your work so much! And again, thank you so much for it!

Hi, anon! First of all, I completely understand how rough the holidays can be, especially without family around. My heart is truly with you during these times and I hope you can still find joy, peace, and love this winter. If you ever need anything, I am always in your corner. I know I'm just a random writer on Tumblr but I truly do care for you, each and every one of you, for that matter! I'm happy I could even bring you a sliver of joy with my work. Thank you endlessly for reading, and I am sending an abundance of my love your way <3 feel free to message me if you'd like, I'd love to be your friend! My messages are always open, everyone! But if not, that's okay too. I'm just happy to share this with you!

Anyhow, I absolutely lit up at this request—I love Pride & Prejudice! OFMD and P&P intertwining is honestly heavenly, I got so excited to write this that I put a pin on another x reader I was writing (never fear! You will all get this one by the end of the week if finals don't absolutely drain me!). This one is reminiscent of Pride & Prejudice and the vibes it emits, but more so, my own spin on it, as well as twists and turns. Like, Izzy honestly exhibits more of a Lizzie in this one but it's also very clear his actions parallel Darcy. I really, truly hope you enjoy this nonetheless!

Lastly, speaking of the holidays, I'm thinking of writing some holiday headcanons for Izzy or a few x readers regarding the holidays with Izzy! So stay tuned for that! Thank you everyone for your everlasting kind words, understanding, patience, and encouragement with my slight delay with writing in the past week.

My Gem | Izzy x Male Reader

Warnings: slight angst, some strong language, slight enemies to lovers, not so in depth research of 1700's aristocracy (even though I'm a damn dramaturg, but we'll look past that for now), made up my first non-canon canon character because just referring to her as "she" felt inhumane, brief mentions of fake suicide note, kissing

Word count: 2324

Thoughts of the first mate of The Revenge were absolutely consuming you. Devouring you alive, plaguing you—you truly couldn't get him out of your head no matter how hard you tried. Oh, yes, you tried. But there was no use. Daydreams would always swirl in your mind and they would only increase tenfold throughout the course of your days.

You were grateful that you at least didn't have to carry the burden of breathing the same air as Israel Hands anymore. You would even collapse being within ten feet of him, let alone seeing him every single day. Your chest ached even at the mere thought of the man.

To say you were confused by his last actions toward you was an understatement. Confused, embarrassed, miserable, even flattered...You couldn't get Izzy Hands out of your head. You couldn't get his hands out of your head...

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"So you really are doing this, then."

"Yes," you nodded. "I am. I don't belong here—"

"You are a damn great pirate," Izzy almost seethed. "I'll be damned if I believe you really want to go back to that...lavish lifestyle."

You looked slightly frantically behind you in hopes that no one heard Izzy's dig at what was about to be your life again. You hesitantly looked back at Izzy, almost biting your lip in disbelief. "I just need to do this."

"Really? That's all you have to say?"

"What—what else am I supposed to say?"

Silence loomed between the two of you. He nervously fidgeted with the coat that Stede had lent him to disguise himself as an aristocrat. He couldn't wait to toss it back into Bonnet's arms, but he needed this in order to see you off safely, without any suspicions of what you had been up to in your absence from the life you were born into. He knew full well that you were making a mistake, but that you couldn't be convinced of this. His chest ached upon realizing that you wouldn't change your mind, that he wouldn't be able to change your mind.

"Goodbye, Israel."

Instead of responding, Izzy carefully intertwined his fingers with yours as you were about to step up into the carriage. You froze, yet began to melt into his touch, his warmth. You finally met his eyes just as he let go of you, and before you knew it, you were riding off into the distance, Izzy becoming a small speck fading from your sight. Before he began to fade out of view, you caught a glimpse of him flexing his hand by his side as he watched you depart.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You scoffed as the yellow carnation was pinned to your coat.

"Is something wrong, sir?" one of your dressers inquired, concern washing over his expression.

You almost laughed at such a question, thinking back to all of the late nights you spent studying flowers and their meanings, dying to tell him how this marriage was going to be doomed if you had to wear a yellow carnation. At the last minute, you decided against it, holding your tongue. "Everything is perfect. Thank you."

He nodded, exiting the room as soon as he finished dressing you. You turned toward the mirror, a frown falling onto your lips upon seeing your reflection. You had never dreaded a coming day like you dreaded tomorrow. Before you could internally lament further, a rhythmic knock was heard from your door. Genevieve—future wife. How delightful. It's not like you dreaded it every time she walked into a room, let alone walked over to your side, and it's not like you could tell she dreaded you all the same.

"Yes. Come in," you sighed, plopping down onto your bed. Only, it wouldn't be your bed anymore—you would share it with her, come tomorrow. Your solitude would be interrupted and put on pause forever.

Genevieve quickly rushed in, making sure to shut and lock the door behind her. She fixed her hair a bit as she did so.

"What is it that you want?" you demanded softly, your brows furrowing.

"Hello to you too," she rolled her eyes. "I'm not looking forward to tomorrow—"

"That makes two of us, Genevieve! Finally, something we can agree upon," you laughed, falling backwards onto the bed.

"Will you let me finish?" she crossed her arms without realizing it. Once she had in fact realized, an expression of guilt overcame her as she untwisted herself. A guilt you had never once seen her bear. You sent an apologetic look her way. "I'm not looking forward to tomorrow, nor the rest of our lives together, but I just wanted to say that you are lovely. I don't hate you. I just hate this."

"I don't hate you either," you sat up carefully, your head sort of spinning as you did so. "Far from it. This is just an...unfortunate situation we've found ourselves in."

"Yes," she agreed, carefully placing herself beside you on the edge of the bed. "You know, I would love you, if you were...there's no way to dance around this. I would love you if you were not a man."

"Oh!" you realized, looking over at her, relief crashing over you. "And I would probably love you if you were not a woman, quite honestly."

Genevieve gasped in delight, wrapping her arms around you as she laughed happily. You couldn't help but smile upon her embrace.

"Who is the lucky woman?" you playfully smiled, nudging her shoulder. You watched intently as you watched the pigment of her face turn rosy.

"Well...we've known each other since we were babies," she sighed happily. "But our families have been dear friends since before we were even conceived. It would never work out."

"Take "never" out of your vocabulary this instant!" you exclaimed, shooting up off the bed and onto your two feet.

"What are you planning?" Genevieve tilted her head.

You rushed over to your desk, filing through all that had piled atop it until you found a quill, some ink, and some parchment.

"We can't say you've run away—no, that would give hope that you're still alive and then you would be seeing wanted posters with your face plastered across trees anywhere you go," you sighed. "No. We'll fake your death instead. And you'll run away tonight."

Genevieve bit her lip concernedly. "Are you sure this will work?"

"I'm certain," you assured her. "Are you able to communicate this plan to your love before midnight?"

"Yes, she is coming to the rehearsal dinner tonight and I'm sure we'll sneak off to the gardens," she nodded.

"Wait—is that why you and Alice go there every time—"

Genevieve's hands flew up to her face, covering it as she giggled.

"My goodness!" you couldn't help but share the laughter. "Wow. I am not surprised, honestly."

"What about you?"

"Have I ever snuck off to a garden to—"

"No!" Genevieve rolled her eyes playfully. "Do you love another?"

"I..." you sighed. "Well, it's complicated."

"I've got time."

"I'm kind of upset with him at the moment. And I'm not sure how he feels about me. And I didn't realize I love him until after I left—"

"One thing at a time!" Genevieve tilted her head back to laugh. She place a hand on your shoulder. "Why does he have you upset?

"He held my hand before I left." you admitted, staring out the window as you spoke. Most days, you would have the curtains closed in order to mask the view of the ocean, as it would only bring you feelings of sorrow and regret.

