#Cod Laswell x fem reader

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~4.6k

summary: child soldier joins task force 141 part THREE; part two, part one; part four

warnings: brief flashback, blood, violence, nightmares

a/n: I'm genuinenly happy how well this is going so far, I'm going to update the parts a bit more slowly for now, but I'm pretty sure I won't take too long on this. Probably. Enjoy!

This time, Ghost is leading the training for today. That just means they're no fun games like last time with Price, not that you were looking forward to it. Starting at the shooting range is like a warm-up for you, landing all shots while doing everything casually. Your reload is fast and precise, your aim is almost always perfect, and your technique couldn't be more clean.

Sparring was similar to the last time, but now you're paired up with Soap. You're both getting in your stance, knees slightly bent, one leg forward, and abdominal muscles tense. Both ready to fight, but this time without any weapons. Ghost specifically told him to strike first, wanting to see how long you can last or even win against Soap. It shouldn't be a big deal for you, even though he is quite a big guy, full of muscle, and slightly taller than you. You've mostly had opponents your size or bigger in field, and you never really had a problem winning or lasting long. Well, besides one person back in camp.

Soap strikes you first with a sharp jab to your side, but you dodge it quickly, hitting him back. You focus on your technique instead of winning, wanting to be strong against him. He seems to be focussing more on his technique as well, noticing how fast he works and his reflexes are. Your fighting styles are similar; the only difference is how you two use it in practice. While he's using more strength and power, you're trying to be quicker than your opponent and trick them.

You kick against his knee, and land some hits against his weak points, it's hard for him to stay balanced or focused. He huffs and stumbles back, only to rush to you quickly and try to tackle you down. With his amount of strength, it's difficult to actually stop him or dodge, having to think quickly. With a small grunt, however, you're down, with him trying to keep you like that. Your heartbeat speeds up and your eyes widen, your breath hitching in your throat. The position you're in is too familiar; trying to get out of it as quickly as you can. Soap is oblivious, just training with you and having tackled you down, keeping you pinned on the mat. Your brain is quick to handle, pulling out the same moves you did in camp. Soap doesn't even realise he's getting into a headlock by you at first. His back on the mat with your arm holding him tight around his neck, feeling how you're only squeezing him more and more with your bicep. He grips your arm and tries to relax, not wanting to get hurt. Luckily, that's all it takes for you to snap back to reality and let go. You sigh out heavily and stand back up, calming down.

»Ye alright?« He asks you even though he should be the one getting checked up on. You give him a weary nod, clearing your throat.

»Yeah, sorry about that.«

You mumble back and focus on not thinking back to the time in camp. It's almost confusing you now, how similar and suffocating it felt. But you know better than to think back to a time like that and distract yourself in training. Soap tilts his head with a confused gaze.

»What do ye mean? The headlock? Nah, that was sick.«

He encourages you with a thumbs up. You nod, unsure of what to say back. The training continues with trembling hands and more focussing on your breathing than technique, feeling on edge the entire time, thanks to the small trigger. Of course, no one has noticed these signs from you, or at least no one has said anything about it. On the other hand, you're glad no one has noticed your trembling hands and more or less distracted mind during the time.

Once it's over, you're headed to the showers and straight back to your bunk. That was more off-putting now that you're alone in your small room, thinking quietly to yourself about what had happened. You shouldn't feel this way, having thought you were over it a long time ago. Maybe it was something else that triggered you, or maybe you really aren't over it yet. Getting in a pin on the ground was one thing your past rival used on you as much as he could. You don't know the real reason behind his technique, but all you do know is how weird and creepy it felt like.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips once more, slumping down on your bed with no energy. Today's training was longer but not as exhausting as the one at camp. But you still feel very tired for no reason. You close your eyes and try to shut your brain off; instead, a lot of thoughts appear about your rival and that god awful training. You don't know why he's all of a sudden back in your mind. You don't know why you're thinking so much about it, and you don't know why you can't stop thinking about him. He was such an annoying and unpleasant person that you tried so hard to forget about, yet he can't seem to give you peace. Even when you're finally away from him.

After spending most of your day inside your bunk, trying to get your mind off old memories, it's time to actually try and do something about it. With slow steps, you make your way back to the training hall. It's dark out already, forcing you to walk cautiously around and not wake anyone. Eventually, you made it in and looked around for a punching bag… and something to wrap your knuckles with. You don't want to injure yourself after all.

It's dimly lit in the training hall, making it seem more cosy and relaxing. Especially with no one inside beside you. There are five punching bags to use in a row, but unfortunately no bandages or gloves for your hands. It is what it is, and you walk up to one of these punching bags to release some tension and stress. After getting into the stance, you land a few softer punches to get used to the feeling again. Maybe it's because you're alone in here, but it already seems too loud for you. Checking behind you, the double door is closed, so there's no way someone could hear you from their bunk.

You start again, using proper technique, and gradually become faster and put more strength into your punches. The punching bag suffers through your hard punches, taking it like a champ, all the while your mind zones out. Zoned out, all you can think about is your past rival back at camp. You don't remember his name; didn't even bother asking for it back then. But you do remember how creepy and annoying he used to be to you, for no reason. And that's enough for your punches to grow heavier and even quicker, the punching sounds are growing louder through the hall. Maybe your knuckles are hurting at this point, but you don't care. That bastard had no reason to treat you like that, leaving you confused, hurt, and probably traumatized.

It's only then when a gruff voice calls out through the hall, speaking to no one other than you.

»Didn't you have enough training for today?«

You stop in your tracks and turn around, seeing that familiar shadow again. Ghost.

Glancing down at your knuckles, you notice how red they look just from how hard you've been punching that bag for… how long already? You didn't keep track, but it seems like more than ten minutes, judging from your aching knuckles. Ghost has crossed his arms, glaring at you with tired eyes.

»Go back to bed, 's way too late for this.« He adds with a more weary tone and leaves no room for arguments, cocking his head slightly to the side. You sigh out rather disappointed, knowing you shouldn't talk back, but you also can't stop just now.

»But I just started...« You mumble and trail off at the end, already smelling how annoyed he is with you. He shakes his head, being as serious as before.

»I won't tell you again. Don't overwork yourself and go to sleep. Let your body rest. We've got trainin' tomorrow, too.« Ghost is not joking with you, probably being more stern than he needs to be. But he knows better than to let you work too much or stress over something for no reason. In his eyes, you're just a poor child who happens to have this fate and is forced to get along with it on your own. Too much alike himself. Eventually, your shoulders drop in defeat, and you nod in understanding.

»Fine. Sorry about that.« He doesn't respond back and just leaves, most likely going back to sleep, too. After considering his words and contemplating if you should just stay longer in here, you walk back to your own bunk like promised and fall against your bed. It's comfortable and quiet, dark as well.

But you notice a small med kit on your night stand, bandages and a cream for sore muscles beside it. You blink, thinking it's just your sleep catching up on you, but there is indeed stuff for you on that small table. Eventually, you apply the cream on your red knuckles and wrap them up, laying back on your bed. Maybe it really is just a normal base and rather peaceful. Maybe you could get used to this some time.

Having no energy to think any more about that, you fall asleep quite quickly this time. Even if you fell asleep quickly, it wasn’t a good sleep. A nightmare plagued you, most likely because of the trigger from earlier. A grey room with no windows, similar to your old training room in camp, several people around you, and loud noises everywhere. It’s incoherent nonsense, but you still understand everything clearly. The room is cold and rather dark for some reason; it all seems too much, but there’s nothing at the same time. Your body feels numb, and you’re wearing your bandages around your knuckles, some dried blood decorating the usual whiteness of the material. You notice it too late, but Mike has you on the ground already. The ground is even colder against your back, and you can’t do anything but lay and watch. He’s on top, which he often tried to do on you, and has your wrists and legs pinned tightly beside you.

Everything is so loud but also so quiet, it makes your ears ring. There’s a horrible stench of blood and sweat around the air, which makes it hard to stay still and fight back. Your moves are too slow, having no other choice but to stay like this. Your rival, Mike, slashes quickly through your throat, staying on top in a mocking way. It’s hard to breathe, you’re chocking on your own blood and squirming under him helplessly. The whole dream feels like a flashback, but worse. Too quick, too real.

You don’t remember much of what happened next, because the next thing you know is how you’re trying to control your breath and get rid of the sickening feeling from the nightmare. It’s not unusual you get dreams like this, but never to such an extent of being unable to breathe normally.

The digital clock on your nightstand tells you it’s time to get ready for the day. You couldn’t be more thankful for Ghost to lay the training into early afternoon instead of early morning. Because you know they’d notice if you showed up like this to the hall. Still on edge and tired, feeling as bad as you look right now. You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s normal to feel like this, hoping it’ll pass soon. Deciding to distract your mind, you go out to the park with your small sketchbook in hand. Maybe you will feel better in the fresh air while sketching something down that comes to mind.

But, of course, you never have a few minutes to yourself as a familiar figure comes by and stops in front of you.

»Drawing?« Gaz seems curious and tries to secretly subtly into your sketchbook.

»Sketching.«

»Ah. What exactly?« He carefully asks, knowing not to disturb a teenage girl when they seem peaceful at the moment. Gaz has past experience from his own family and friends, knowing how moody some are.

You hesitate to show him what exactly you’re drawing, and you just shrug in response.

»Just… anything.« That was a boring response to anyone, and he still wasn’t done disturbing your peace. He politely asks if he can sit by you for a while, sitting down on the same bench after you accept his kind offer. Gaz isn’t one to pry or mind someone else’s business, but today he’s really curious. Probably, because it’s been three days since you’ve been here and no one got to know you properly. Maybe they should work on their social skills instead.

»You sketch often?« Finally, he’s asking you about your hobbies. And finally, a normal question after years.

»From time to time.« That’s not true, you’ve been drawing since you remember and ever since. Drawing to kill time? Three pages full with doodles. Sketching something pretty? Two pages full with only that beautiful thing you saw earlier. Filling some pages to get rid of the anxiety? Done.

Gaz doesn’t quite believe your answer as well, noticing there’s only three pages left in there. Instead of prying more into it, he changes the topic slightly.

»So, what’re you drawing then? People?«

Without another word, you hand him your sketchbook, deciding it’s easier and probably faster this way. He takes it wordlessly and flips through the pages carefully. His eyes study the way you drew random people and objects, not having expected how good you’re at this. He glances at you before flipping another page, recognising the person almost immediately.

»Soap? You drew Soap?« You look down to his hands as he’s still holding it, seeing he found the first sketch of his teammate.

»I guess,« There’s no way out of this now, seeing he’s actually quite amused about it, »There’s more, actually.«

His smile widens, not having expected to see realistic drawings of his teammate. And there’s more? Today couldn’t get any better.

»More? You like drawing him or somethin’?« Gaz stops talking once he goes some pages forward, seeing some doodles of himself and Price. Even if it’s just some sketches or doodles, they look surprisingly well-made and semi-realistic. He looks towards you again, holding up that book of yours slightly.

»Can you draw Soap with a moustache?« Out of all questions he could’ve asked, he chose this one. Always picking the important ones. You need a full second to process what he’s asking before you find yourself speechless.

»What do I get for it in return?« Now, he’s the one without words. He considers for a moment as he tilts his head to the side.

»Depends on how well you draw.«

It’s then, when he can’t take himself seriously and chuckles.

»All jokes, I’ll get you a new sketchbook. Seems like this won’t do in a while.«

That’s a deal well struck with him. You can’t deny such an offer and start scribbling down a rough sketch of Soap, added with a moustache. Gaz watches the lines on the blank paper slowly resemble his teammate, grinning at the extra facial hair above his lip. It’s a sight to behold, being glad he could make someone draw a silly pic of this even more goofier SAS soldier.

Once you’re done, you show the page fully to him, and he can’t help but laugh at the drawing. Not because it’s ugly, but because it looks so much like him, and a moustache looks rather silly on his face.

»We gotta show it to him later.« You don’t see why not and nod, already seeing how absurd the situation will be later on.

After the more eventful interaction, it’s time for the usual training. This time, there wasn’t any difference in sparring, only feeling more tired than usual because of the nightmare last night. All you four did, was practice in the shooting range and go about sparring with Soap, leading with him improving your technique and showing some tricks. Of course, like no other time, you all went to the mess hall to eat dinner. You would have forgotten about the silly sketch of Soap if Gaz hadn’t reminded you beforehand to bring it over for dinner.

Sitting in front of the two teammates, Soap is laughing so hard that he’s clutching to his stomach. The drawing was really worth it, being amused at the sight in front of you. At least now, you could eat in peace without one particular person trying to get to know you better.

A familiar shadow appears in the corner of your eye, and you instinctively glance over. Ghost is approaching the table… with a Capri Sun? You look over once again, needing to take a double take to reassure yourself of what you’re seeing. And right, there he was, the scary-looking goth with a Capri Sun in hand.

It’s then that Soap also notices Ghost. Eventually, he stays standing next to the table and places the smaller but sweet drink on the table.

»Oi, what’s that?« The still amused scot questions him, as confused as you and Gaz. Ghost clarifies, finally not being an intimidating tree.

»Shitbox got me this instead of wa’er. Some of you can have it.«

Oh, so he can’t deal with a vending machine. If he weren’t your lieutenant, you would have made fun of him. Gaz nods and looks over to you after noticing you shift in your seat slightly. To him, it’s clear who wants it most. He wasn’t the only one noticing it, and Ghost shifts the drink towards you, mentioning it to you. Or maybe he just doesn’t think the two blokes deserve such a sweet drink and let’s you have it instead.

»You can have it.«

He grumbles before leaving for wherever he needs to go. It’s a bit weird to just receive something like this for no reason, especially from someone like Ghost. Glancing around, the two others seem normal about it, or they’re just good at hiding their real surprise. Eventually, you take the Capri Sun and draw in the orange straw into the packet. Oh, it’s cherry-flavoured. Your favourite.

Even when you thought your small happiness wasn’t so obvious, it turns wrong once Gaz speaks up.