"And you really question how he feels for you?!"

"Well, he's not like us," you frowned. "Believe me, I'm glad he's not. Though I just don't think he understands what a touch of the hand means to someone like me."

"You may come from different worlds with different values and rules, but holding hands is still an expression of affection wherever you come from," Genevieve pointed out.

"He did wear a fancy ensemble just to see me off safely..."

Once again, Genevieve's laughter filled the room. "You are blind!"

"It's just hard to tell with him!" you protested, laughing along with her. "He's hard to read. He's...very easily irritated."

"Is he like that when he's with you?"

"Less so, but yes," you shrugged. "He is a complicated man."

"But his feelings for you are apparent."

"My god, I need to go!"

"Yes, you do!" she encouraged you, patting you on the back.

"I can't right away. I have to get in contact with someone first, and if both you and I are found missing or dead by morning, it's going to be terribly suspicious—"

"You will find a way. I know it," she assured you. "Let's go and oversee the menu for tonight. I'm starved."

You laughed as she jokingly linked arms with you, leading you out into what you were about to leave behind once again.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

All had gone according to plan—you saw Genevieve and Alice off safely, and falsely mourned your fiancée the next day, and for only a few days after before Stede caught wind of your message. As soon as he had, you scurried to the beach, only bothering to bring a few possessions with you. You hadn't even bothered to leave a note—nothing attached you to the aristocratic life anymore. For good this time.

"Captain!" you exclaimed, almost out of breath. "Thank you. I'm so, so sorry."

"No need to apologize to me," Stede assured you warmly. "Believe me, I get it."

"I wish you warned me—"

"Oh, you wouldn't have listened," he teased. "I do regret having done the same thing you had, but if I hadn't, I never would have gotten closure with Mary and bade farewell to that side of me fully. You had to do the same."

"And you and Blackbeard—he forgave you?"

"We're working on it," Stede laughed. "He has, mostly."

"Do you think Izzy will ever forgive me? How is he?"

"Go see for yourself," Stede suggested kindly. "He's on watch tonight. I'll be in my quarters should you need anything at all."

Before you could thank him again, he vanished into the darkness. You smiled, though you could have swore your heart stopped upon the sight of Izzy Hands. You almost choked on the breath you had taken before gaining the courage to waltz over to him. Before you knew it, you were beside him once again. Izzy jumped upon sensing your presence.

"Jesus fuck," Izzy mumbled.

"Hello to you too."

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Oh, Izzy, I'm happy to see you too!"

"I'm serious—what the fuck? You just up and leave and then you're back. Is this some sort of pattern? How long will your stay be this time, perhaps only a day, maybe two—"

Without much thought, you found your fingers laced between his once again. Izzy's train of thought stopped in its tracks and all he could focus on now was the feeling of warmth that had been yanked away from him ever since you left, and that now, it had been restored. A warmth he thought he would never get to experience again, nor experience at all. Whenever he spent countless days and hours reminiscing upon it, he scolded himself, convincing himself that he should be grateful he got to feel that at least once in his life. It was one more time than he ever expected he would feel it. It should have been enough, but it wasn't even close. His heart began beating out of his chest—what was this feeling he couldn't quite place? He knew it all too well and he was tired of pushing it down to drown. Eventually, you softly removed your hand, and you noticed Izzy's hand flex by his side once again.

"Did it mean something to you? When you held my hand before I left."

"I was giving you a boost onto your ride," he shrugged it off, turning away in hopes that the darkness would hide his smile.

"Right," you laughed. "Izzy, seriously. I have been going crazy. Every single day, wondering if you ever understood what such a gesture meant to me or if it meant absolutely nothing to you."

"Of course it meant something to me, dammit," Izzy sighed. "You are such a fool if you thought for a second that it didn't."

You laughed breathlessly, relief overcoming you instantly as you pressed your forehead against his. The way the moonlight shone upon his face made him even more breathtaking, even more earth-shatteringly beautiful. You couldn't believe what your eyes were allowing you to see, and you couldn't believe how warm you'd felt. You almost swore you'd never shiver once again. Your lips softly grazed his forehead before you pressed another kiss upon his cheek, before resting your forehead against his once again, your eyes fluttering shut, butterflies flying around in your stomach as you reached for his hands once again.

"Mark my words. I will never, ever leave again—"

"Shh," Izzy gently whispered against your lips. "We can talk about it later."

"Later," you nodded gently as finally, your lips collided. Your heart did pirouettes as your lips danced against one another's. In the darkness of your vision, you caught a glimpse of your future aboard The Revenge, with Izzy. You had never seen so clearly, until now, that you had finally found the place you were meant to be after denying it for so long. You had found your family and your lover, and they were all gathered in the same place. This was a luxury that would always beat the fancy balls you attended, the gold-laced coats you wore upon your back, the gems you were gifted often. Izzy was your gem, and he made your life shine brighter than it ever had.

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gaybananabread · 7 months

Text

TickleTober Day 29 - Wake Up!

@hexalianrebel-blackfeathers - Definitely 29 (Wake Up!) with Hobie getting tickled awake one too many times by Gwen, Pavitr, and/or Miles. I admit I wouldn't be able to pick just one.

Why choose? I’ve got a feeling it’d probably take all of them to get his ass good, and why not revenge it? Got a little carried away with this one, but I’m pretty happy with how it came out! Used a few of Panda's hcs too! Sorry for the all the lateness recently, it’s been quite the month (O_Ou) Anyhow, I’ve loved writing these spider sillies for you, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Hobie, brief Gwen

Lers: Miles, Gwen, Pavitr

Summary: There’s one golden rule in Hobie’s house boat; don’t wake him up. His friends always break that rule. Deciding to be brats, the spider kids tickle Hobie awake once again. After he recovers, he takes a little revenge.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!

In Hobie's boat, there was a spoken and unspoken rule. One that his friends could never seem to follow, no matter how many times he snipped at them for it.

Don't wake him up.

Every single time he lets one of them crash at his place, he winds up awake way before he wanted to be. Sometimes it's an accident, like a loud sneeze, broken cereal bowl or random floor squeak. Other times, though, it was 100% intentional. Times like that one.

Hobie was peacefully sleeping, draped over his couch. The other three had stayed the night, so he of course offered up his bed. The punk was tall, meaning he needed a bigger bed. The mattress comfortably fit the three of them, and he could live on the couch. He'd rather have his friends be comfy anyway.

He was planning on sleeping in. True, noon is a bit late, but he had goofed around most the night with the other spider kids; couple that with a full day of patrolling, and you'll know that he deserved a nice rest.

Gwen had been the first to wake up, her father's old work schedule sticking with her. It was nearly nine, but still. She quickly got bored, and not wanting to be the only one awake, poked Pav's sides. He slowly woke, grabbing at her hands and giggling.

Giggling... Bingo. It would probably get her killed, but Gwen had a wonderful idea. "Hey Pav, how much do you value your sanity?"

He rubbed his sides, still a bit put off by the light tickling. "Uhum, it depends? What do you have in mind?" The mischievous look on her face, while endearing, sent a small chill down his spine. That look only meant one thing, though it wasn't aimed at him this time.

"I think Hobie deserves a special good morning. For letting us stay over, you know?" Pavitr sighed, knowing exactly what she had in mind. “Are you even a small bit worried about his revenge? He has told us many times over to just let him sleep.” He wanted to add that her idea would only get them “tortured,” but the thought made his cheeks go pink. It wouldn’t be that bad...probably.

The next to get roped into her plan was Miles. He got a much nicer wake-up call; Gwen was a bit too flustered to tickle him awake. She opted for poking his cheek until he groaned. “Mmmph…wah?” The boy slowly sat up, immediately picking up on the playful vibe in the room. Should be fun, whatever it was. “What’re you two planning, and can I get in on it?”

One hushed, giggly conversation later, they had a plan. A very stupid, silly plan that would undoubtedly backfire, but a plan.

Pavitr inched towards the sleeping punk, regretting his offer to pin him. If even one floorboard squeaked, or if Hobie’s spider sense went off too early, he would be a dead man. A giggly dead man, but a dead man nonetheless. Slowly, he raised his wrists, firing off a few webs at Hobie’s long arms. The punk shifted, but other than that, he didn’t react. Whew…

Miles and Gwen, the cowards, crept into the room behind him. Now that Hobie was restrained, they had no chance of being punished for their actions. “Nice job, Pav. You wanna do the honors?” The bubbly teen shook his head, backing away. “Oh no. I did the dirty work. You seal your own fates.”

Chuckling, Miles approached Hobie; he was feeling brave. He could feel the anarchist stir as he straddled his waist. It was clear he didn’t want to get up, regardless of what was happening. Miles placed his hand on Hobie’s stomach, slowly curling his fingers on the taunt skin. Hobie’s eyes fluttered open, a small glare on his face. The teen just smirked. “‘Sup, Hobie.”

The punk growled, tugging at his arms. Gwen giggled, Pavitr moving behind her to avoid his gaze. “You little shits… What’d I say ‘bout waking me up?” The hell…? Oh. They pinned his arms with web fluid. They were double dead now. ��Al’ight, which one a’ yous planned this?”

Pav, ever loyal, pointed to Gwen behind her back. She swatted his hand away, laughing. “Ihit was a group effort! Morning, Hobs!”

He huffed, looking down at Miles’ fingers for just a second. “You lot are dead as doorknobs.” That would have been a believable threat if a smile wasn’t threatening to come out. Just thinking about the slow fingers on his stomach were getting to him, though he’d never admit it.

“Sure, sure. Who’s the one pinned under who, Hobie?” Oh, that cocky little- “Miles, I would not push our luck!” At least Pav had some sense. He would go easy on the teen when he took his revenge. Maybe. “It’s cool. Hobie isn’t going anywhere.”

“When I get outta this, you’re all gonna-” Miles cut him off with wiggling fingers, finally attacking the hero’s midsection. Hobie suppressed a squeal, snapping his mouth shut to block the silly sounds from escaping. He thrashed and tugged at the webs, almost bucking Miles off him. The smug teen yelped, hanging onto the couch for dear life. “Hey guys! Little help?”

Gwen quickly ran over to assist, knowing what would happen if Hobie got free; she wasn’t ready for their fun to end so quickly. Hopping on the couch, she sat on his thighs, back-to-back with Miles. “I gotcha! Here, lemme just-” She skittered her nails along his calf, knowing softer tickles worked better on his legs. The stoic boy cracked, bass-sounding giggles rumbling in his chest. Even his giggling was cool…

“Y-youhuhu aharse! Gehe’ ohohoff!” He tried kicking his legs out, but with Gwen on his thighs, he could only squirm. Miles was wasting no time, digging into his stomach and scribbling on his navel. Gwen, on the other hand, was being torturously gentle. It was a small mercy that Pavitr hadn’t joined them, still hesitant on whether or not the punk was okay with it all.

Why did he have to be so nice? Hobie wouldn’t say he was enjoying the silly interaction. He would never, ever admit say something like that. The teasing teens were just enjoying a small joke with him. A joke they would be paid back for, with interest, but a fun game all the same. Who was he to deny them that small pleasure? “Y-youhu’re wahastin’ prehecious time thehere, Pavi! Ihihi’m gohonna kill all ohof you whehen I gehet loose, mihihight as wehehell have sohome fuhuhun!”

The concerned teen needed no more encouragement. He practically bounced over to where Hobie’s arms were pinned, ready to wreak havoc on his nervous system. Pav knew that Hobie had to be in the right mood for them all to tickle him; thankfully, he was. Ten eager fingers dug into Hobie’s hollows, pulling a squeak from his full lips.

Okay, he was regretting that decision. Hobie tried to curl up, tug his arms free, anything to gain the upper hand on the teens “attacking” him. Pav’s webs held strong though, Gwen’s hold on his legs surprisingly sturdy. While he was completely occupied, Gwen was growing a bit bored with the sort-of-loud laughter. She felt like being a menace; the big reactions were what she was after.

Hobie’s eyes widened when he felt Gwen messing with his boot’s laces. “GW-GWEHEHEN! DOHON’ YOUHU FUHUHUCKIN’ DAHAHARE!” Two pairs of eyes quickly moved to Hobie’s legs, the boys wanting to see what would happen next. Pavitr knew that was a bad spot, but Miles was the most inexperienced with Hobie. It would be funny to see his reaction.

Gwen, knowing he would do anything to get her off, laid across his legs. Hopefully her weight and strength would be enough to keep him down. The anarchist could handle tickling almost anywhere else. That spot, though? He was screwed.

Miles and Pav each stopped their teasing fingers, figuring he could only handle so much at once. The first boot came off, thunking against the wood floor of his house boat. “Gwehendy! Gw-gwehen, c’mon! Enough’s ehenough, mate!” She didn’t share his opinion. One finger dragged up his socked sole, making him muffle a squeal. “Really, Hobs? Plaid socks? And you say I’m a monster.”

“F-fuhuck ohohoff! Miles, Pahav, get her!” He looked to his friends, silently hoping they’d see how evil that was. Both teens gave him an apologetic smile, just holding him down. “Sorry, big man. We won’t let her kill you, promise.” Those little fucking- “GYAAH! GWEHEHENDYHIHI! NAHAHAO!”

Boisterous, loud, frantic laughter flew from his lips, quickly filling the room. He thrashed like a lanky worm on a hook, kicking and twisting in every direction possible. It tickled so fucking much.

Miles was taken aback by the intense reaction. He had never seen Hobie laugh that hard before; it was just one foot, with the sock on. Mental notes were definitely being taken. “Damn Hobie, you’ve got some pipes on you.”

He wanted to flip the boy off, yell at him, do anything other than laugh his ass off; yet he couldn’t. The spot was that bad. Tears of mirth grouped in the corners of his eyes, his dark cheeks stained a bright red. He could barely form a sentence through his laughter, much less escape. Pride crawling in a hole for the moment, Hobie did the one thing he said he’d try his hardest to never do: beg. “PLEHEHEASE! GWEHEN- STOHOP!”

Just like that, the devilish nails left his socked sole. Miles and Pavitr quickly put some distance between themselves and the punk, valuing their lives. Gwen cut the webs on his arms, freeing him to curl up and giggle his head off. And he did just that; his arms wrapped around his midsection, one hand going to rub his poor foot as his knees went up to his chest. Gwen jogged to the kitchen, getting him a glass of water.

When offered the liquid, Hobie sighed, downing the entire cup in seconds. His cheeks had calmed a bit, breathing slowly returning to normal. Miles whispered to Pav, not knowing that Hobie could hear every word. “Never guessed Hobie would be a ticklish-feet guy. Hell, I never thought he’d be that ticklish, period.” The punk groaned, making Pavitr giggle. “Why do you think he wears those big boots? Tickle deterrent.”

Okay, that’s enough of their shit. Hobie stood, one booted and ready to enact his revenge. “I suggest you lot run now.” Miles needed no more warnings, turning invisible and darting away. Pavitr ran for the bedroom, locking himself inside. Gwen tried to do the same, but one of Hobie’s webbed snagged her and brought her into his arms. “Hey there, Gwendy. I fink some payback is in order, yeah?”