»Taste good?«

You nod back in response and relax your expression as well as you can, not wanting to come off as too giddy for a sweet drink as such. They both grin quietly and continue eating with Price joining in after some time to eat beside you three.

----

It’s been a week there, and it feels less awkward now. You train and practice every day, sometimes sneaking in late at night to punch some bags. Capri Sun is something you get more regularly at lunch because Ghost can’t seem to figure out how to use the vending machine. In reality, he just likes to give you a small treat and see your eyes light up for a split second. It’s his small way to befriend you; it doesn’t matter if it seems silly or stupid, you appreciate it, and there’s no harm to it. You could compare it with an attempt to befriend a cat with treats, and it works well. Consider Ghost as a harmless guy who gives you your favourite drink- just because.

Gaz talks to you the most from the others, occasionally checking up on your new drawings and sketches, promising to get you a new one as soon as he can. He likes your drawings after all. He’s easy to talk to as well, having light conversations with you and a few jokes. Gaz is the most friendly and easygoing of them all for one. At least that’s how he is with you, but you’re sure he can be different too. Soap is as friendly as him, but for some reason you feel like you need to be careful around him.

The problem isn’t him, it’s no one’s fault, really. You know he’s just as nice and supportive, but it seems like the pin he did on you is still in your head. They can always out win you in a fight if you don’t pay attention, and the thought of it makes your skin crawl. Ignoring it most of the time, you trust them all equally. It’s better here than back in camp. If you can still call it that anymore.

Being here, made you realise how toxic it was back then. They don’t judge and punish you for making simple mistakes; they won’t even look at your scars twice or ask about them, and most importantly, no one forces you into something uncomfortable.

You feel safer.

Pushing the constant nightmares and headaches away, it really is more safe and peaceful here.

Today, after training, you cross paths with Ghost. You immediately notice that he’s carrying an almost comically large bag in his arms. Taking a closer look, you see it’s dry dog food. Dog food? Why would he need that? You never took him as someone with pets, and you never saw dogs around on base. Thank God you didn’t.

You nod briefly at him and can’t help it but approach him out of curiosity.

»Do you have a dog?«

He grunts, side eyeing you for a moment.

»Just gonna feed Riley. A K9.«

So, they do have military dogs. How come you never saw them? Back in the old camp, the dogs could roam freely on base. But they also weren’t really nice dogs, always barking and ready to attack anyone. Even you were once chased by a large German Shepherd, almost getting bitten if you weren’t fast enough.

You simply nod back, not sure what to answer to that. Of course, he could sense your shift into uneasiness and nudges your shoulder lightly while walking down the base with you.

»You should get to know some. They’re not scary, don’t worry.« That makes it better only for a moment before you fully process his words. There isn’t really a way you can deny his offer and nod slightly, following him wordlessly. He isn’t as talkative either, but you don’t think that’s a bad thing. You’re lost in thought once he speaks up, shifting the big bag of dog food into his left arm.

»Ever met a big dog? Anything?«

You’re standing outside his office as he asks, opening his door with a key while he waits for your answer.

»Kind of. Got chased by one.« He can’t help but pause for a moment at your blunt answer, eventually getting his door open and stepping in. You follow him in and close the door behind you, noticing a bigger German Shepherd sitting up on the ground. It’s tongue sticks out and seems to be happy about seeing you both, judging from it’s wagging tail.

The dog stays silent though, patiently waiting for their owner to give them some sort of permission. You stay standing near the door, watching the two silently, hoping it won’t do anything. Ghost puts the large bag down against the wall and steps closer to the dog, kneeling down as it happily walks to him and enjoys the few hat pats he gives. You watch them both interact, visibly relaxing slowly as long as the dog is near Ghost and gets fed, getting a few more pats from its tall owner. He turns to you and introduces you to the dog, his hand staying on the dog’s back.

»That’s Riley. A sweet girl- will be joining our next mission, as far as I know.«

That’s totally great. Yeah, sure, you could work with a big dog while having a fear of them. You nod either way, shifting on your feet as you watch the dog from the closed door. Riley munches on her food, seemingly content.

»She seems… nice.«

He can see how unsure you are about the dog, and he guessed he would need to get you used to dogs somehow. Ghost sits down beside Riley, nodding towards her.

»You can pet her. She’s friendly, won’t bite.« He is trying to loosen the tension with a small joke, only seeing how you glance at him before looking back at Riley. Eventually, you approach her with silent steps, being cautious of the still-eating dog. You kneel down beside Ghost, firstly just watching her with anticipation in silence. Riley is quick to realise you are close now too and lifts her head off the bowl of food, trying to get to know you eagerly. She takes a step towards you, and you stay still, not wanting to accidentally make her angry. Ghost beside you can’t help it but feel amused watching you be so stiff while also watching Riley to make sure she won’t make you even more scared.

Riley sniffs around the air shortly before leaning towards your hands on your knees, taking a sniff at them. Before you know it, she’s licking at them. You cringe at the feeling, leaning a bit away from her.

Beside you, Ghost grins under his mask, glad that you don’t seem to be scared and more amused at how you react to Riley’s sudden affection. Suddenly, the K9 is trying to lick at your face, but you turn away with a small groan. Ghost pets her on the back, commanding her to sit down for now.

It takes a moment for Riley to fully calm down, her tail still wiggling back and forth. Ghost hands you some treats and wants to show you what tricks this joyful dog can do. Riley follows his commands flawlessly, rolling over, laying down, playing dead, able to stand on her back paws for a few seconds.

You extend your hand to give her a few treats- the small cookies in shape of bones in the palm of your hand. She eats it out of there happily, probably having a blast right now.

Riley is a good dog, even when she wants to give you affection through licking your hand, which mostly feels weird, but overall she doesn’t overwhelm you like the past dogs in your life.

Ghost also seems to be satisfied with the end result, however, he couldn’t let go of your words earlier. Normally, he would mind his business, but this is a sixteen-year-old we’re talking about.

»So, you were chased by one?«

You glance at him shortly, unsure of how to explain it to him now. You try it out, explaining it to him as shortly as you can.

»We also had some K9’s on camp and I was chased by one because I wasn’t careful enough.« You don’t realise how shocking that sounds before he gives you a look of disbelief. He asks again, gently petting Riley behind her ear.

»Your own camp had dogs, and one chased you? Why’s that?« You only shrug in response, not sure yourself. The dogs were mostly trained to be aggressive and were held rather roughly.

»I believe they got extra trained to be as aggressive as possible.«

He only hums out in acknowledgement, letting go of Riley and standing back up. Every time he hears more about your camp it is when he loses five years of his life. You follow right after him, standing up and getting a last glance at the sweet dog.

»Go, get your shower.« He mumbles, reminding you of taking your shower since you joined him after training, finally able to rinse off your sweat. You nod and leave without another word, taking a quick rest before eating dinner in the mess hall.

a/n: Hope you had fun reading this, it was a bit longer than the last part. The next one is probably going to be just as long. I hope you enjoed it!

[cerise-on-top]

what if the 141 boys had a ridiculously tall husband. like. a little bit taller than konig, probably. and he's really scary to people, actually!!!! but not his s/o , nuh uh, he's disgustingly sweet to his beloved.. sorry i'm rambling, i think (jokes and idiocy aside i adore your headcanons <3)

Hey there! Thank you, that's very kind of you! Also thank you for sending in a request for a male reader, you're one of the first ones and I was very excited to write about a male reader for once :D

TF141 With A Very Tall Husband

Price: He didn’t really think he’d ever be dating someone much, much taller than him. Sure, he doesn’t particularly mind, but he’s not short either, with him standing at 1,88m himself. It makes him feel small at times, especially if you’re pretty muscular too. He doesn’t get insecure about it in the slightest, oh no, but it’s weird to be so much shorter than your loved ones. However, he’s pretty used to scary people by now. Ghost isn’t exactly a delight to have around at first when you don’t know him either, so he knows how to deal with scary people. Might ask you to tone it down a little bit when you’re scaring other people too much, he doesn’t particularly wanna attract attention like that. But you being a sweetheart towards him? It melts his heart. He knows what you’re like towards people that aren’t him, so it makes him smile that you’re willing to do just about anything for him just to spend some time with him. You wanna trim his beard? There’s a good chance you’ve got some experience with that anyway, so he really doesn’t mind it as much. Hell, he probably trusts you more than his own barber at times. Besides, it’s a nice little bonding activity. If you have a beard then he’ll offer to trim it for you as well. Price isn’t really opposed to being the little spoon, or just being held in general. Quite the opposite, you being this tall sometimes puts him in a cuddly mood where he just plops down into your arms. Gently scratch his scalp and there’s a good chance he’ll even fall asleep on you. He’s so used to being everyone’s protector, it feels nice to be protected for once. But he won’t always settle for being held either, it’s his job to make you feel safe and sound as well, and thus he will take on the role of cuddler as well. Will fight you for that role, actually. Price is a real sweetheart towards his loved ones as well, so I think the two of you would fit well together. His mere presence demands respect in the right people, which can sometimes scare others. So, from time to time, you might both scare other people together. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally.

Gaz: He makes so many jokes about you being this tall and feigns being hurt about being much shorter than you are. You’re his behemoth, his leviathan and his ziz. Loves calling you the names of monsters that are said to be pretty big, it’s endearing to him. Besides, you’re scary enough that some people call you a monster anyway, if just for your height. If anyone ever were to call you that in front of Gaz, then they’ll end up with a black eye. No one gets to call you a monster but him. While he won’t always approve of you scaring everyone, Gaz does have a few friends that he wants you to get along with, he won’t particularly do anything about it either if that’s just what you’re like. Might try to make you seem a bit less scary by being a bit more affectionate with you in public. Holding your hand, giving you a peck on the cheek, giving you a hug. Those kinds of things. He actually loves you being this tall since that means you can pick him up and spin him around. He’s not been picked up ever since he was a little boy, so he definitely wouldn’t mind you showing off to him just how strong you are. Is also always looking for an excuse to hold your hand. Oh, seems like he forgot just how big your hand actually is and how much it engulfs his. Remind him for a moment and hold his hand, will you? Gaz is a sweetheart towards his loved ones anyway, if you look past the fact he will sass anyone to show his affection, so he loves that you’re so sweet towards him. Though, sometimes he wishes you were about the same height so you could actually share each other’s wardrobe. But hey, at least he gets to wear your extremely oversized shirts and hoodies, one of his favorite things to do. Another thing he also adores is just sitting in your lap when you’re home together and will also place your hands so that you’re holding him in your arms. If you’ve got really warm hands then he’ll place them atop his thighs to keep himself warm. Gaz isn’t the warmest person out there, but that just means you get to warm him up yourself. Is actually a lot cuddlier because you’re this tall and will become your personal blanket.

Ghost: He feels kind of perplexed about you being so much taller than him. Ghost is 1,95m, he towers over pretty much anyone, so how dare you be so much taller than him. Pretends to hate you being this tall, actually loves it. Sometimes he dreams of sparring with you under the moonlight to assert his dominance, even though there’s really no need to since you’re such a sweetheart towards him. He probably just needs to ask and would get anything from you. He really doesn’t mind you scaring pretty much everyone off, he has the same effect on people he doesn’t know. That just means there’s less people to worry about in his life for the time being. You’ll be spending a lot of time alone with each other that way, which he really likes. Though, maybe don’t scare his teammates too much, he genuinely likes them and wants them to be well too. Though, it’s kind of hard to properly scare them anyway. Ghost is usually a pretty quiet man when there’s no need for chit chat, but he doesn’t mind hearing your voice. In fact, he might get worried if you suddenly stop talking and will ask you what’s wrong. If you’ve got nothing to talk about then he’ll ask some questions so he can continue hearing your voice. He also blushes from time to time when you suddenly give him some sugary sweet compliments. He’s a grown, scary military man, he really shouldn’t be, but it’s just so endearing, especially when you, even bigger and scarier, call him your little honey bunny. It actually motivates him to do house chores. Not that he won’t do them anyway, but you calling him embarrassingly domestic names makes him just a tad bit soft, which leads to him trying to be a good husband. You may cuddle him since he trusts you, but he will also want to hold you from time to time. Life is a constant give and take, so prepare to be cuddled. Won’t particularly ask for cuddles, though, since he’s kind of too embarrassed to admit he’s touch starved. To you it’s blatantly obvious, though, which is why you initiate those cuddling sessions. Ghost appreciates it and sometimes hides a smile in either the pillow or your neck. As long as you don’t see him being silly, all is good.

Soap: He used to hate you being this tall. Soap may “only” be of average height, but he’s the tallest in his family, which he was actually pretty proud of. He towered over his father, even. And then he joined the military, where quite a few people were taller than him. And then you had the audacity to introduce yourself to him. You, the tallest man he’s ever met. It hurt his ego. Ever since you got together, though, he slowly got over it. You’re just such a sweetheart, how could he hate you over something as trivial as this? However, nothing could ever stop him from trying to pick you up and spinning you around. Soap is a pretty strong lad too, he’ll make it work somehow. You will feel tiny and cared for too. There’s a good chance he can’t reach your lips to kiss you. Yes, he could just ask you to bend down, but where’s the fun in that? Climbs you like a tree instead. He’s also always thinking of that one post where, instead of asking their boyfriend, the person should just punch him in the stomach. He won’t do it, but he remembers it every time without fail. He doesn’t mind you being scary either. Hell, Ghost is also a pretty scary guy to have around when you don’t know him and he’s one of Soap’s closest friends. Besides, he knows better anyway. You’re a total goof and the biggest sweetheart this world has ever seen. You being scary towards others just means that he’s got you all to himself all the time. Soap is a clingy guy, so you can expect him to cling to you like a koala from time to time. Actually, that was a lie, you should expect him to jump at you and hold onto you very often. Cuddles over safety. You’re likely also one of the only people on the planet willing to hear him out when he’s talking about his passions. And he could go on for hours every time. Explosives, weapons, whatever show you’re watching together, all is fair game. See, you’re one of the biggest sweethearts to him because you actually listen to him, despite him going into great detail about it all. You may not always be able to understand him when he’s talking chemistry again, but you hear him out anyway, and for that alone you’ve won his heart. He also sits on your lap while talking. You’re his little throne now that he takes immense pride in.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I’ll Take the Night Shift

Pairing: Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader

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

Word Count: 15.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?! Is all you can numbly think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that meant he was either dead or captured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he had never met you before.