Trapped in the backwards hug, Gwen couldn’t do much besides squirm and plead with him. She was regretting not changing out of her thin sleep top. “H-hobie, come ohon! I was just trying to make you smile! It- it worked, didn’t it?” Okay, check on the obvious lies. “Y’know I don’ like liars, Gwenny. Time ta pay your penance.”

He dug into her stomach, paying special attention to the small amount of pudge below her navel. She squealed, her knees quickly buckling as loud laughter poured out of her. She really couldn’t handle the taste of her own medicine. “H-HOHOBIE NOHOHO! IHIT- NOHO FAHAHIR!”

Hobie snorted, loving her immediately crazed reaction. “Not fair? You kiddin’ me? This is 100% fair, ya shit.” He decided to be a bit mean, using both hands to claw at her ticklish tum. Snorts started to break up her laughter, her cheeks growing red as cherries. It was worth waking him, but damn, why did his hands have to be so big?!

A creak came from the floorboards behind him, making the lanky boy pause. He webbed Gwen’s arms to her sides, scanning the room. “You. I’m gonna be back for you.” Hobie turned his full attention to the rest of the room, watching as his old floorboards shifted near the bathroom door. Bingo.

Hobie spent the rest of the afternoon hunting the perpetrators and making sure they learned their lessons. By the end of it, all three superpowered teens had rosy cheeks, dopey smiles and tired eyes. They were currently in a cuddle pile on the couch, the punk being used as a communal pillow. And you know what? He wouldn’t change a damn thing.

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sarahsmi13s · 8 months

Text

This Is How It Feels

whumptober day 5: hostage / kidnapping / held at gunpoint

pairing: beau 'cyclone' simpson x daughter!reader

characters: beau simpson, y/n simpson, reagan simpson, ncis: new orleans team, the squad breifly, hayden and frankie, everett north (oc villian), cameron north (deceased)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, kidnapping, torture, guns, blood, waterboarding, loss of will to live, oc character death, revenge killing, if i missed any please tell me!

word count: ~3.2k

a/n: this is for whumptober! please please please proceed with caution and use discretion, protect your peace

also if you are on the whump taglist but are not familiar with a character, you can skip it will not hurt my feelings!

also also, i do want to apologize for getting this up late got distracted while writing it so i finished it later than i had hoped

whumptober 2023 masterlist

summary: a parent's grief is strong and powerful and it can make you crazy, if the opportunity presents itself to get revenge... you take it

“Simpson!”

You turned at the call of your name, spotting your friends waving to you from the front of a bar. “C’mon! We’re starving!”

Shaking your head, you jogged over. “You two, my goodness,” you laughed before you all walked in. “Are you sure we can even eat here? It’s a bar.” “We’ve eaten at the Hard Deck before,” your friend, Hayden, said as she walked over to a table.

“Okay okay, you have a point there. Just don’t try anything stupid, we’re all repping the school, but I’m also repping the Navy and my dad. So if any of you try to pull-”

“Relax, Simpson, I left my fake ID in California,” Frankie, your best friend said as she nudged you playfully.

“Simpson?”

You looked up to see an older gentleman standing there with an apron around his waist.

“As in Beau Simpson?” He asked, looking over your face quizzically.

You nodded, “Yes sir, he’s my dad.” The man chuckled, “Yeah, I know your dad, grew up down the street from my mama. I’m sure he hasn’t talked about me much, I’m Dwayne Pride – folks around here call me King.”

“Oh! Yeah, Dad did tell me about you,” you said with a smile and stood up to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Dwayne chuckled, “You can call me Dwayne…” He trailed off, brow arched as he silently prompted you to fill in the blank. “Y/N, I’m Y/N.” He smiled and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You sat back down, but looked up at him. “Now, is your mama Reagan Autry?” You nodded, “Sure is!” He chuckles, “I knew they’d last. Anyhow, what can I get y’all to drink?”

Back in North Island, the squad was at Cyclone’s house for a little get together.

“Where’s Y/N?” Mav asked, sipping his drink as Beau sat down. “Oh her culture club is visiting New Orleans for Mardi Gras week,” Reagan said as she sat down on the arm on Beau’s chair.

“Now y’all are from NOLA, right?” Jake asked, relaxing back on the couch. They nodded, “Sure are. High school sweethearts at that.” He nodded, “That’s impressive.” “It is, because of all the hours and missed dates over the years because he’s such a hard worker,” she said, kissing the side of Beau’s head.

“I made up for it though,” he chuckled and squeezed her hip. “Yeah, you d-”

Reagan’s statement was cut off by Beau’s phone ringing.

He furrowed his brow and picked it up, checking the caller ID to see that it was Frankie.

“I better take this, excuse me,” he sat his drink down and stood before going out on the back patio.

He closed the door as he answered, “Frankie? What’s-”

“Y/N’s been taken!”

Beau froze, the breath being pulled from his lungs. “W-what?” Frankie was hyperventilating on the other end, “W-we were get-getting something fr-from the vending machine and-and-and some guy c-came up and t-took her. I tried to he-help b-but she-she told me to run.”

Frankie sobbed, even though he couldn’t see her he knew she was pacing the hotel room

“I-I’m sorry…”

He had to remain calm, knowing that she would freak out if he did. “Frankie, Frankie, you need to breathe sweetheart. I know you’re scared, but I need you to listen to me. There’s a bar, it’s called the Tri-Tone, you need to go there and find Dwayne Pride.”

She sniffed, “W-Why Dwayne Pride?” “He’s an NCIS Agent, he’s the team leader down there and he can help.” She coughed a little, “O-okay…” He took a breath and glanced back inside, seeing his wife leaning on the wall and watching him carefully. “Frankie, I’ll try to be down there soon. Stay safe and be on alert.” “Y-yes sir.”

He hung up and ran a hand over his face before turning to go back inside.

His eyes stayed on the floor as he closed the door behind him and leaned on it. “Beau… Honey, is everything okay? Is Y/N okay?”

The concern in Reagan’s voice grabbed the squad’s attention and they looked over concerned.

“Uh.. She.. She was taken… Y/N and Frankie were getting something from the vending machine.. and–and some guy took her…” Beau looked up and met her eyes, tears filling his, “Someone took her…”

Reagan collapsed, Beau catching her just before she could hit the floor. “No! No! Not her, not our baby girl! Please,” she sobbed, her manicured nails biting at his shoulder as she clung to his shirt.

Beau couldn’t say anything as he held up his wife, trying to be strong for her and not break down in front of the squad.

But it was hard.

I mean of course it was.

You, his baby girl, in the hands of some stranger. It was his worst nightmare come to life.

Cold. Damp. Dark.

Those were the words you would have used to describe the room you were in. The only light on in the room was a yellow bulb swinging in its cage above your head. The chill nipped at your exposed skin, having been stripped of the clothes you were in when you were taken. The room smelled of mildew, and you knew that any water ride you ever went on would remind you of this room.

Your arms were tied above your head, spread in a ‘Y’ to keep you from attempting to free yourself despite being in chains. Your bare feet scraped the rough concrete, your toenail polish being scraped off and leaving red, pink, and white streaks on the floor.

If you had to guess, you’d been there about 12 hours, if not a whole day.

The man that took you had only been in the room one other time and it was to tighten the gag in your mouth. It was a relief that was all, but you had a sinking gut feeling that he had something in store for you.

Your view of the room was awful, you could only see the staircase in front of you, the small window at the top of the wall letting in the moonlight and illuminating the assortment of instruments on the workbench underneath it. If there were worse things behind you, you couldn’t see it. But if what you could see was any indication, there was a reason you were here.

All you could do was pray that Frankie got help and that someone was on their way to save you.

“What do we know?” Dwayne asked as he came in, Beau and Reagan following behind him. “Any updates?”

Chris and Tammy turned, heads tilted in confusion as to why they were there. But they continued when Pride nodded.

“We were just sent this photo anonymously, Patton’s tracing it now.” Sebastian put the photo on the plasma.

The photo was a newspaper being held by cracked manicured nails but the face in the background was too covered to be enhanced effectively.

“However, there’s no way to determine-”

“That’s her,” Reagan spoke up, tears gathering in her eyes. “That’s my baby girl…”

Dwayne looked from her and up to Beau, “Are you sure?” She nodded and held up her own hand, “We got a matching manicure before she left…” Reagan turned and sobbed into Beau’s shoulder.

“She was playing with her brothers when she was young and scraped her left hand on the brick wall, the scar never went away,” Beau added for more confirmation that the hand in the photo did belong to you.

Dwayne nodded, “Then there’s hope, it’s a proof of life photo.”

All the Admiral could do was nod before holding his wife close and silently cry with her.

It had been 5 days since you had been abducted.

5 agonizing days.

Beau was a wreck, he was falling apart with worry. With fear. Anything awful that came to Beau’s mind, it’s what they were doing to you. And it wasn’t getting better.

Because they hadn’t heard anything else from your abductor. Patton’s trace led them to a library computer, where they were able to obtain security footage but no one in the film looked suspicious. All the team could do was tell the library staff to keep a lookout for anything or anyone sketchy.

But other than that, they had nothing.

And they were running out of time.

“Please, stop!” You sobbed as the hot knife ran across your skin.

The past four days have been non-stop pain. Even when you were given a break so your capture could do whatever, you were in pain.

You felt like you had zero hope of getting out, of ever seeing your family again. You could only think of your dad, how he must feel. That he may never see you again, his only daughter, taken from him.

“No! He has to know the pain! The suffering I went through because of him!”

Him.

That was all he ever referred to this mystery man as. Never said a name or anything other than ‘him’ or ‘he’.

“Who?! Who are you talking about?” You screamed before a fist collided with your stomach, the slick slap of his fist on your wet, bloody skin making you sick to your stomach.

Your skin was littered with cuts, all ranging in depths and lengths but none deep enough to be immediately fatal.

No.

It had to be slow.

Whomever this ‘he’ was had to experience the same pain your capture felt.

The man hit you again, smearing your own blood across your face and bruising your swollen skin.

You cried out, begging for him to stop and to let you go as he walked away. Your voice was raw and broken, cracking as you desperately pleaded.

“Let me go! Please! I just wanna go home…”

“My daughter never came home, why should I let his?”

You blinked, not sure what he meant by that.

“I’m sorry about your daughter… I am… but why inflict this on someone else? Why take someone else’s daughter away?”

He didn’t answer you and released the tension on your chains, sending you to your knees harshly and reopening the wounds on your knees.

Grunting, he took long strides back over to you.

You knew what he was after and you tried to crawl away, scraping your palms on the concrete. But you could only crawl so far and so fast.

Your entire body throbbed and your blood made the floor slick. Your capture was faster than you were in your weak state. He grabbed your hair, yanked you back and grabbed you by the throat. Your yelp was cut short as he applied pressure, cutting off your air flow.

Weakly, you tried to claw at him, get him to let go, but he wouldn’t. He squeezed until your eyes rolled back and you passed out.

Beau paced the living room of his childhood home, waiting on Pride to arrive.

Dwayne had called, telling him they needed his help identifying a man and that they had a lead, a promising one.

He wasn’t given any other details, but even that was enough to give him some hope. It had been over a week, so this was gold to them.

The normally calm and collected admiral nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a knock at the door. He raced over and pulled it open, revealing the two agents behind it.

“King, Agent Gregorio,” he greeted, stepping to the side to let them both in. They nodded their thanks to him before they went to the kitchen.

“We’re gonna get right into this, Admiral, you and your wife have waited over a week for something like this,” Tammy said, with sympathy in her voice as she held the evidence bag and a printed photo up.

Dwayne took the evidence bag, “This was in a book returned to the library early this morning.” He turned it to show the folded up notebook paper, the words, “FROM ONE FATHER TO ANOTHER THIS IS HOW IT FEELS” scrawled sloppily across the page in red ink and what looked to be blood droplets and a bloody fingerprint on the paper.

“The blood is fresh, as old as this mornin’...” Beau didn’t have to ask, there was no other person whose blood it could be. But he needed the confirmation, no matter how sick it made him feel. “Is-Is it…” Both agents nodded, Tammy speaking, “Sebastian ran the print… it’s Y/N’s. The blood is her’s as well…”

Beau gripped the back of the chair to keep him from falling, Dwayne coming to his side to help him sit down.

“Do-do you know who sent it?”

Tammy sat the photo down, “We were hoping you might.” He picked up the print and looked at it, recognizing the face instantly. “Yeah, yeah, that’s Everett North… His daughter, Cameron, was under my command a few years ago. She died on a mission.”

They nodded looking at each other, Tammy stepping out to call Chris and tell him to look up Cameron’s name.

Beau runs a hand down his face, “He blames me for Forest’s death and is taking it out on my daughter…”

Everett sat in a chair, fiddling with a hose waiting for you to wake up.

You were laying on the freezing floor, the only warmth being the pool of blood you were laying in. You weren’t sleeping so much as laying unconscious, passing out from the previous day's torment. You knew what today held, the same as yesterday.

That’s what it was, a routine. Torture of all kinds day in and day out. Pain and suffering, that’s all it ever was.

You didn’t want to open your eyes, wake up to another day of this. You were sick, coughing and shivering as the cold basement plus your wet skin plagued you. Your wounds were infected. Your throat was raw from screaming, but Everett managed to pull them from you still.

And you knew what was in store for you today… but keeping your eyes closed would only delay the inevitable.

You cracked your swollen eyes open, weakly trying to push yourself up.

“They’re she is,” he gruffed out before getting up and turning the hose on. He puts his thumb over the opening on the hose, spraying you in the face with the freezing water.

You could only weakly yelp before he was coming over and pulling you to your feet and dragging you to the table on the back wall.

“No, no, no, please, please don’t…” You protest weakly, still trying to fight him.

“Stop fightin’, you know it's no use,” he said coldly before putting you on the table and strapping you down before running the cold water over your cuts and burns.

You whimpered, squirming to get away despite it being futile.

He just laughed before covering your face with a towel and soaking it with the hose.

“Everett North, his daughter was Cameron North. Cameron was killed after her plane crashed and she was taken by the enemy. She was held and tortured for two weeks before her body was dumped back at the wreckage for search and rescue to find,” Gregorio started.

Chris was next, “After seeing her at the Tri-Tone and following her to her hotel, North abducted Y/N. She has been with him for a little over a week. But she isn’t trained like military personnel is, she’s only 18 and what Lieutenant North went through was intense and extensive. We don’t know if Y/N can handle it.”

“Okay, do we know where he lives?”

“Sebastian is–”

“I found it! I’ve got his address!” Sebastian shouted as he stood up.

With that the team jumped up and got their gear.

The moment the towel was yanked off your face you started coughing up the water you inhaled, lifting your head so you don’t choke on it again.

Everett started and ended with the same method. That's how you knew your day was over.

He unstrapped you from the table and watched you weakly roll until you fell onto the ground limply.

“Please… just kill me…”

Your plea was weak as you continued to cough up water. You hated that you had gotten to that point so soon. That you could pull through for just a little longer. But you were in agony, body broken and bloody. You didn’t want your parents to see you like this.