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

You quite liked him looking surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you would have it no other way.

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

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

You can’t leave him behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Little Lady, I–”

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

But for John, you’d do anything. 

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

No, no, no. No, it can’t be.

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

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

But you can’t stop seeing red.

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

But all you do is stare. 

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

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

“He’s not dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

…And we can’t stay here. 

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

Don’t think about him. Don’t do it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Akin to betrayal.

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all that mattered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Copy, Ma’am.”

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

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

Johnny.

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

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

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

The comment warms your heart.

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

“Never, Ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There he was. 

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm, I’d let you.”

“J-Johnathan Price!”

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

—

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

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

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

He remembers the explosion, and then nothing more. 

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

Muppet, he should have just run. 

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

And then he woke up in the room.

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

His whole body hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

And if he was already dead…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or so illegal. 

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

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

“Earpiece.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you could play that part quintessentially. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well…what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But nothing could have prepared you for what came next. 

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

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

What?! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ma’am–!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gasps are hidden behind hands and handkerchiefs.

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

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

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

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

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

Please be okay, Love.

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

Did they even feed him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If possible, he gravitates toward you even more.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Ma’am?” 

“Take it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John hums under his breath, “Beautiful.”

Then he goes limp, and you start screaming.

—

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

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

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

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

They had only just gotten John stable an hour ago. 

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

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

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

Would he have died in your arms?

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

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

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

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

It was the least you could do.

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

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

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

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

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

I really must be tired.

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

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

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

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

Gaz, well…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs but nods his head.

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

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was there. He was right there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I had a dream.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

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

[callsignfate]

Text conversations with Laswell & Valeria

(I've been busy as hell, and I've only had the chance to make a few of these. I have plans to try to edit and write later.)

(I want to post some x chaotic wife later if I do get the chance)

[reaping-the-benefits]

Sugar daddy Price. Sugar daddy Ghost. ENOUGH! I raise you: sugar mommy Laswell.

Laswell, who originally just wanted some pretty young thing to spend some time with. A little eye candy to hang off her arm during all the balls and galas. Maybe take out on a couple of dates. Something to help her feel a little less lonely.

Laswell who decides she likes your company far more than she originally thought. Who spends more and more time with you, until she can coax you into her bed (and out of your clothes)

And you, who enjoys the company of the older woman. Who enjoys the way she spends money on restaurants you can't afford, on jewelry out of your price range, on lacey little lingerie pieces that she easily rips apart in her eagerness to have you.

[lethalchiralium]

Window to the Abbey | Happiness Series

a/n: it’s been so long! i’m so excited for the next few chapters :) WE GET KÖNIG EVERYBODY IM SO EXCITED

warning: Children, Mellie is sick :(

summary: Winnie and Mellie are cautious of the two new operators in their house, Simon’s calling, and Mellie’s sick. To say you’re handling it with grace would be an understatement.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

By the time you had headed to bed, your kids were sound asleep. All of the people in your house were fed, but only Laswell would be staying up later than you. König and Roach were meant to be arriving past midnight, and as much as you wanted to stay up and greet them, your kids always run you down by the end of the day. You were running off of fumes by the time you had showered and brushed your teeth, the familiar motion of scrubbing them felt like a warming lullaby. As the swish, swish, swish of your toothbrush sounded in the bedroom, you searched Simon’s dresser for an old shirt to sleep in. It was sweet to see that he still kept his band t-shirts from when he was a young adult, even if he confessed to you that he didn’t much care for the music now. You plucked a worn one that you often found yourself sleeping in, the band name had been washed off after years of wear.

You returned to the bathroom, spitting out the toothpaste into the sink as your phone began to ring. You looked over to the tub where your phone was sitting on the ledge, seeing the caller ID. Simon.

“Everything right?”

“Right as rain.”

“Baby’s okay?”

You settled your hands on the sink before putting your toothbrush back into the cabinet. “Simon. The baby is fine. The girls are fine. I’m eating like I should, taking the vit-a-mins-“

“Vit-a-mins,” He mocked you, pitching his voice higher. “Don’t mock me. Laswell there?”

A laugh left your lips. “Yeah, she’s here. The girls warmed up very quickly since she brought at least a thousand dollars worth of presents.”

“I’m not going to ask.”

“How’re my boys?” You grabbed your hair comb, taking a piece of hair in one hand and starting to detangle it.

“Gaz and Soap are doing fine. Being annoying as usual. Cap lost one of his good cigars.”

“I’ll find him a new one. And how’s my husband?” You kept brushing your hair, exhaustion weaving its way through your muscles. It’s just two more weeks, we can do this.

“Tired. I want to be home with you.”

Your heart already felt bruised without him, him saying that felt like another hit. You gazed at yourself in the mirror, internally waving away the feeling that Simon would come through the doorway at that very moment. “I know. I’m so tired, this baby is already takin’ everything out of me.”

“Don’t be scared to ask König or Roach for help. John already drilled them about not saying no to you.”

Your heart swelled, a smile on your face now. What you did to deserve Simon and his team, you’d never know. “He didn’t have to do that, I’m an adult.” You then gave up on completely detangling your hair, just taking the brush through it enough before you put your brush down. There wasn’t anything you needed for the soldiers to do for you, other than keep your daughters safe in the walls of your home. Your fingers gripped onto the porcelain sink, fighting the sinking feeling of abandonment. Simon is coming back, you tell yourself. He would never leave you and your girls alone.

“Yeah, but you’re my wife. My pregnant wife.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest, happiness in your heart as you moved out of the bathroom but not before shutting off the light. You kept your phone close to your ear as you moved towards your bed. “Simon, I’m barely a month and a half along, I’m not a hormonal monster yet.”

“I still want you taken care of the way I want you to be.”

You moved into your bed, sitting up against the headboard. “You’re too good to me.” You pulled the blankets up to your stomach, the hand lingering on your belly before sliding over to Simon’s cold pillow beside yours. Your heart squeezed with a cold sensation that you didn’t dare place.

“I’m doin’ my best.”

“I miss you.”

A beat of silence then the sound of shuffling. “Miss you more. Can’t even sleep without you, jus’ keep tossin’ and turnin’.”

“I don’t even want to think about sleep.”

“You need to sleep regardless, I want you exactly how I left you, but with a bigger belly.”

You laughed a little, settling down onto your back. “I’m not gonna get big that fast, Simon. You’ll only be gone, what, two weeks?”

“Probably. I just… Don’t want to miss you growing my baby again.”

You tugged Simon’s pillow into your chest as you rolled onto your side, settling your cheek on the soft fabric. “You’ll be back in no time, I promise you’re not missing much.”

“Y/N?”

Goosebumps traveled up and down your spine, knowing he was being serious if he said your name. “Yeah?”

“Be safe for me, okay?”

“Always.” You answered, wanting to feel his heartbeat underneath your fingertips again. “Are you going to sleep?”

“I was gonna try.”

“Can you stay on the line ‘til I fall asleep?”

A deep and lighthearted chuckle sounded from your phone, but you didn’t feel embarrassed that you needed his comfort - you knew he loved you more than anything, he’d do anything for you. “Yeah, love. Jus’ close your eyes. I love you.”

A smile on your lips as you closed your eyes, letting the phone stay on his pillow, only a couple inches from your face.

“I love you too, Simon.”

There was just a small moment of his laughter before he spoke again. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“Well, this is new.”

Mellie’s face was buried into your neck, little tears in her eyes as she curled into your chest. You have an apologetic look to König, the tall Austrian only blinked back. “I promise she’s usually friendly, I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” The man looked genuinely distressed, as if he did something wrong. You felt worried as soon as you saw that look in his eye, but you were quick to reassure him. “I’m sure she’ll get over it, she doesn’t quite like the masks. Simon doesn’t wear one around the house so she’s not quite used to it yet.” You looked down to Mellie and placed your hand on her forehead, feeling her skin be warmer than usual - that was probably why she wasn’t acting right.

He cleared his throat. “I-I’m sorry.”

You waved your hand, softly bouncing on your feet as your baby then gripped your hairs at the nape of your neck. “Ow- It’s fine, König. You don’t have to take the mask off if you don’t want, she’ll be fine.” You turned away from him, walking back into the living room from the kitchen. Laswell was standing near the window that displayed the garden, Roach was sat on the floor playing fire trucks with Winnie. Breakfast had come and gone, Mellie had woken up late and had not taken a liking to Roach or König. The little one was still quietly crying into your neck as you moved across the room to Laswell.

She had been on the phone almost all morning, voice low as she kept her eye on all entrances. But now, no phone was held in her hand, only her gaze upon the garden was holding her attention.

“Kate?”

She looked over to shoulder and a small frown appeared on her face as she saw the scared girl on your arm. “Aww, what happened?”

You smirked a little, looking down to Mellie. “She’s not a fan of Uncle König or Uncle Roach’s masks.”

Laswell laughed a little and you looked back up to her. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“Are you sure that nothing’s gonna happen?” Your voice lowered, your free hand coming to help wrangle your baby hairs from Mellie’s grip. “Are we safe here?”

The woman’s smile fell before she took a look outside, then back to you. “No. Anything can happen, no matter how secure the place is. König and Roach being here is a precaution, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

You nodded before looking over your shoulder, seeing Winnie giggling as Roach crashed a toy car into the big building made of toy blocks. You turned back to Laswell. “Well, thank you for staying too. I was gonna ask if I could take Winnie out to the park later, maybe leave Mellie here ‘cause she feels like she’s running a fever.”

The woman pressed her lips together, looking to Roach and Winnie too before she looked back to you. “Roach and I will take her.”

You gave her a smile. “Thank you.” You moved back towards your couch, stepping around Winnie as she demolished Roach’s block house with her toy. Roach made a noise of surprise towards Winnie as you sat down, a small coo from Mellie drew your attention back to her. You looked down at her, hand instantly back on her forehead - she was very warm, that made you worried. Your eyes flickered upwards, seeing König standing in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes watching everyone in the room. “König?”

His back became ramrod straight as he answered, “Yes, ma’am?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s just Y/N. But in the very left top cabinet from the oven is the medicine cabinet, could you get me the baby Tylenol and the syringe beside it?”

The giant nodded, immediately disappearing into the kitchen as Kate softly laughed from the windowsill. You looked to her, she spoke with a laugh, “Your husband has them both terrified of you.”

Shaking your head, you sat forwards and rested a hand on Winnie’s head, patting it. Your daughter moved her head to look up at you with a smile before looking back at Roach. “He’s just cautious.”

“He is very intimidating.” König spoke from behind the couch, a large hand appeared in your vision with the things you asked for as you leaned back.

You grabbed them, not before saying, “Keep your hand there.” Mellie was still facing you, so you placed the medicine down in your lap before maneuvering her little baby hand to settle on top of König’s outstretched palm. You glanced up to the man before saying, “Simon holds her hand when I give her medicine.”

König made a noise of acknowledgment as you kept Mellie on your arm, moving your hands together so you could quickly draw the dose of Tylenol into the syringe. By the time Mellie raised her hand to look at who she was touching, you had squished her cheeks together so her mouth opened and squirted the medicine into the back of her throat. The little baby squawked and coughed, withdrawing her hand from König and rubbing her eye, softly crying.

You put down the syringe and pet her face, she only murmured at you before slamming her face back into your neck. “I’m sorry, honey, it’s alright.” You looked up to König, who was watching your daughter very curiously. “Thank you.”

He nodded in response.

Mellie hated baths when she was sick. The sweet little girl was crying, upset as you gently poured the lukewarm water over her back. The rubber duck she had in her hand was curled into her chest, her little throat sounding rough since she had finally stopped screaming. It was at moments like this where you wished Simon was there with you - his gentle hand would settle on Mellie’s back, the baby would immediately begin to calm down. But Mellie didn’t want you to rub her back, touch her head, or even hold her; she was getting too hot, trying to tear off her clothes as she screeched for her Dada. He had been gone for less than two days and you felt like you were already overwhelmed.

Winnie was always easy as a baby and Mellie seemed that way too, at least until Simon had to leave. He was almost never gone since the night he had came home and found you in bed, his two month old daughter on your chest. The longest he would be gone was one night but he had been back in the morning, bright and early. She’s always had him, you understood it will be hard since she’s too little to understand why Simon was gone. You kissed her warm forehead, careful to miss the sweet smelling soap on her head.

Winnie had gone to the park with Roach and Kate only a couple of hours ago, Kate saying that she was going to run Simon’s usual errands. Shopping, some paperwork, pick up dinner. Now, the only ones left in the house was König, you, and Mellie - your daughter wanted nothing to do with the gentle giant. You found him oddly sweet, he was insanely awkward for a grown man but sometimes that’s just how it is. It took you a while to break Simon of that shell.

Your daughter coughed a little, pulling you from your thoughts as you kept cupping water to wash off the sudsy soap from her little body. “Sorry, honey. Mama’s tired today, isn’t she?”

Mellie’s deep brown eyes stared up at you, red with tears as she sniffled a soft, “Dada.”

You cupped the back of her head, gently threading your thumb over her baby curls. “He’ll be home soon, my girl. It’s just me for right now, okay?” Your baby pouted a little, tears welled in her eyes and you were ready for another thirty minutes of screaming - but it didn’t come. Only soft little whimpers from her, you could almost hear your heart shatter into a million pieces.

“Dada.” She murmured, her free hand coming to make a grabby hand towards you. You instantly placed your hand in front of hers, letting her grip onto your fingers.