“Oh no no no, your dad has to feel the same pain I felt.”

You look over your shoulder, “M-My dad? What did my dad do to you?” Everett reaches down and grabs your hair, pulling you up to your knees.

“He killed my daughter, I’m only returning the favor,” he hissed, yanking down to put you on your back.

You yelped, your head making contact with the ground. “My dad would never do that!” He kicked you across the face, “Shut up! You don’t know!”

You went to retort but you could hear movement upstairs.

And that’s when you felt your will to live enter your body again.

“Help! I’m down here, help me!”

You could hear the flurry of footsteps to the basement door and Everett pulled you to your feet.

He held most of your weight and pointed a gun at your neck as the door flew open and agents ran down the stairs.

“Everett North! NCIS put your weapon down!”

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot her!”

Everything suddenly became blurry, the voices around you muddling together. You didn’t know exactly what was happening but you could only assume it was shock or your body finally letting go and relaxing because you had a chance of living.

But before you learned the answer, everything went black as a gunshot rang out.

The first thing you noticed as you woke up was the incessant beeping of a heart monitor. Next was the fact that the lights were off. Then it was the weight of a large, calloused hand in yours.

“D-Daddy?” You rasped out, attempting to squeeze his hand.

Beau’s head whipped up, “Oh, baby…” “Daddy, I-I’m so sorry,” you nearly sobbed out. “Shhh shh baby girl, no, it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault.”

All you could do was nod before you started coughing.

He was quick to react, getting you a cup of water and offering it for you to take, afraid that if he tried to help he’d send you into a panic.

You take it and sip it carefully before giving it back to him. He grabbed your hand, “I’m so glad you’re okay, sweetheart. I’m so sorry this happened.” You shake your head, “Not your fault… he-he blamed you… but it’s not your fault.”

He smiled gently at you before pushing hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead and you sent him an identical smile. “What matters is that I’m okay… well that I will be okay.” He nodded and kissed your hand, “Yeah, you’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

taglist: @valmare @fanboyswhore9 @bradleybeachbabe @cassiemitchell @startrekfangirl2233 @horseshoegirl @nightowlalltheway @86laura11 @kmc1989 @mayhemmanaged

hi, if you're seeing this and are currently not on the taglist and would like to be please fill out the taglist form -> whumptober taglist

i can not stress this enough, but whumptober can have some very serious and heavy topics and i want to make sure i am doing my part as an author to prepare my readers for what they are about to experience and that includes not only warnings above but my taglists as well

so if you want to be added check out the masterlist and read that carefully and fill out the form -> whumptober 2023

#vinny's whumptober #whumptober 2023 #ailesswhumptober2023 #whumptober day 5 #vinny's rainy day records #top gun maverick #ncis/topgun #beau cyclone simpson #beau simpson #beau simpson x daughter!reader #top gun maverick whump #cyclone top gun #whump #angst #sarahsmi13s

69 notes · View notes

cannibalovers · 3 months

Text

Hannibal song of the day: song no. 8

a bit about the song:

"Parasite"(released in 2010) is a song by How To Destroy Angels(HTDA), a music project by Trent Reznor(NIN) featuring his wife, Mariqueen Maandig Reznor, Atticus Ross and Rob Sheridan. His wife has taken over his usual lead vocalist position, with him taking on the background vocals, although in this song, both of them sing all the lines are the same time (although Mariqueen's voice is still quite dominant). The song fits the experimental, eletronica and post-industrial genres, beginning with a building guitar noise, thick drums soon come in, followed by more discordant guitar screeches. All the guitars soon stop and the drums and a synth bass are left to play behind Trent Reznor's and Mariqueen Maandig Reznor's low, smooth vocals and dominant drums, with the screechy, haunting guitars coming back in later. The lyrics are quite intimate, presenting two subjects talking, maybe asking each other questions about each other and answering them. They are slowly becoming each other, infecting each other, like parasites.

ngl it was hard to find anything about the set meaning, only everything about Trent's style and how he has mixed it with his wife and others, producing this album (so basically about the sound and production) so i guess this will be fully just my interpretation. very hannigram, once again, i have some other songs that remind me of other characters and stuff im gonna have to do smth about those too at some point lol

and again quite short, the song is very instrumental and feel based in my opinion but anyhow

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Verse 1

"Yes, I can feel you

Yes, I believe

Yes, you can have me

Yes, I can breathe

Parasite

Yes, now I need you

Yes, you are mine

Yes, you have shown me

Yes, you define

Parasite"

through the whole song, the lines are sung at the same time, creating a feeling of unity and harmony, which the subjects seem to be agreeing to feel. They both feel and need each other, they believe in each other, they agree to devotion to each other and admitting how they have changed after being with each other, they let each other be dependent on one another - it seems like they're merging, like parasites. Maybe they chose the word parasite due to it's slightly negative connotations, maybe that's how the rest of the world sees them, infecting, controversial and desperate and obsessive with their love or unrightous and incorrect - considering that this is most likely based on Mariqueen and Trent, they have rattled the world a bit, Trent being the frontman of a harsh rock band known for its depressing and angry themes and involvement in drugs, Nine Inch Nails and Mariqueen bit less rattling, having been a former vocalist of West Indian Girls and a Playboy model for one of their magazines, but them two together - that have rattled the world, receiving some negative and racist reaction after finding out about the two getting married, even producing a song called "The Space In Between" which talks about their relationship and how the media has been treating them.

for hannigram, these lyrics remind me of them due to this, how they view unity and courtship. They seem to infect each other like parasites - they are quite dangerous to each other and to others around them. Hannibal seems to be like a parasite, he latched himself into Will and since then, hasn't let go of the idea that Will should be his and like him, trying to turn Will into him and understand him as he slowly feeds off of Will's sanity. Will recognises that after realising that Hannibal framed him for his own murders and tries to get revenge, letting Hannibal indulge in him and try to pretend to become Hannibal to try and frame him too, but this ends up with them slowly become more and more dependent on each other, to the point where they can't deny it anymore. It wasn't Will's intention at first, but as time passed by, they both have willingly began to accept each other and Will finally let Hannibal in. Both feel and need each other, they believe in each other, they agree to devotion to each other and admit to how they have changed each other.

in conclusion this is their song fr (<- what i say about every song i ever hear)

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additional notes:

i've learned whilst researching for this that another song by htda, "the space in between" was actually used in a promo for hannibal holy shit i have this song in my playlist i am so writing about that one later

i have so many songs that technically apply for season 3 or where i could mention s3 and its driving me insane omfg but anyhow

i recommend the whole self-titled ep by them, it is very good

anyway hope you enjoyed<3

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angstics · 3 months

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What are your thoughts on the original track order for Revenge? (Included on the sheet with the first vinyl press, google it for a link)

I think it's a very interesting different pacing. Also the way I promise it's the last time was meant to end the record with a spoken outro by DARYL PALUMBO where the character kills himself? we need the revenge out takes someday.

(link from anon)

+ some extra info i found on reddit (drummer matt)

the original tracklist: to the end, give em hell, venom, ghost of you, never told you, hang em high, prison, cemetery drive, catholics (interlude?), helena, fashion statement, i promise it's the last time (not okay)

before getting into ur initial question, i would really really really (pretty please?) love revenge demos for its 20th birthday. and bury me studio or live release... im living in fantasy world considering what reprise did for bullets20 🤦‍♀️

anyhow, this is an interesting thing to think about. i dont really care for the 1000 evil men story. im also really bad at imagining alternatives to finished products. but i love the thematic narrative of three cheers. talked about the significance of helena as opener here. to the end as opener is actually really fun in setting up a gothic setting for the album -- the first line setting place ("he calls the mansion-") rather than time ("long ago-"). the 1-2-3 punch of helena -> fashion -> not okay is very good. esp if not okay was at some point more macabre. but you miss on the circulatory of never told you with both demo lovers and helena! "im trying" into "i tried" -- and "we'll meet again when both our car collide" into "can i meet you alone".

but actually ive been thinking about the motif of photographs in not okay, never told you, and to the end. "photographs your boyfriend took", "the photograph that i gave you" and "she keeps a picture of the body she lends" -- so there's a narrative link here... that i dont know the significance of lol.... something about fame and body image and trust. big theme in three cheers. kind of like "we'll meet again", though it isnt very macabre, gothic, or begrieved.

tbh maybe reprise shouldve stepped in to throw out morris in hang em high too. he distracts meeee... idk if spoken word fits into an album so quick and killer. wouldve had to be really good. cant find a source of the spoken work being a suicide, but i know that gerard only came up with the "suicide ending" after the album was released

thanks for the ask!!

#ask #mcr #mcr music analysis

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hb-writes · 6 months

Text

The Thick of It

Summary: Charlie Specter is in the midst of an absolutely terrific new fantasy series and she won't let anything get in the way of devouring it...well, with some minor exceptions such as the minimally required amount of sleep to stay functioning and revenge against her cold-handed brother.

Prompt (from anon): "Your hands are cold" with Charlie and Harvey <3

Characters: Harvey Specter & Charlie Specter

Warnings: some allusion to cursing, but nothing really. Pretty in love with this one, actually.

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

With a little more than two hundred pages left to the third book in her new favorite series, Charlie hadn’t found much reason to stop reading the night before. She was exhausted from a long week at school and she had a paper due on Monday that probably should have taken at least slight precedence, but it was a weekend. Time to let loose. Time for a little self care.

That’s what she had told Harvey anyway when he returned from his date to find Charlie there on the couch in her robe and three blankets. He had scoffed at her excuse and her excessive blankets—it was a little cold out, the temperatures in the city plummeting a bit prematurely considering it was only October—but he had shifted the thermostat by a few degrees anyhow. Better to do that than to listen to her complain all weekend.

Because Charlie had made it clear that she had no interest in leaving the house, not with the temperature where it was and the rain that was forecasted, and not considering she was in the grip of those books he had barely seen her without over the last few weeks.

He’d amassed nothing from the titles. If someone had asked, he’d have told them his sister was reading something called The Royal House of Stone & Fire & Snowfall…or something like that. He didn’t have a clue what it was, but Charlie had told him they were fantasy novels, leaving it at that.

Falling asleep when she did, sprawled on the couch at 4:37 am, with the apartment dim and just one little lamp left on to illuminate the words on the page…well, that had been an accident. Charlie hadn’t meant to fall asleep, especially seeing as she’d made it so far—only two chapters left in the book.

She wasn’t sure how she had even left things off where she did. She’d always had the distinct feeling that by setting down a book in the thick of it, she was just leaving the characters she had come to love steeped in crisis, leaving them suspended there in whatever terrible bit of plot the author had written them into. And Charlie had left her new favorite characters in something akin to hell since falling asleep nearly two hours before.

She fell asleep with the sounds of a fictional battle echoing in her mind, but the apartment had been still and silent when she awoke. Still and silent and…empty? Some part of her was disappointed for giving in to her mortal needs not finishing the book already, but another distinct part of her thought maybe falling asleep had been a blessed thing seeing as Harvey was already gone, a note left on the kitchen counter explaining that he’d gone out for a run. A run that he no doubt would have dragged Charlie out on if she was awake when he’d come through. It sounded like a particularly unsavory type of hell to her—running in the freezing cold, gray skies threatening rain and preventing the sun from making any sort of noticeable rise.

Truth be told, Charlie was a little surprised Harvey hadn’t tried to wake her, hadn’t tried to convince her to join, but considering how out of it she felt now, barely functioning as she went about starting the coffee maker, Charlie thought it possible that her brother did try to wake her before giving up and determining her to be a lost cause.

The coffee maker began brewing and Charlie shuffled back across the room, to the couch and her book, burrowing back beneath the covers and reclaiming the warmth she’d left there. She’d be done with this book within the hour and she was glad that she had the next one beside her on the coffee table…glad she’d thought ahead to get it out of the library before the weekend, but for now…Charlie dove back into battle, rejoining her friends in the thick of it.

“Do I need to get your damned ears checked?”

Charlie didn’t even remember hearing her brother come in though Harvey’s tone suggested there’d been at least a few other questions preceding that one. Charlie thought she might have even heard a whisper of those questions, but it was hard to tell. If anything, Harvey’s voice had been on the distant periphery of Charlie’s awareness almost like the ghost of an echo or a calling from another world entirely because as far as she could tell, she wasn’t really here. Not in New York. Not in their penthouse. Not on the couch in her pajamas. Certainly not in the same space and time as her brother.

“Huh?” she asked, not bothering to pull her eyes away from the book. She didn’t need her eyes to hear him. Or her focus. And if she did those things, whatever Harvey had to say was going to have to wait because Charlie was busy, and about 97% elsewhere, with only a handful of pages left to go.

She jumped as Harvey’s hand, the one that was indeed located in the very real, very cold world that was New York, clasped down on the exposed skin at the back of her neck. Reconciling very quickly with the concepts of time and space and temperature, Charlie scrambled to push him away, still holding the book open with one hand as she grabbed at his arm.

“Stop it, Harvey. Your hands are cold!”

Harvey chuckled as Charlie struggled, part of his savoring the warmth because his fingers were, in fact, frozen. “Are they?” he asked, releasing his grip only to settle the back of his chilled hand against her cheek.

“Yes!” She hissed, lifting the book and using it to smack his arm. “Do it again and I’ll break your fingers.”

Harvey pulled his hand away, but Charlie still hit him again for good measure, finding she rather enjoyed the resounding thump the paperback made upon contact even if the deviation was keeping her from finishing the story.

Harvey raised an eyebrow and Charlie stilled, arm mid-swing. “You hit me with that book again and I’m chucking the goddamned thing off the balcony.”

“I’m almost done with it so whatever,” Charlie lowered her arm, finding her page once again as she settled back into the couch. “Give me three minutes to finish reading and maybe I’ll take a whack at your head next time.”

She was about to start reading again, but Charlie turned to Harvey instead, the sickly-sweet, smug smile she’d intended on giving him falling from her face as Harvey held up the next book in the series after he snatched it from the coffee table.

“Yeah, and what about this one?”

Charlie set her current book down, readying herself to stand. “You wouldn’t dare. Give it back or—” Harvey shrugged, fitting the book under his arm and Charlie growled.

“Harvey, give it back!”

She reached out for the book, leaning over the back of the couch even as Harvey took a step back.

“How about you tone down the grumpy and take a nap, and I’ll think about it?”

Charlie huffed, turning away from him to resettle amongst her blankets and her book. “You’re a real jerk, you know that? A real ass—”

Charlie shouted, quickly ducking down under the covers after the book slammed against the back of her head, the thump no longer quite as satisfying when it was her body it was making contact with. She had half a mind to go after him again, to start an all out war if that’s what he wanted, but it was a fleeting thought as she weighed her options.

As she weighed the book in her hands and recalled that not only did Harvey have a fair bit of weight and height and strength up on her, but he also held the fourth book in the series in his hands, the longest and thickest book of the series so far.

“Alright, alright. Truce, please,” she called out from beneath the blankets, already deciding that although she would let it go for now, Charlie would get her brother back later, whenever she finally got to the sixth book and it’s impressive 1067 pages…a verifiable tome that she had already confirmed was only available in hardcover format at the local library.