You gave her a small smile. “We’re done, baby. You feel a little better? We’ll get some medicine on your chest ‘n we’ll take a nap.” Mellie coughed in response, you looked away for just a moment to grab her towel that had printed ducks on it - Winnie had picked it out at the shop specifically for her baby sister months ago. You turned back to Mellie, plucking her from the water and wrapping her up, letting her still very warm forehead to rest on your cheek. You kept her balanced in your grip as you leaned down, pulling out the drain plug before moving to leave the bathroom.

You pulled the door open, feeling a slight breeze through the house that wasn’t there before you took Mellie to the bath.

König must’ve opened a window.

Your daughter had grown quiet with her wet cheek against yours, you kept her wrapped up when you walked across the hallway, the floorboards creaked underneath your bare feet as you opened the door to her nursery. The white curtains in front of her window were softly flowing with the cool breeze, you silently thanked König for opening the windows. The cooler temperature would make Mellie comfortable. You rested your baby on her changing table and was quick to put a new nappy on her, the little one looked up at you drowsily. You were quick to put her ducky towel over her little body to keep her warm as you opened a drawer or two in the table, looking for your little tub of baby vapor rub - something your mother swore by when she came to visit months ago. You weren’t very keen on using it unless either of your babies were incredibly sick, and the way Mellie was acting definitely made you feel like this cold was gonna be a bad one.

You put just a little smidge of the rub on her chest, rubbing it in and keeping an eye on her little face. “Look at Mama, bug.” Her eyes were staring right behind you, something she always did, but she didn’t look back to you. She turned her head the other way, looking at the wall. A sigh left your lips as you kept gently rubbing her chest.

She’s just sick, she’ll be acting fine soon.

You picked her up again, keeping her tucked into your chest. It was no use trying to put new clothes on her, all of the Riley girls strip off their clothes when they’re sick, no matter how old - you included. Mellie murmured against your chest, hands holding onto the shirt of Simon’s you were wearing. “We’re gonna go lay down with Mama this time, okay?”

She shook her little head into your chest as you moved out of her nursery and then into your bedroom, very easily holding Mellie with one arm as the other pulled back the blankets. You tugged Simon’s pillow to be in the middle of his side and then slid yourself in between the cold covers. You placed Mellie on her back, the pillow acting like a barrier between her and the end of the bed. Fortunately, Mellie didn’t like to move around when she was sick - she stayed in the same place, so it was easy for you to pull yourself under the covers and over her belly. Her hand gripped the sleeve of your shirt, tears welled in her eyes as she murmured some noises.

Your head settled on your pillow, you gently moved Mellie’s hand so you could move onto your side. Your hand then rested on her forehead, feeling her temperate had gone down a little but she was still warm.

“We’ll talk to Dad when he gets off work, okay?” You murmured, your hand then rested on Mellie’s stomach.

She cooed a little, a whisper escaped her lips, “Dada.”

You smiled at your baby. “Yeah, Dada. Mama’s gonna call and we’ll talk to him.” You reached your arm out and grabbed your phone, noting that the time was almost six. You unlocked your phone and shot Simon a text, hoping he’d respond soon. In the mean time, you put your phone on his pillow before curling up, watching little Mellie was she watched you. “We gotta wait, lovie. Sissy will want to talk to Dad too.”

She shook her head a little, a smile appeared on your face.

“Mmhmm. Dad’s working, he’ll call us in a minute.”

A thunder of footsteps could be heard downstairs as well as the distinct laugh of Winnie, you smiled. Winnie always found you when she came home, which would be perfect timing if Simon called. You turned over to look at your bedroom door, hearing her rushing footsteps as they approached your room before she burst in, her pigtails half undone and a huge grin on her face. “Mama!”

“Hi, baby!” You instantly smiled, putting an arm out to let her grab so you could pull her up - she helped pull herself up onto the bed and instantly fell onto your chest, forcing a loud “Oof!” from your throat. Her little head was shoved into your neck, arms around your chest as best they could as your one arm wrapped tightly around her. “Did you have fun, my love?”

Furious nodding ensued from your eldest daughter. “Uncle Roach fell off the swing set.” A giggle escaped her lips and a chuckle left yours as you looked down to her brunette hair. “And I got an ice lolly.”

“Did you thank your uncle and aunt?”

“Yes, Mama.”

You kissed her hair. “Good girl. I was seeing if Dad wanted to call, do you want to talk to him?”

She nodded into your neck, but gently pet her back as she mumbled, “I miss Dad.”

You sighed a little. “I do too.”

Winnie raised her head from your neck, a little frown on her face. “When is he coming home?”

Your hand was quick to pull the ties from her pigtails, unable to look your daughter in the face as you said, “Soon, baby.”

“Is Melsie sick?” The girl peered over you to look at Mellie, you looked too - the baby was gazing at both of you, a smile appeared on your face. Her little face looked tired, her hands resting on her own chest. “She looks sick, Mama.”

You sighed, your other hand coming to settle on top of your baby’s belly, she whimpered. You fully turned your head to look at Mellie, the little baby looking and feeling sick made you upset. Such a sweet little thing didn’t deserve to be uncomfortable and in pain. “She is sick, Winnie. Can you take my phone from Dad’s pillow?”

The older girl moved over your chest, stretching over her baby sister and then bringing your phone to rest on your chest. As you did, it began to vibrate - you pulled your hand away from Winnie to hold it and answer Simon’s call.

“Hi love.”

A squeal came from Winnie as she chirped, “Daddy!”

“Hi, Duckling. How are you?”

She giggled, taking the phone in her hands and she began to chat with her dad, telling him all about her fun adventures with her Uncle Roach and Auntie Kate. You watched her smile get wider with every second she talked to Simon, your hand went to settle on Mellie’s stomach. She whined a little, you glanced to Mellie but you couldn’t stop watching how happy Winnie was.

It reminded you of when Simon would call every night he could and read Winnie to sleep when she was two. She would be so happy to hear his voice when he had been physically gone for weeks, she would always react to his voice when he called since he had started when she was one. It was sweet, you couldn’t ever get over just how much your husband adored his daughters.

Mellie cooed a little, hearing Simon’s voice and letting out a small, “Dada.”

“Winnie,” Your hand reached out for Winter, who looked to you with a curious glare. “It’s Mellie’s turn.”

And there it was, Winnie’s signature pout. With her bottom lip pushed out and tears at the ready, she murmured, “But she can’t talk, Mama. I wanna talk to Daddy.”

“I know, but it’s been a few minutes.” You raised your chest from the bed, now able to swoop some curls around Winnie’s ear. “Mellie needs to hear from him too, even if she can’t talk back. Come on, now.” Winnie let out a grumble, you heard Simon’s deep chuckling as the phone was placed on your chest. “Thank you.”

You settled the phone near Mellie’s head as Winnie crawled over, curling herself onto Simon’s pillow as the baby cooed, “Dada.”

“Hi, Mellie.”

That spooked Mellie, causing her to take frantic looks around as she kicked out her feet. Her older sister laughed, watching her Melsie look for their dad.

“Dada Dada.” Your baby’s little head moved to look at you, one hand reached out for your face - you intercepted it with your own hand, a smile on your face.

“I bet she’s confused.”

You nodded to yourself before saying a soft, “She misses you, Si.”

There was a moment where you knew exactly how Simon would react to that, knowing he’d be sitting on his bed and clenching his blanket in his grasp, trying to stop the tears that have rarely fell in his home with you.

“I miss my girls.”

“We miss you too.” You looked to your phone, a part of you wishing that it was physically him instead. Hair tousled, eyes soft and smile wide - he’d be holding Mellie while she cried, gently talking to her to calm her down. He would be home soon, I felt it in my heart. I kissed Mellie before I reached for Winnie, kissing her forehead. “Just wanted to let the girls hear your voice, baby. We love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll be home soon.”

Simon stared at his phone, mask in hand as he sat in his curtain darkened office. The only illumination was his phone and his computer in front of him - he felt he deserved to sit in darkness until he finally came home to his girls, his daylight.

He flicked the small printed photo of his family in his free hand, it was the one he kept in his wallet.

“I know it’s early, but I’m gonna try and get them to sleep. Mel’s starting some sort of cold.”

Simon’s heart ached. He wished to be home that very second so he could scoop his little girl into his arms and love on her. “I’m sorry I’m not there to help.”

“You’re being a superhero, Daddy!” Winnie chirped, he could hear her smile. It hurt his heart that he couldn’t hold her either.

“Good night, my girls.” He spoke softly. “I love you.”

You whispered your good night and your love for him, all while Winnie pressed her face to the phone with giggles. The call ended, and Simon was left in a cold dark room, hours from home on a base that he’s only been twice before.

His eyes glanced over to his desktop, rereading the information on the target.

Last seen in London, UK three days ago.

Blond, green eyed, bulk build. Associated with Russian Mafia.

The photo box was empty. Every man who had eyes on him couldn’t get an image fast enough, weren’t skilled enough to see that he had slipped onto a train to Manchester to find his son. Simon could never know that his entire life hung in the balance of one man. And it wasn’t even himself.

He shut off his computer, sliding a hand down his face. He stretched back in his chair before he stood, still flipping the picture in his fingers as he made his way to his small cot. If he closed his eyes for a moment, even in the darkness of this already solitary office, he could imagine himself getting back into his bed. Under the soft sheets, arms curled around you and leg tucked in between yours.

He sat on his dark green canvas cot, toed off his already unlaced boots, and let his back hit the wall.

There were going to be many sleepless nights ahead of him, and it wasn’t even because he had to be awake and vigilant. It was because he yearned for you.

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Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[mockerycrow]

laswell medic wife. laswell’s wife is a medic or works in a hospital. one time comes back after a 12 hour night shift and laswell pampers her

MY HOME (Laswell x Paramedic!Fem!Reader)

kate laswell masterlist — 1.7k words

[WARNINGS; none, this is just extremely fluffy.]

Kate is home, making breakfast when she hears the front door open. You don’t say anything, which usually means that you’re exhausted. She hears your bag plop on the floor and she hears your shoes thump against the wall as you kick them off without untying them, the door closing. You trudge your way into the kitchen and Kate turns to see you, her face softening at your expression. You look absolutely winded, there’s some type of dried fluids on your uniform—it’s been noticeably stripped of your radio which is likely half-hazardly stuffed in your bag that you left by the front door.

“Hey.” You whisper, walking over—your hand rests on the small of her back and you give her cheek a kiss. “Hey,” Kate replies softly in return, her eyes flickering between the food on the stove top and you. She knows you’re dirty, a “walking biohazard” both of you had joked about, but she doesn’t mind it when you lean against her body, your head resting on her shoulder. “How was your shift?” Kate prods gently, the food in the pan sizzling. You hum and let out a heavy sigh; that’s how she knows it likely wasn’t the best. “It was.. Certainly a shift.” You chuckle tiredly, your eyes watching her hands move. “Would rather talk about it later, if that’s okay.”

Kate hums in response at first. “‘Course, hon. Decompress first.” She leans forward and turns the stove top on low heat, settling the pan back on the burner. Kate turns to you and wraps an arm around you, bringing you close whilst her other hand gently cups the back of your head. Your face remains buried in her shoulder as you wrap your arms around her in return, hanging loosely on her hips as you grab one of your wrists so they don’t fall off of her. Kate’s fingers trail down to the nape of your neck and they pinch and massage the muscle that remains there, causing you to melt against her with a quiet sigh. You relish the feeling of her fingers working your tense neck, Kate’s fingertips occasionally dipping down to your spine. 

“You think you can take a shower?” Kate murmurs as to not startle you out of the calm mood you seemingly are slipping into. You take a moment to think about it because every muscle in your body is screaming at you. Can you handle taking a shower? The words “by yourself” hang heavy in the air, unspoken but acknowledged. You nod into Kate’s shoulder after a few seconds, earning a kiss against your scalp. “I’ll get it ready for you, get you some clothes. Just go hang tight in the bathroom, hon.”

You nod again and you reluctantly slink away from her, your legs feeling like molten lead as you walk towards the hall and into the second door on your left; the bathroom. Your hand feels for the light switch on the wall which you flip on, your eyes squinting when the light blinds you for a moment. You look at yourself in the mirror and you cringe at the fluids that are dried onto your dark blue jacket, causing you to glance down and realize it’s all over the front of your dark blue cargo pants as well. You swear under your breath as you pick your head up and lazily begin to unzip your jacket, wiggling it off and letting it drop to the ground. You unbutton the short sleeved button up shirt you wore underneath and you also let that drop to the ground, as well as the compression shirt you wore as the underlayer.

You rub your face as you dread trying to reach around your back to unclasp your bra, so you decide to leave for you to take off last. You grab your belt, pulling the prong out of the hole and you quickly tug on it, the belt leaving the belt loops on your pants. You unzip and unbutton, shuffling out of your pants, as well as stepping on the loose corner of each sock to pull them off without much effort. Kate walks in with some of your favorite pajamas and some underwear, giving you a kiss on the cheek as she sets them on the closed toilet seat. You look at her and you press your lips together into a thin line for a moment. “Can you undo my bra?”

Kate smiles softly, already moving behind you. She unclasps your bra with ease, and you let it fall to the ground. You shiver as you feel her lightly pepper kisses against your shoulder, one of her hands coming up to grab your hip. You lean against her chest, as you’ve always loved the affection she gives you. Kate’s kisses trail up your neck to your cheek and jaw. “Beautiful as always.” She murmurs, her voice thick with happiness. You huff and you can’t help the cheeky smile that appears on your face. 

Kate leaves one last kiss on your shoulder before she inhales. “Now,” She breathes out as you step out of your underwear. “Warm water?” You nod your confirmation, pinching the bridge of your nose to keep yourself a bit more alert. You have a tendency to fall asleep in the shower. Kate opens the shower door and turns the water on, the water rushing towards the drain with a soothing white noise effect. You blink as she feels the water, adjusting it slightly a couple of times. She then closes the shower curtain and pulls the little stopper, the water transferring from the bathtub faucet to the shower head. You move from where you’re standing to pull back the shower curtain, but Kate’s arm grabbing yours gently stops you.

You look at her curiously, and Kate sighs for a moment. “Please try to stay awake.” She utters, causing you to hold back a tired laugh. “Walking in here to check on you and seeing you curled up in the bathtub is scary.” Her tone is playful, but she has that tone she uses to scold her nieces and nephews, and you can’t help but chuckle. “I’ll try. No promises.” You murmur, giving her a kiss on the cheek before you take off your ring, place it on the sink counter, and then you slip into the bathtub and under the warm water.

Kate collects your dirty work clothes and undergarments and she exits the bathroom. She cracks the door instead of closing it, just in case you need her. She makes her way towards the laundry room and her face scrunches up at the mystery stains on the dark fabric, ultimately deciding to not question them as she tosses them in the hamper that’s right inside the laundry room. Kate then walks down the hall towards the kitchen and the living room, her eyes landing on the front door and the mud mat where your work bag sits. Kate makes a mental note to fetch your bag after she completes breakfast, which is when she turns to go back into the kitchen to return to cooking.

The warm water beads down your scalp and drips down your back, your butt, and your legs, swirling towards the bathtub drain. You roll your shoulders, a noise of discomfort leaving your throat as your muscles strain, a twinge of pain pulsing through the hard muscle of your right shoulder. You angle your back so the water runs down that particular shoulder, soothing the ache. You let your eyes shut, and then you go through the motions. You scrub your skin with some body soap, although with some reluctance because you just wanna rinse off and get out. You know you actually have to clean yourself. You open your eyes as you scrub your arms and you lightly smile at the view of your products standing next to Kate’s. 

You always appreciated the little things, the way your products just existed together in the bathroom, how you could see what you preferred versus what she did; just little proof of living together warmed your heart. Like someone could walk into your shared home and say “yeah, two people live here”. You're not too sure why you love it so much. Maybe it’s the same unknowing reason why you like the tan line around your left ring finger when your ring isn’t where it’s supposed to be. Maybe it’s the same reason why you like sleeping on Kate’s side of the bed when she’s not home, the same reason why you like stuffing your face into her pillow to smell the lingering scent of her shampoo. 

You sigh softly before you blink and sniff the air, the smell of the food Kate’s cooking filters through the cracked open door of the bathroom. You decide with new eagerness—and a watering mouth—to finish up, which you do after washing your face off with the water. You turn off the shower and grab a towel, quickly drying yourself off with newfound energy. You slip the ring back onto your finger first, slip on your underwear, and then the pajamas. You open the bathroom door, making your way back to the kitchen. You groan in happiness when you see Kate preparing your plate for you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You say giddily, eager to eat. Kate barks out a laugh as you sit down in your seat which is across from hers.

“Funny, coming from you.” Kate retorts, making you smile as you grab your fork. Your eyes land on the cigarette pack that is stuffed in her shirt pocket and you huff. “Hate those things.” You murmur after eating a big bite of your food, motioning to the pack with your fork. Your face is scrunched up in distaste. Kate’s lip twitches as she knows you’ve always hated her smoking habit, half from being her wife and half from being a medical service provider. “I know, sweetie. I won’t smoke right now. Let’s just enjoy our food.”

You smile in victory and your left hand reaches forward and it’s almost like you and Kate are connected because her hand naturally gravitates towards yours, her fingers brushing over the wedding ring wrapped around your finger. Kate thinks it sparkles in the light just like how your eyes do.

[soaps-used-urn]

Idk if it’s me but my likes keep disappearing and like the account and post is still active when I go on their profile but like it’s gone… I read a AMAZING Kate laswell fic late last night went back to see the creator GONE and I like every fic before I even read it just so if the app refreshes I don’t loose the fic I’m so sad it’s happened so many times 😭😭

Anyways ima stop yapping 🤍

Also there was a fic called “left overs” it was a ghost x fem read I can’t find that anywhere.. if y’all can help I’ll love you with my whole heart

[lovethetasteofnothing]

Hi I seen ur requests are open so I wondering if you could possibly write sugar mommy hcs for Farah and/or valeria plz!😋

this is so good I just had to do it asap. i need drabbles for this too

Sugar mommy dynamics (HCs) - Valeria, Farah, Laswell

includes: kate laswell, farah karim, valeria garza (this is for the gay girls)

fem!reader, female anatomy, fem terms of endearment

warnings: nsfw content, dirty talk, spanking, use of straps/toys, fingering, degradation, consumption of alcohol,

word count: 1.8k, aprox. 600 words/ character

Valeria Garza (smut + fluff)

sugar mommy supreme

this woman is richer than god and her love language is gift giving

i don't see a better combo for a sugar baby

and she's a busy woman, she doesn't have time for relationships so this is right up her alley

i feel like it happened a little more or less by chance

like she was just talking about it one day to one of her men or he overheard her

and he subtly mentioned you because you were actively looking for a sugar mommy

neither of you knew what to expect at first, but after meeting her...

you went home and masturbated to a scenario about her

you were both on board with it being sexual from the get go so that worked out

makes you update a wishlist regularly and buys everything you put on it

sometimes you'd put an item there at night and wake up with the package at your door the next day

her card? black like her soul

and she just handed it to you one day like?

made you do a little runway show with all of the stuff you got with it

goes shopping with you to de-stress

she likes it more than you do, like this woman is making you try everything in the store if she wants to

makes you twirl so she can see the full outfit before smirking and nodding approvingly

holds the clothes for you while you're inside the store so you can browse easily

her guard carries the bags afterwards

this woman buys you designer on the regular

even though she doesn't wear it herself because it gets ruined on the job, she loves it on you

she took you to a fancy dinner with her business partners once

put you in a dress that costs more than your whole apartment (and a set of really nice lingerie underneath)

she made you cum all over the expensive fabric, squirming while she fingered you in the backseat of her car

"you're being so filthy, muñequita. por Dios, you even ruined your dress"

spanked you for being so "inconsiderate" even though it was her fault that you had a pool of cum dripping down your thighs

talking about spanking, she definitely spanks you with designer belts

like this woman does not care how much it costs

that piece of leather can pay off your rent for months

she'd probably pay off your student loans/ pay in advance for your rent and utilities

gives you a weekly allowance, sometimes buys you extra stuff if you've been good

her favorite thing to buy for you? lingerie and sex toys

makes you send her videos of you wearing them/using them on yourself

talking about texting, I think she'd leave you be most of the time since she's so busy

also enjoys the fact that you're a bare minimum engagement type of deal

she's just happy someone isn't pestering her 24/7, while she gets the advantages of making a girl squirt happy

she's constantly traveling and you don't see her for weeks sometimes

you asked her what she does because you got curious

"don't worry your pretty little head with useless details, cariño"

but she expects you to show up when she tells you to

on time, god forbid you're late

she had to wait for five minutes, you had to listen to her complain for hours

while her favorite strap stretched you out so good

makes you apologize and beg for forgiveness, promise you won't be late again

while bullying her strap into your already sensitive pussy, crying from the overstimulation as you whimper out promises and pathetic 'sorrys'

Farah Karim (fluff, i love Farah fluff okay?)

you still don't understand how it happened

like one day she was the cute regular customer at the coffee shop you worked at

and the next she was taking care of your rent and restocking your fridge

she just wanted to help you out since she had more than enough for herself

you didn't expect her to be that rich? because when she was a customer she was always dressed normal

don't get me wrong, she looked bomb, but she never gave off that 'i'm rich, look at me' energy

and she still doesn't, literally buys you the cutest stuff out of the kindness of her heart

keeps it casual, doesn't expect you to pay her back in any way

she can't help but smile when you kiss her cheek as a thank you after she hands you your allowance

doesn't want to pressure you into anything, she just likes the idea of taking care of someone

doordashes groceries for you because she knows you're too lazy to do them yourself

checks up on you every once in a while, mostly asks you to come over to keep her company and just chat

but you were renovating your apartament for a few days and you decided to stay with her

made sure you were nice and comfortable in the guest room and got everything you needed

also made sure to leave a few little gifts on your bed on your first day

got you some books and your favorite treats to keep you company while she's gone to work

and you realized you actually liked spending time with her and that her attention made you happy

so when she got home from work, two days before you were meant to leave you decided to speed things up a little

so surprised when you straddled her lap while she was talking

she thought you felt pressured to do it

she tried to start one of her monologues before you stopped her

you got so bold??? like just telling her you like her and it's not because she practically is your main source of income but because she's so nice as a person

baby got so touched she had to go smoke a cig to calm down

and now she's your girlfriend and sugar mommy

weekly dates (as long as she's not gone with work, makes up for it when she's back tho) to your favorite restaurants/locations in general

hates physical shopping but will power through for you

grabs whatever she thinks you'd look cute in and makes you try it

you got so so flustered when she gave you a revealing outfit to try on

she had already bought it in her head before you even tried it on

also loves to spoil you with little things

like getting you gorgeous flowers every week, making sure they're replaced before they wilt

ordering your favorite food for you when she works long nights

buying you the nicest skincare/makeup because she sees how your face lights up from it

i feel like she'd always bring a trinket home (uhaul lesbian things)

something that melts your heart too because she really pays attention to everything you say

like getting a box of pastries from that really luxurious bakery that's close to her office

buying you a new pair of sneakers because they match the outfit she got you last week

literally bought you a stunning outfit for your one year anniversary

dress, heels, jewelery everything designer because fuck it she loves spoiling you rotten

money comes on her card and leaves it, but you're a forever type of investment

Kate Laswell (fluff + smut)

canon mommy

also a sugar baby's dream

she paid for your drink (TF 141 went wild when they saw her)

so she pulled you to the side and paid for the rest of your consumption too and for your taxi back home

a bit sad when you told her you weren't looking for a relationship

so she did what's best and spoke to your capitalism rotten brain and asked to be your sugar mommy

you had shit to pay off okay? and she was hot and spoke to your mommy issues...

takes it slow until she doesn't anymore (with consent ofc!)

when she asked you to hang out at her place and drink some wine, you didn't think anything of it

that was until you were bent over the couch, hands pinned down as she scissored your pussy open

made a little bet with you, every minute you could last without having an orgasm, she'd give you your allowance's worth in cold hard cash

you were cocky until she stuck that fucking vibrator inside of you

she pushed it in so deep and made sure it was hitting that sweet spot that made your whole body weak

didn't even need to wait too long before you squirted on her expensive couch

you didn't get a lot of money that night....

and you lost some of your dignity too

made sure to send over a bouquet of flowers to your workplace to remind you of how expensive house cleaning got these days

so fucking cocky and flirty when she feels like it

but also a sweetheart

would regularly ask you if you were doing well and eating properly

has food delivered to your door everyday so she knows you have a balanced diet

makes you take so many days off from work until you just decide to quit

she's way too happy knowing that you're now so much more available for her use

entertains the idea of being your only source of income for a bit

"you can just relax, take it easy. i'll take care of things for you"

busy woman no. 2

but she'd never forget to take you out on a fancy date somewhere really expensive to remind you how nice she treats you

made sure you had everything you'd ever need and then fed into your little whims and fantasies

doesn't have enough time to spare for you to show her what you got but she'd be happy inside knowing you were entertained and pleased

offers to send you on your dream vacation since she can't go

you beg her for so long until she finds a way to take a short break and enjoy her time with you there

this woman is literally working in the hotel while you go out shopping

you give her a nice massage after she finishes most of it because she deserves it <3

gets room service the next day for the both of you and spends the rest of the day cuddling you and visiting places

she definitely didn't develop feelings and neither did you, no not at all

she's upfront about it because really, what's the point?

she's too old to play the whole 'chase' thing

so while you're enjoying the jacuzzi in your room and sipping on some wine, she decides that's the best moment

you nearly choke on the wine

but she looks so...<3 and you know she'd treat you so well...

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Seven

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warning: Bloodshed, fight between a man and a woman, tech talk, injuries, future implications of murder on the horizon. Use of your nickname for König.

Words: 2628

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: “Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?”

Just because you can, it doesn’t always mean you should.

Sometimes it better to walk away.

Letting things lie.

Leaving them in the shadow of what could have happened if you wanted to act upon your urge to be rid of them.

Your fingers trail along the mask. An incredible gift in your eyes. The sleek material cool beneath your fingers, the curves forming over your face.

As if the material itself bonded together with your face, the digital HUD flickering to life with a gentle hum, casting a soft glow in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Simon took a tentative step towards you. He looked at it, he said, "It's a beauty," he whispered with a hint of envy.

"Lightweight, customisable, and undetectable by most standard security systems, protects my face from dust, debris, and potentially harmful airborne particles." you described part of it.

Other functions of your mask were less visible but equally important. It had a built-in respirator allowed you to breathe without revealing your position through foggy breath in cold environments or leaving a trail in smoke-filled rooms.

The mask's indented 'teeth' served as a silent venting system for the excess heat your body produced during intense combat. It was a marvel of modern warfare technology, and it complemented your lethal skill set like a second skin.

You don’t know when the chatter around started to grate on your ears and eat away at your nerves. Part of you thinks it was because of a certain part of you being denied sustenance. Thrill of a fight itching to be satiated.

Itching. Aching. Burning in the bottom of your stomach like a meal denied.

“We are all doomed. We are not special. None of us are special. We live on a tiny rock floating amongst other tiny space rocks. To imply we are special is to deny the truth. You are not special, just as I am not special.”

You were tired of the excuses. You were tired of them. “You are mediocre at best and tolerable at worst. I don’t care about you or anyone else here. Your existence is finite.”

“You are mediocre at everything I have seen you do.” You repeated with a narrowed glare. “Everything you are. It could and would be forgotten as long as your superiors benefit from it.”

“You don’t get to keep something someone else owns. Not ever. I don’t need a ‘saviour’ stop implying that I need one.” You murmured, your voice as fierce as a cat's growl. Your hold on his throat base stayed firm, as relentless as desert sands.

Despite your injury, you retaliated fiercely when threatened sufficiently. The cut deep enough to insert at least three fingers. You were always considered difficult to your peers. You didn't care about their opinion as much as they believed.