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

#suits #suits tv #suits usa #suits netflix #harvey specter #harvey specter fanfiction #charlie specter #lines to live by #halloween prompts 2023 #cleaning out my inbox december

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sothischickshe · 5 months

Note

Up for a discussion question? If we’d gotten a full season three as intended, what would you have expected/liked to see from Beth and Rio?

Hey sweetie, I'm always up for a discussion question danke 🙇🏼‍♀️🥰❤️

I stand by what I said once re what i'd've liked to see from s3, particularly: the full s3 😭😭, whatever their vision for that was, so I could judge it on its own merits!! It remains a very romantic concept to me, bc while I certainly have my issues with other plots in s3 (terrible therapist, donor family, here's a hitman let's give him all our money woo, dean's salesman shenanigans & boring affair with gale etc) the angsty messy sexy brio scenes were soooo delicious 🥺🖤 and then while I understand s4 had a lot to reset from/deal with, s4 (b)rio frequently doesn't make all that much sense to me 🤷🏼‍♀️

but also! i finally started posting a fic which is kinda about that? (rio pov, post s3, eventually very long etc). so im gonna say a lil more (thus warning: minor fic spoilers) behind the cut...

....but this thing keeps moving where i put the readmore?!

how do u make a website this bad. um anyhow

pay-off to the boring dean/gale stuff!! helllooooo beth and dean both sleeping with their bosses?! hilarity goldmine no?!

MORE RHEA. like you can't just introduce a character beth's having a quasi-romance with & rio's presumably had an actual one with, who's seen them both at their softest and uncovered worstnesses, and is surely best placed to comment on say their similarities and then do nothing with it???

beth and rio yelling at each other. surely this was coming??

not ending on that next time empty the clip line (which i don't like) / wrapping up the hitman plot

given the (sudden!) arrival of nick in s4 and depressing rio backstory, i'd've loved some suggestion that rio was like consciously paralleling nick & beth's betrayals of him & considering them as similar and/or that his mentoring of beth had something to do with even the vaguest of plans to extricate himself from nick (plus Revenge) etc

like. acknowledgment and processing of trauma???

weird angsty sex

more brio bar scenes, more brio drinking, more brio laughing (at each other)

if not the furniture return, then at least it being more a topic of conversation...like how wasnt it? beth pitching ideas for earning the return (at least of her kids' stuff??) or rio holding it over her head or at least him going on abt how much he's enjoying her lamps or something!

death divorce. the show held this over our head for far too long. i also like this being decoupled from the brio stuff as much as plausible. beth needs to divorce dean not bc she's interested in rio but bc dean is the worst.

plenty of boland bubbles, that spot lasted abt 0.4 seconds after we sat through all that dean nonsense... we should have at least got rio testing out an empty hot tub cos he doesnt know theyre supposed to have water in or something.

inordinate amounts of brio bickering

ending of hitman/plot consciously paralleling s1 and 2 finales, even if it wasn't literally beth + rio + some man + a gun (ideally with some rationale as to how rio finds said hitman, whether or not that was a reveal of his magical powers)

Incentive Convo Callbacks (also rio vs sushi like a million more times, pls)

scars.

#ty for asking! <3 <3 <3 <3 #nbc good girls #tv #fanfiction #i 4got i have to go find a compooter to edit a half saved draft ask answer...tumblo y r u like this waaah

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beardedmrbean · 5 months

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You that comic that said “white people invented slavery!” Is hilarious as Sony’s women king expose black people like me to the Dahomey, who practices were so inhuman any American slave owner would go “HOLY SHIT!” and made me to nearly have a mental breakdown after learning how the slave trade really went

As the movie is the equivalent of Hindus lionizing the Mughals, Koreans lionizing unit 731, or in some crazy ass future, Jews lionizing the Nazis.

I really need to make that “False Eden” book as far too many Black Americans think Africa was a paradise because the Europeans came.

Every culture created slavery independent of each other, so various European tribes and confederacies created slavery the same that various African tribes and confederacies did, same with Asia and both Americas, Australia, and most if not all of the islands that have been populated.

I don't think penguins do slavery so I think Antartica is ok, but

The claim that it was just black people enslaved, or that they had it the worst is ridiculous as well.

Go watch Spartacus, it's fiction but accurate as well when it comes to things like chaining galley slaves to the boat when it's battle time so they can't flee or attack their masters and will die chained to their seats if the galley sinks.,

Ottomans are a weird situation there, since some slaves managed to reach lofty heights in society, but you were still property and the jannisaries that managed to get status were also young men who had been kidnapped from Christian families at a a incredibly young age, forcibly converted to islam and brainwashed to have a fanatical devotion to whomever the sitting sultan was at the time.

I say weird because those existed, but all the other ones did too so there was regular chattel slavery, agricultural, those galley ones for their boats, and sexual slavery as well.

All through Africa there was much of the same, POW's had whatever freedom they had stripped away and became property of whomever the person in charge was whatever their title.

Mauritania that I mentioned last night, they had slavery since time immemorial, and there's families that could probably trace their lineage back dozens of generations while also tracing the lineage of the family that owned them through those generations.

Nobody's hands are clean, not if we're going to hold them guilty of the sins of their forefathers at least.

Sooner people figure that out and focus on their future instead of a past they never even lived the sooner things can move forward at a accelerated rate.

Wonder how much more we could accomplish as a species if we stopped blaming people for what someone else did 200 years ago and instead focused on now.

Doesn't mean we can't remember that bad things happened, just have to remember to blame the people that did it and make sure the sins of the past aren't repeated is all, can't get revenge on the dead anyhow.

They tried that with at least one Pope and Cromwell, neither of whom knew it happened.

#anonymous

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luckystarchild · 4 months

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Seriously I agree with everything you said about yukina, there are times where yukina was simply used as a mere plot device than an actual character especially in the DT for kuwabara's victory against rishou (like if yukina wasn't there the urameshi team would've lost the tournament) and the scene where she give away her tear gem to hiei just to give him some kind of closure and more tragic depth to his character arc. Honestly I hate the way how togashi keep insisting that yukina is a damsel in distress who needs protection at all costs even if she travelled all the way to the dark tournament by herself. We don't know how she ended up in the dark tournament or how she knew that kuwabara and his friends are participating in it, i wonder if togashi is trying to keep it as a mystery or simply didn't bother to come up with an explanation?! We never really get to see yukina actually "search for her brother" while we got an entire two shots arc of hiei desperately searching for his sister. Some people might argue that she didn't search for her brother because she knew it was hiei but still her showing some concern or inner thoughts about her brother while searching for him would've been cool imo. Anyhow her revenge against family talk with hiei was also left behind so that kuwabara could have his happily ever after with yukina. Tbh I never really enjoyed the part where yukina conveniently ends up living with the kuwabaras, being completely dependant on them for her survival in the human world. Sorry for this huge rant I'm just really frustrated about yukina's role in yyh.

I share your feelings!

YYH is my favorite manga of all time, but in its treatment of women, it's hardly perfect.

TBH, I think many of the issue have to do with the landscape of shonen manga, especially what's published in JUMP and the role story editors play in shaping a manga. The transition from supernatural mystery to battle manga is smooth enough, but I've always wondered if we would've gotten a remarkably different series had Togashi not been as eager to fit within JUMP's ecosystem.

Since JUMP is a magazine for boys, I think many female characters get shuffled to the backseat of their stories so the male characters can have the spotlight. And Yukina, with all her missed opportunities, feels like one of them.

#yu yu hakusho #yyh #yukina

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