Imagine talking about someone’s trauma and labelling them as the ‘difficult one’ pathetic morons can’t consider the fact trauma changes people.

If they knew how trauma worked, they wouldn’t be flapping their pathetic mouths so much.

They need to learn to shut the fuck up.

Projecting their morals onto others like they’re the only people in the world.

Shut the fuck up. Most of you are more likely to have the privilege to never go through it.

Stupid pathetic moronic children who can only think of themselves first.

I see Simon receive the same treatment by women who label him the ‘difficult one’. It makes me want to smack the shit out of all of them.

Assault of any kind should not be tolerated. They need to shut the fuck up before I make them shut up.

I am tired of them. I am sick of their justifications of labels on people.

Shut the fuck up, I hate you all.

Trauma isn’t something you belittle. Yet you seem to have fun in doing just that. I hope you die and reach a depth of hell most won’t be able to reach.

It is what you deserve. It is what I want you to have. Now more than ever.

You think you snapped when it happened. Not that you aimed for a psychological snap any time, sooner or later. Yet the whispers and murmurs grated on your nerved like nails on a chalkboard. Call me pathetic and I will give you death.

I will give you a death even your so called god will not look away.

Your enemies cannot reach you. Sleep well, the clock ticks on.

The stars do not know you, prepare, they’ll whisper you your fate.

They look at you and wonder how you are even alive. Fear mixed with disgust. You feel it. You see it. They keep you because otherwise you would have been a darker shell of yourself.

He pushed you far enough to get here. Yet it caused you to laugh. To giggle. The blood gushing from your nose, a bit from your mouth, you laugh. You laugh because you know it’s all a game to them. A game of fear and power. And in that moment, you had all the power. You knew because the stars had already whispered to you, and they had never lied.

"An itty bitty knife? Are you fucking serious?" you taunted him.

The man snarled back a response, "This isn't a game, bitch," as he raised the knife, ready to strike fear into your heart.

“Are you scared? Are you going to run crying to your superiors, little bitch?” you taunted relentlessly. “Gonna cry now?”

A beast circling its wounded prey, every nip, every bite and every taunt. You became more beast than human when your anger wound-up tighter than a coiled snake. Posed and poised to strike. His eyes widened with fear, his breaths shallow, and his smugness replaced with a desperate plea for mercy.

Simon intervened, trapping you inside a headlock, the guy silently murmured and thanked for his timely intervention. He got off lightly in your opinion. Though getting stabbed by a butterfly knife put a damper on things.

"You're the one who should be scared." Simon's voice was cold and firm as he held you back, his grip tight but not painful. "You're better than this. Don't let them bring you down to their level."

“Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?” you growled like a feral creature, clawing at Simon’s arms as he held you firmly in his grasp. His eyes, a mix of concern and irritation, searched yours for any hint of sanity left in the rage-filled maelstrom.

“We need him alive for intel," Simon reminded you, his tone still unyielding. You knew he was right, but the desire to rip the man’s throat out was a hunger that demanded satiation.

“Tell him that. The fucker stabbed me not you.” You jerked your chin towards the man cowering on the floor, trying to push Simon away, but his grip was like steel bars.

You knew he was right, but the adrenaline and anger pumping through your veins made it hard to think rationally.

You felt the warmth of the blood trickling down from your nose, mixing with the saliva on your teeth. It tasted metallic, a flavor you had become unfortunately accustomed to.

“Calm down,” Simon whispered in your ear, his grip on your arms tightening. “Remember who you are. Remember why we're here. And we'll get the stab wound looked at, I promise.”

“I'm not calming down for his sake.” You reminded him.

“No,” Simon's voice was low and controlled, “You're calming down for ours. We need you focused.”

You let out a breath, trying to regulate your breathing, which Simon knew was a sign that you were listening to him. You nodded slightly, allowing him to loosen his grip.

The room fell silent, except for the distant sound of gunfire outside the abandoned warehouse. The man on the floor was trembling, his eyes darting between you and the knife clutched in his hand.

Soap walked in moments after the whole debacle, his eyes scanning the scene before his gaze settled on the trembling man. “Well, well, look what we have here. A little stabbing party and I missed the invite,” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. He knelt down, pulling the knife from the man’s shaking hand with ease. “Looks like you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

You were about to leave the rest to Simon and Soap when Soap dragged you out instead, muttering things about not letting the bloodlust get to you. “I could have walked outside you know?” you muttered to him.

“You're a liability like this,” he shot back.

“Like what? Stabbed?” you countered.

Soap's smirk grew wider, “Exactly. Now, let’s get that wound patched up before you go full on Wolverine on us.”

“The animal or the mutant?” you snorted. “My life would be easier if it was the mutant. He heals instantly. Don't roll your eyes at me. I read so many X-Men comics growing up.”

Soap chuckled despite the gravity of the situation, his Scottish accent thick with sarcasm. “Ah, so you’re telling me you wish for the gift of healing rather than the rage of the beast?” He led you to a makeshift medical station set up in the corner of the warehouse, the harsh lighting revealing the stark contrast of the crimson blood against your pale skin.

“I mean that would just come with the healing right? With how Wolverine is, I wouldn’t mind the rage as much. The claws would be a bonus.” you quipped.

Soap shook his head, his amusement clear despite the seriousness of the situation. He took a deep breath, his eyes focused on the wound, “Well, we’ve got bandages, not adamantium, but it’ll have to do for now.”

Simon glared at the comment made from a bystander calling you cute when you are clearly not. You had wanted to be called it when you weren’t bloodied with another person’s blood on your uniform and your knuckles.

Once you were isolated, Price looked at you from the sidelines, his expression unreadable. As you let your aggression out on a punching bag. The smacking of gloves against leather in the background as they continued to speak about the fight between you and a guy who happened to be taunting Simon.

It grated on you enough to lash out. Ending in bloodshed. Despite these fights being rare, they are bloody enough for people to remember them. You felt the weight of Price’s gaze, his silent disapproval heavy in the air. He couldn't be upset with you entirely as you don't escalate them as much as people would love to believe.

“You okay?” he finally spoke, his tone flat.

“If you're angry with me just say so.” you told Price.

Price took a drag of his cigar, his eyes never leaving yours, “I'm not angry with you.” He said, “I'm just concerned. This isn't the first time you've lost it like that.”

“And it's not the first time they escalated it either. But you don't see that part because by the time you're here. They're on the ground and I'm already stabbed.” you reminded him. “Lecture them before you lecture me.”

Price's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper, “Look, I know you've been through a lot, but we need you sharp. We can't afford any more… incidents like this. Do you understand?”

“How about you tell them to keep their hands to themself?” you countered.

Price sighed, his gaze flickering to the side, “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is. Its called keep your hands to yourself. Don't touch someone without their consent.” you reminded him.

Price knew you had a point, but the situation was more complicated than that. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “I’ll handle it. But you need to control your temper. We're in a war zone, not a playground. If we don’t keep our heads on straight, we're all going to end up dead. Or worse, captured.”

Like the god Hades, you will never been seen as anything other than a monster of your own creation. Maintaining a balance most will never see. Passive. Altruistic. A creature made by whims and wants of others. A creature made and remade repeatedly.

A story retold to fit the whims and wants of those they want to appeal to. Hades went from passive to a main villain because of the lack of media literacy to think clearly. Whittling down his wife to a lost lamb in distress. When she is in fact his queen with strengths of her own.

A falsehood created by those who would rather see their version of a tale prevail than to see a man be gentle with his wife. Better to dehumanise the king of the underworld than to think otherwise.

They don’t seem to understand. Evil has no shading. Darkness does not equate to evil, and living in the shade of blissful ignorance will not save you.

Just as fire causes destruction. It also has a hand in creating life.

Neither side is good. Neither is side is bad. Both sides would have been considered good and great given the angle someone would take. Both sides can be considered a great evil. No matter what happens from this point forward. You will always be referred to as the name you are given. No matter how tainted you feel about yourself.

They will still refer to you by this name. Now, today and tomorrow.

As Elysium and Tartarus are both heaven and hell. It is both. It will always be both.

Choosing to believe one version of a tale over the other reeks of bias.

Much like Hades. You don’t have to go to them. People will come to their own end when they come to you. A fruitless endeavour to ever hope they could live to see tomorrow if they were your target. They are good as dead.

You are the least evil amongst them. It also didn’t mean you are harmless like a pup as much some might think.

“They will all come to me eventually. Regardless of how they feel on the matter.” You muttered. Mostly to yourself than to Simon.

Simon decided to interject, his deep British accent breaking through your deep meditated rhythm. The punches against the bag hard enough to shake through a concrete wall. Strong enough to go through a wall made of wood. You wore specialised earphones to block out background noise.

Now all there is left of you there are memories. It’s been a month since your kidnapping, entering into a second month now. They turned to your private thoughts of your journal in the hope they would find you sometime soon. Hoping König would not kill you out of boredom of you.

People fear death and fawn over theatrics.

People hate you because you represent the end of life.

Death. Grim Reaper.

Retellings will tell them you took them. Kidnapped them.

Even though your intentions were revealed to them and them alone.

Behind closed doors.

Twisting your words against your memory.

Even when your intentions were not what they will assume.

They mix up benevolent with kindness. You will show them, won’t you Mäuschen?

You will show them what it means to evoke the name of death upon their lips, right Maus?

The walls of your old bedroom, no longer the same as they once were. Not like you cared now. It was a moment of another time. Inside a lifetime, you thought you had all to yourself. Fleeting, as they were, finite. You were glad they were gone. As you were about to something so heinous. Even your mother would have disowned you.

No. She isn’t here anymore. She can not save you. No one outside this room can save you apart from yourself.

Rely on your instincts.

“What’s the matter, lamb? Are you scared?” You cooed into his ear. A plan forming in the back of your mind. If this was the game, he set up. He should be prepared for you to win it.

Fair is fair after all.

What is his will become yours.

What is yours will never be his again.

[luci4theminorannoyance]

Hey Lucci 👋

Sorry to bother you... is it okay if I request something? Farah Laswell and Valeria, with a fem reader, have the personality of Sally (Nightmare before Christmas)

a/n: I love sally!

Farah:

-she loves to sit back and let you try new things and explore

-honestly your the only person who can convince her to stop being stubborn about something because of how she knows your gut feelings are right

valeria:

-she adores your creativity to things and watching you simply enjoy your hobbies as her girlfriend. Especially when it’s something she can join in with

-has been so close to punching people so many times because of them simply not listening to you

laswell:

-If she’s unsure of what to do? The first person she’s asking is her wife. Which of course is you

-loves how kind your soul is and how you try and watch out for her even when her whole job puts her in danger

-simply cuddling up with you and talking for hours together is her favorite thing to do when she gets home from mission

[angclips]

Beauty and the Beast

part 1

After the beast expelled the young man's father, she walked back to the dungeons. However, she stopped at the suggestion of one of her servants, John McTavish, the candlestick who had allowed the old man to enter the castle. John commented that it might be a good idea to offer the boy a comfortable room, but the beast silenced him with a roar and continued on her way to where Kyle was.

Seeing him cry and hearing his complaint about not being allowed to say goodbye to his father, she felt a little sorry for him. She pondered John's idea, thinking maybe it would make the young man feel better.

“I'll show you to your room,” the beast said, turning around and waiting for Kyle to follow.

The young man stopped sobbing and, confused, looked up. “My room? But I thought…”

“You wanna stay in the tower?” the beast replied, pointing to the dilapidated dungeon. Kyle quickly responded with a “no” and, without further ado, decided to follow her so she could show him the room where he would be staying forever.

As he followed her through the corridors, he couldn't help but notice the statues that adorned the place, representations of monsters, like the one that now guided him through the vast castle.

For its part, the beast continued walking, casting furtive glances at the young man, noticing his sad face.

“Say something to him,” whispered the candelabra. The lady of the castle, surprised by the suggestion, improvised a reply.

“I…I hope you like it here,” she said, looking over her shoulder. John, however, insisted that she continue talking to him. “The castle is now your home. So you can go anywhere you like, except the west wing.”

That piqued Kyle's curiosity. “What's in the west…?”

“It's forbidden!” the beast interrupted, cutting off the conversation and resuming her walk.

It wasn't long before they reached the room. The beast opened the door and, as Kyle entered, indicated that if he needed anything, he could call the servants.

“Dinner. Invite him to dinner,” Soap whispered again, trying to help his mistress move forward in her relationship with the young man.

“You will join me for dinner. That's not a request!” The beast added, closing the door sharply before leaving.

Johnny, seeing how his mistress had “invited” the young man to dinner, shook his head, regretting her behavior. It only remained to hope that the dinner would be a success.

As night fell, in the dining room, the beast sat, tapping impatiently at the table with one of its claws. She had sent one of her servants to tell Kyle that dinner was ready, but the young man was taking too long to come downstairs.

She rose from her chair and began pacing back and forth, while Soap, the candlestick, and Kate, the teapot and housekeeper, watched her.

“What's taking so long? I told him to come dow. Why isn't he here yet?” she asked, irritated.

“Be patient. The boy has lost his father and his freedom all in one day” Kate commented with pity for the young man.

“My lady, have you thought that perhaps this boy could be the one to break the spell?” suggested John with a smile.

“Of course I have. I'm no fool,” the beast growled. She had noticed Kyle's determination in sacrificing himself for his father. However, she knew it wouldn't be easy, as she was making mistakes that were only pushing him away.

Kate and John began to give him advice: act polite, smile, don't scare him, impress him with your wit, be kind, and praise him. All of it overwhelmed her, but there was one piece of advice in particular that she knew she had to follow: “You must control your temper!”

They were interrupted by the sound of the doorknob, which made them think Kyle had arrived. However, disappointment was evident as they saw Simon Riley, the clock, enter. “He's not coming,” he reported.

“WHAT?!” a roar echoed through the castle before the beast ran out of the dining room, followed by her servants, who were not surprised by her reaction.

Reaching the door to the room, she knocked loudly. “I thought I told you to come down to dinner!”

“I'm not hungry,” Kyle replied from inside.

“You'll come out or... I'll break down the door!” The beast was furious. He looked at her servants, who were suggesting she be nicer, so she took a deep breath before trying to speak in a calmer tone. “Will you come down to dinner?”

“No!” The beast pointed at the door, frustrated, as she looked at her servants, making it clear that even this way she was not succeeding in gaining the young man's trust.

This time it was Simon who suggested, “Be nice and polite.”

The beast, not understanding why she was doing all this, took another deep breath and bowed, albeit irritated by Kyle's refusal. “It would be a great honor if you would join me for dinner… please.”

“No, thank you.”

She couldn't stand it anymore. She couldn't tolerate that behavior toward her anymore. “You can't stay there forever.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Fine! Then go ahead and starve!” roared the beast, letting out all her anger. “If he doesn't eat with me, the he doesn't eat at all,” she concluded, before quickly leaving for her quarters.

Arriving at her room, she moved some items out of the way until she reached the display case containing the rose. As she talked to herself, she tried to convince herself that she didn't need to beg anyone, let alone a villager like him. However, she couldn't help but wonder what Kyle thought of her, so she took her magic mirror and ordered him to show her the young man. She saw him talking to another of his servants, just as determined not to spend time with her.

This brought her back to reality. She knew it would be useless; Kyle was not the young man to break the spell, and she was doomed to live as a monster forever. The feeling of guilt invaded her, knowing that her servants would also remain trapped in that curse.

[cerise-on-top]

hi! how would Valeria and Kate react if their wife’s got hurt because of their work, both of them working highly jobs and it ended up catching up to their s/o. hoe you are doing well and drink plenty of water! thank you!

-🍒

Hello! Both of them would be absolutely distraught, but would go about it in different ways!

Valeria’s and Laswell’s Wife Gets Hurt Because of their Job

Valeria: Whoever hurt you will wind up tortured and eventually, once she thinks they’ve had enough of their miserable life, will wind up dead. Naturally, the first thing she does is check up on you, see if you’re alright and well, that’s her priority. You’re the love of her life, there’s no one else in this world she wants to see do well. You’ll be admitted to the best hospital nearby and will only get the finest treatment. Once you’re stabilized, that’s when the hunt begins. Whoever hurt you won’t get too far since that bastard’s life will be on the line. Regardless of where they might be hiding, Valeria will find them and show them that death is actually a kind of mercy. She has pretty much everything at her disposal, everything money can buy, this sucker won’t know what hit them. If it’s revenge they want, then revenge they’ll get. Valeria promises you that their head will be on a silver plate. She’s not very good with words when it comes to comforting someone, but she will have that person killed in the most cruel ways she can imagine. In fact, she’ll take the pleasure of torturing them upon herself. Once she’s done, she’ll take some days off, which is surprising since she usually can’t afford that at all. You’ll be under her direct care for those days. Anything you want you’ll get. Afterwards there will be a slight shift in her demeanor, Valeria becomes more protective over you. Sometimes she might even assign some trusted people of hers to watch over you since she can’t afford something like that happening again. While she can’t always take some days off, she’ll try to be closer to you anyway. Always texting you, finding excuses to come home for a day maybe. She just really needs to make sure you’re okay, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if you died.

Laswell: Laswell will try to be a bit more diplomatic about it at first, trying to coax whoever hurt you out of hiding. This person will be held accountable for their crimes against her world. Naturally, she rescues you first, gets you to the nearest hospital and won’t leave your side until you’re stable again. If it takes you a while to wake up again, she’ll leave to find the fucker and make sure they swim with the fishes. She has a pretty large, efficient network and will find out who it was fairly easily. Once she knows who they are, she won’t hesitate to find out all their past crimes as well, if they hurt you then they must have done some other awful things as well. Once that phase is over, she’ll go to their home herself and have them arrested, put in the worst prison imaginable where the inmates are treated especially badly. She won’t kill them, but she wouldn’t be surprised if they wind up dead anyway. Laswell usually isn’t an evil person, but she does hope that person dies during their time. Their sentence will be as long as possible so there’s no chance of them ever seeing the sunlight again either. Once all of this is over, she, too, would take some days off to spend with you. You’re a priority above all else, so Laswell will want to be there for you, no matter the cost. While she usually isn’t, depending on how severely you got hurt she might become a bit overbearing, a bit overprotective. That overprotectiveness will last for a few months, afterwards she’ll try to give you some space again. However, she’ll always be keeping a closer eye on you, always texting or calling you every once in a while to make sure you’re okay. If she needs to, she’ll put you under her protection officially, but the situation needs to be dire for that to happen. Either way, she’ll be keeping you safe.

[moon-my-beloved]

Dream a Little Dream of Me masterlist

A month. She had to wait a fucking month to recover despite her persistence to the chief of being just fine. Getting sent home was not how she wanted things to go. On the other hand, maybe Joseph was right, she probably needed a break. A time to relax and escape from the unruly reality of the world. It’ll be fine, right?

TW: mentions of death, and a bit of stalking but it’s harmless (i think) - xoxo

— September 18, 1996. Location: Minneapolis, MN

It will be an excruciating wait until Laswell can get back on her feet. Reluctantly, under her chief's command, Joseph insisted that she take this time to recover after returning scratched up, worn out, and not having any recollection of how she ended up in the middle of the woods when the helicopter arrived. The chief was more than desperate to give Kate a break.

Amnesia, they had said. Probably caused by the head injury she had sustained when she fell. At least that’s what the doctors at the medical wing kept telling her when she was asked various questions of what she could recall about the event. She had been running away from the attackers, grabbing everything she could before she was bolting into the woods, and after that– there was nothing. A painful ring in her ear could be heard every time she tried to hark back to what might have unfolded that fateful night. She came up blank with every try. It was torment, a hole of anguish making itself comfortable in her chest. A long list of paperwork, meetings, and more paperwork awaited her back at the agency upon her arrival, not even getting a chance to argue that there was no need for her to be on extended leave, that she was fine.

“You're a lucky woman, Laswell. A damn right good analytics as well,” The chief had told her back at the airport, "I need you to be in your best shape if I want you back on the field.”

She didn’t feel lucky at all. She escaped but at what cost? Although the people she worked with weren’t necessarily close to her, lives were taken away— families broken apart. There’s no time for grief, the mission comes first. It always does. She said nothing in return if the slight slump in her shoulders wasn't obvious enough. With that, the chief excused himself, lips pressed to a tight line just as he disappeared through the automatic doors.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she turned, suitcase in hand as she walked to catch her flight back to Minneapolis. It wasn’t a long flight from Virginia, her mind drifting away into a haze of thoughts she had been pondering about these last two days. She had fallen asleep midway through the flight and before she knew it, the plane had already landed. Rubbing the sleep off her eyes, she got up, grabbing her duffel bag from the storage bins. Dread filled her once she stepped out of the terminal building.

“Home sweet home.“ She sarcastically said to herself. It's anything but sweet.

It’s not like she hated coming back home. It worked as a good getaway from where she usually stayed back in D.C. No stacks of papers, no meetings, no missions, no calls to family members to break the news that their husbands, wives, daughters, or sons won’t be coming back home. A setting opposite to what she’s used to. It made Kate feel weird at times— out of place. Those were thoughts to dwell on for later on restless nights. In the meantime, she has to catch a damn taxi to get back to her old flat.

As soon as she closed the door behind her, the woman let out a groan, throwing her duffel bag carelessly on the wooden floor while rubbing the back of her neck. She was beyond exhausted. The painkillers she took on the way here must have kicked in earlier than she anticipated. The pain in her leg would come and go despite the gunshot wound only leaving her with a small scar besides the continuous ringing in her ear. It was odd the more she thought about it. Wounds like these don’t just heal in a week, especially if you are stuck in the middle of fuck-nowhere.

Shaking her head, Kate took a good look around her small apartment. It looked the same as how she left it months ago. A bit of dust here and there but it was nothing a good clean couldn't fix. She had taken some paperwork home regarding the mission and had looked through them a thousand times to find anything that could magically refresh her memory. It was useless. Fixing herself a cup of coffee she settled on the couch, spreading the documents on her almost too small table with furrowed eyebrows.

‘Why? Why couldn’t she remember?’

“Shit,” The sun had gone down by the time she stopped trying to get answers to her never-ending questions. Closing the folder rather angrily, she took the cup of coffee to throw down the drain. It had turned cold and left forgotten the second she sat down. She was fighting sleep at this point, dragging her body towards the bathroom and exiting it thirty minutes later with her skin feeling raw. Draping the towel over her neck, she made a beeline towards her room where she immediately let out a groan of content once her body hit the soft sheets. It felt nice as the woman ran her fingers through the fabric. She wasn’t sure if the antibiotics were the ones to lure her to sleep or the familiar scent coming off her blankets. She hasn’t washed them since the last time being here.

That night, Laswell dreamt of being in the woods again.

“How long are you going to be in town for?” Her mom said from the other side of the line.

She had been rudely woken up from the best sleep of her life to the sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand beside her. Her first thought was to ignore it but the damn thing kept beeping. Who the fuck would be calling her so early in the morning? Letting out a huff, Laswell sat up from the confines of her bed, snatching the flip phone off the counter to see who it was. Eyes bleary and unfocused as she scanned the contact name on the screen. ‘Mom’ it read. Squinting her eyes in confusion, she pressed the left button and brought the phone to her ear.

She regretted making that decision now that she’s been on the phone with her mom for more than an hour hearing her nagging and complaining about how she should visit them more often, that they missed her. She almost lost count of how many times she had to remind her mother that it was a difficult thing to do when you work for the government. She stuck to just apologizing if she didn’t want to hear her mother go on a whole debate about how she had ruined her life. She has no time for that, almost letting out a scoff at her empty words. They did not miss her.

“ –ello? Are you there?” The older woman's voice had pulled her back to reality, blinking down at the spoon swirling around the dark liquid as she brought the cup to her lips, the taste of caffeine overtaking her taste buds. “Yes, Mom, I heard you. Joseph gave me a month-long leave.” She announced. Shaking her head at the possibility that she might be stuck with her parent’s continuous pestering. ‘She is really the greatest daughter in the world.’

“Oh well, that’s just wonderful! Maybe you can come by some other day for dinner, it’ll be great.” Her mom said. The excitement in her tone was a bit too forced for Laswell to believe her. She knew that if she did come by for dinner, it would just end in an argument and pile up with the other times their meetings have ended in complete chaos. “Maybe.” She answered, a tense silence making itself known between them upon her monotone response to her mother’s suggestion to ‘bond’. It was awkward after that, her mom making up a half-assed excuse that she had to get ready to meet some of her friends before the call ended.

She won’t be attending dinner with her parents or calling each other anytime soon. Not that she ever did anyway.

Soon, the cold air from the mornings disappeared and the warmth of the afternoons rolled in. It was a cycle. A restless cycle that kept itching the back of Laswell’s brain as the days passed. She had looked over the papers every day, in hopes of catching something she had missed, a singular clue that would create a spark of remembrance in the crevices of her hippocampus. She came up with nothing.

The only abnormal thing she has gotten out of her little ‘scavenger hunt’ was a damn migraine and the same dream every night. She’s in the woods, the same one from that day, following a ceaseless path that seems to take her nowhere but her feet seem to have a mind of their own as if they have been here before, as if they knew all along where this nameless destination is. She wakes up in a cold sweat before she finds out.

She had initially shrugged it off as a result of her fall but the more she went outside to simply enjoy the breeze of the wind, the cheers and cries of children running around the local playground, a woman walking her dog, or even to just grab a bite from the coffee shop across the street, a feeling had poisoned her brain that someone has been following her, watching her. With every glance she took over her shoulder, there was no one, even though she had no doubt and was positive that she saw a questionable shadow from the corner of her eye. Had they come back to get her? Close the deal and seal it shut so she can just be another piece of paper among others?

She wasn’t so sure anymore. She felt like she was going insane the more time passed.

It was a rainy day when the ringing in her ear became too unbearable, palms over her ears in an attempt to make the pain go away and curled up against the cushions of her couch beside the window.

Tap, tap, tap.

She was fine a few hours ago. Woke up at the usual time, made herself breakfast (a cup of coffee), and planted herself on the couch to go over documents, emails, and continued to ignore her mother’s calls. It wasn’t on purpose. She just had her hands full, that’s all. She must have overestimated her capabilities of spending long periods of time in the same sitting-hunched position. Her age was getting to her.

She had taken her medicine already but by the looks of it, it didn’t seem to be working out for her. Letting out a low groan through her gritted teeth, she moved her head to the side to get a better view of the outside. It wasn’t necessarily pouring down, the repetitive noise of droplets hitting wood and trickling down glass soothed her discomfort for just a few seconds as she watched the cars pass by.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was getting dark, the moon creeping its way above the horizon, a good thing knowing that the brightness of the sun would just make the state she was already in, much worse. She doesn’t know how long she had stayed there. Maybe half an hour before she dozed off and had been woken up by that crawling feeling that someone was around. A presence. Sitting up a bit straighter, she peered through the window, rain still falling from the sky created a small mist in the air, but she saw it. She saw you.

An unknown gravitational force had made Laswell bolt up from her spot, not even caring to put on her shoes before she unlocked the door and sprinted outside. She didn’t know what had made her run through the rain so carelessly, the wet dirt and grass digging into her bare feet, just like that day. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead from exhaustion, just like that day. A sense of desperation and relief once she saw the only thing that had saved her from meeting her ultimate death. The trees, the manor, the sweet smell of your sheets, the tea, you. It was you, standing in front of her below the moonlight and the rain. It had been a constant battle these last few days trying to figure out what was true or not but at that moment, she knew. It had been you all along.

You said nothing, eyes peering at her with that same intensity as that night. If Laswell noticed your trembling hands, she didn’t mention it.

The ringing had finally stopped, a clump in her throat making her utter the only three words she could think of.

“I know you.”

A/N: the prologue has come to an end, woohoo!! >< you guys will be seeing a lot of the boys later on when i start working on incoming chapters! for now, please enjoy and again, any feedback is welcomed! 🍂

[callsignfate]

Laswell x Sarcastic Wife.

I have more to edit and post, I planned to post it yesterday, but guess who had to go to the emergency dentist and get a molar removed? Me! I was in a ton of pain, and it's still sore today, but I'm going to try to write and edit.

Tw: Sexual innuendo and slight bickering. She/her pronouns.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

As you sat on the small couch in Kate's office, you observed her working diligently. The constant ticking of the office clock and the rustling of papers had become a familiar backdrop to your days, as your week together for your anniversary had been continually interrupted by work-related matters.

Kate was an epitome of efficiency. She managed her work with dedication, allocating some moments for you while maintaining her productivity. You often found solace in the peace and silence, appreciating the rare moments of quietude even though you wished for more interaction with Kate.

You contemplated offering to fetch her another cup of coffee, noticing her almost empty mug, when an unwelcome guest entered the room. This individual, seemingly of a higher rank, exuded an air of arrogance and indifference. His abrupt and disruptive entrance disturbed the tranquil atmosphere.

His attention turned towards Kate as he inquired about her progress, but something was off. She, who was known for her sharp and often sarcastic responses, appeared uncharacteristically compliant in her conversation with this man. Her uncharacteristic change piqued your curiosity.

Although you kept out of it, flitting between apps on your phone and a book you were reading until you heard his harsh words catch your attention.

"You need to work harder - maybe get rid of your... distraction," he muttered, emphasizing the last word with venom.

"Oh please, what's more distracting is that disco ball glare coming off that shiny ass head of yours," you muttered, keeping your eyes trained on the book as you took a dig at his obviously balding head.

"Excuse me?" He snapped, his feet taking a large step towards you in an attempt to intimidate you.

"The intimidation tactics won't work here, buddy. I'm lesbian, married, and have a very intimidating wife. You have absolutely no chance for your tactics to work. And while you may be taller, I can easily hit you in the nuts," you scoffed casually, finally looking up to see his face bright red and Kate's face in her hands with her head shaking in disapproval.

"Laswell, who is this sitting in your office? I want to speak to her higher-up. Now," he spat out as you began to laugh. He had no idea.

"That's my wife, and she doesn't technically have a higher-up. She doesn't work here anymore," Kate said calmly as she glanced over at you with a look of slight shock.

"Your wife has a mouth," the man said immediately after hearing he had no ground to try to punish you.

"And I use it every night," you said as you winked at Kate and went back to looking at your book. The small noise of shock he made before offering one parting word almost made you laugh.

"Just get it done," he shot out quickly before leaving the office immediately after.

"Interesting man, don't think he likes me," you said before Kate could get a word out. She shook her head and laughed, making you glance up at her from your book.

"Yeah, I don't think he likes you either," Kate said in between laughs.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

[boolger]

I’m dangerous ☆ chapter 9 ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. MDNI

[Chapter 1] ☆ [chapter 2] ☆ [chapter 3] ☆ [chapter 4] ☆ [chapter 5] [chapter 6]☆ [Chapter 7] ☆ [chapter 8] ☆ [Chapter 9]

☆ fem!reader x Kate Laswell ☆ explicit. MDNI. ☆ 9/10 ☆ 3,658 words

☆ Summary: You were a hacker and had been a thorn in the side of the 141 gang for a while, in particular as you tried to find out who the famous leader, Watcher, was. But they refuse to be blackmailed and won’t pay you. So, to prove that you weren’t just bluffing, but were a serious threat to them, you kidnapped a random woman that you saw coming out from one of their meetings, figuring she was a secretary or girlfriend or something.

Oh, how wrong you were.

☆ Tags: au mob, gang, kidnapping, blackmailing, dub-con, angst, smut, death, grief/mourning, hacking, non-con drug use, bondage, spanking, kissing, rough sex, inaccurate portrayal of mob, violence, blood, stabbing, killing.

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The two of you were supposed to get to her bed, but never managed to. The office was closer and Kate pulled you into it, not even bothering going further down the hall to the bedroom - muttering about how your dress should be illegal, sliding her hands beneath it, her fingers warm against your cold skin.

Kate pushed you down onto the dark blue couch in the office, a soft grunt leaving you as you collided with the soft furniture. Instantly she was shifting off her robe, leaving her in only a short, silken nightgown, that barely hid her ass - but you didn’t get a moment to appreciate the sight in front of you properly, the mafia boss instantly on you. 

She pushed you to lay down on the couch, forcing herself in between your legs; pushing up the black dress, warm fingers once again running along your skin. You barely managed to get off your jacket, letting it dump to the floor, before her touches got too distracting. Roaming your curves and squeezing your ass, before pulling down your panties harshly, making you whine.

A loud gasp and excited thrill-like sound left you as you barely got a second to feel the air on your pussy, before Kate’s month was on it.

“Fufuckfuckfuck, Kate - ah!” you babbled already, twisting a little as she grabbed  your thighs, trying to keep you still, “don’t stop, don’tstoppleaseplease–” your words melted together, her tongue licking at your already weet core. The demand earned you a slap on your thigh.

The pain colliding with the sudden pleasure and the adrenaline you felt high on, made you moan out loud - and Kate laugh out loud. Demeaning, yet clearly amused.

“Dirty girl,” she cooed, fingers digging into the skin she had just slapped, making your eyelashes flutter, “Such a whore for me, huh?” 

You were at a loss for words as she spoke into your pussy, nodding desperately, pawing helplessly at her shoulders and head, making her laugh. She tugged on your legs, making you rest them on her shoulders, before she leant down to lick along your slit and focus on your clit for a moment, making you cry out. 

She chuckled once more into said dripping cunt, clearly pleased with herself. Like this you could see down the nightdress a little and you wished you could rip it from her. But the mere look from Kate was keeping you down, your legs feeling helpless, knees at her shoulders.

The sound of her spitting directly onto your cunt and the feeling of the liquid hitting you made you hide your face, a moan leaving you as she then sloppily leant down to force her spit into you with her tongue. 

You were mewling and twisting, earning yourself a couple of spanks, before two fingers unceremoniously slid into you, stretching you. You tried not to think about how the house would probably be able to hear you moan and cry for Kate - in fact being her little annoying whore.

“My little annoying hacker,” She cooed, turning her head to kiss your inner thigh a short moment, before biting down into your plush skin, making you mewl, her fingers never stopping their abuse of your cunt “You got everything you wanted, yet you still came runnin’ back to me.”

“Want you, want you, Kate,” you whined, one of your hands moving to grab onto the fabric of the couch, afraid you would fall off with your twisting. Every single sensation felt heightened by her mere gaze on you, “just want you.”

“Greedy girl,” her voice was teasing, but her gaze was dark, as if her black pupil were swallowing the blue eye colour, “just wanna be my lil’ whore, huh?”

“Yeahyeah, just yours,” you agreed desperately as you tried fucking yourself back onto her fingers, “only yours, only yours.”

“Yeah?” she continued, her other hand leaving your skin for a second, only to return in a hard slap that made you clench around her fingers and cry out, “even if I just tied ya’ up in my bed, yeah? Keep you around as a pet.”

You felt so good that your brain barely functioned, only making you nod – a sharp slap to the face made you cry out and clench even harder around her, making the older woman curse, adding another finger.

“Answer me,” she demanded, “answer me, Fae!”

“YesyesyesYES oh god yes, miss, anything, I - Ah FUCK!” Kate increased the moment of her fingers while you babbled and begged, and when she curled her fingers and repeatedly attacked that sweet gooey stuff inside your pussy, you fell apart.

The scream probably echoed throughout the house, but you felt so good that you didn’t give a shit. It was like the pleasure didn’t stop and Kate was moaning too, pulling her fingers from you, rubbing your oversensitive pussy; that was when you realised you weren’t just coming, but squirting too. Making a big dark spot on Kate’s silken nightgown and the mere might have made you come again, hadn’t you been too busy being overwhelmed. 

You pushed her fingers from your poor, abused and puffy cunt, making her laugh, catching your fingers and giving you a sharp bite.

“Sweet princess,” she cooed, “my perfect little hacker,” your cunt earned another kiss, “my whore,” then your thigh, your legs falling from her shoulders at her gentle nudge, letting her kiss your stomach, licking along stretch marks and a few beauty marks “my perfect Fae.”

Kate Laswell then rested her body on top of yours, both of you breathing a little quickly, even if it was only you who had come yet. Her head rested on your upper stomach, a soft, pleased sigh leaving her. The black fabric was framing her face and as she closed her eyes, she looked more tired than before you left. You gently moved to caress her hair and she relaxed even more, like a big feline who had finally found a good spot to lay.

“Let’s get you to bed, Kate,” you whispered gently, the older woman’s eyes closed as she let out a grunt, but let you pull her up from the couch. 

The two of you looked like proper messes; your hair was messy, no panties beneath your short dress, thighs shiny with your juices - Kate a mess as well, hair even messier, her nightgown having a large wet spot from where you had squirted. 

You pulled her into bed, pushing her down, sliding off the dress - the older woman didn’t even try to hide how she took in your body. Drank in the sight as if it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The big dangerous Watcher made grabby hands for you as you abandoned the bra too, making you giggle. 

“Lemme help you relax,” you whispered, crawling onto the bed running your hands along her thighs - she spread them without hesitation, letting you pull her panties down and abandon them on the floor.

She rambles mindlessly about you, about your body, about how she missed you even the short time you were apart. How you ruined her the day you kidnapped her, with your stupid taser and drug. She was a proper mess for you and you let her use you, grind against your face, moaning and licking all you could. Nose pressed against her clit.

Kate moaned as she used you, jaw slack with pleasure, hands in your hair, nails digging slightly into your scalp. She came with a silent moan that turned into a couple of gasps and then pants. You rested your head against her hip, gasping for air, mouth and nose wet with her juices.

Falling asleep wasn’t so hard. The two of you would have to get up in a couple of hours, but you didn’t mind. Even two hours more with Kate before she went on work would be worth it.

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It was almost as if you never left, then again, you hadn’t been gone for long. It was just a dramatic time away, though most of the men seemed happy to have you back. While most of her men had their own places, they tended to stay around most of their time and technically had their own rooms.

Maybe Soap seemed too comfortable around you, however.

“Might go back to mah own apartment if ye two dinnae stop fuckin’ so loud,” Soap had said one morning, grin on his face as he winked at you, exposing what wasn’t really a secret - but at the breakfast table? He barely managed to dodge the bed roll you threw at him, laughing even as Ghost smacked the back of his head and you hid your face behind your hands. 

Kate didn’t even look up from her phone, where she was reading the news, merely adding “it’s not my fault she is a screamer.”

You almost fell down from your chair, kicking her beneath the table while Price groaned at the information as Gaz and Soap laughed too loudly.

She did make it up to you before she went to work with the others, fucking you hard on her fingers, your panties not even pulled aside. She had just slid her hands down your sweatpants and gone right to it - licking her fingers afterwards, before giving you a deep kiss. 

A smack on your ass - before telling you not to do anything stupid.

You tried not to think about how much everything had changed. Sometimes you still had nightmares of different situations - of Ghost choking you out that first time you met, of Price threatening you - of Graves’ face. 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have returned, a more logical part of your mind offered now and again, you had joined a mob of your own free choice instead of getting away from the life of crime.

Warming the bed of a mobster boss, who was kept secret - who operated in public like a secretary to John Price. 

You even helped them still - hacking into places, getting them information that you shouldn’t give them. Freely stepping into the sea of crime, doing everything to hide their trails, erasing security cameras.

Still thinking about Alice once and again. Wondering if she would like this path you had taken.

You should visit her grave soon, you reminded yourself

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A couple of days later, you were mostly alone in the big house, having had a lazy day where you rummaged through some private files belonging to a business owner who was trying to scam the group - ironic given how you ended up joining them by trying to blackmail them… and kidnap Kate. 

You played absentmindedly with Kate’s butterfly knife - Soap had been teaching you how to do a couple of tricks, much to Kate’s dismay. It had resulted in what Gaz had called a ring of shame, when you cut yourself all the way around one of your fingers. It wasn’t deep and could be managed with a bandaid, and despite Gaz’ snickers, he and Soap taught you how to do the trick properly anyway. Kate had rolled her eyes and muttered about your pretty skin.

In a way, you suspected that she liked that you got along with her men - besides, when Soap had pointed out that it would be smart for you to know how to handle a knife, she had agreed. You didn’t want to point out that you weren’t going to scare away anyone by twirling the knife and opening it all fancily, but you kept your mouth shut.

She had teased you a day or two ago, that she should let you kidnap her again, so that the two of you could get a couple of days alone - without the taser and drugging part. You liked that idea. Maybe going to France together or just somewhere in the middle of nowhere, just to enjoy each others’ company. 

You stretched your body after getting up, sliding the pocketknife into your back pocket. They would be back soon if you weren’t wrong and you liked the idea of looking nice when Kate  came home.

The two of you hadn’t really talked about it yet, but you knew you were being pulled into a dangerous life when you decided to join her. It was an unspoken reality and she had muttered about teaching you how to shoot a time or two. You didn’t really want to, just like you didn’t really want to learn how to fight with a knife.

It would be too real then - the nightmares sometimes reminded you of the violence you had been witness to and it made you wonder if you were really cut out for all of this. If you were able to hurt somebody else, in another situation, with something more dangerous than your Shakespeare book.

Then again; you would do it for Kate, wouldn’t you?

You shut the laptop, abandoning it at the desk, walking towards one of the bigger bathrooms of the house - it had a really nice bathtub and Kate might have indulged a little too much in your love for bath bombs. Which had resulted in you spending more time in the bathtub than you liked to admit. It was a luxury you liked to drabble in.

The t-shirt you wore was one of your old ones, despite Kate having said several times that she would buy you all new clothes. Any kind of fancy clothes that you wanted – but then you would catch her sleeping in it sometimes. It sat looser on her, making her look all cute. You liked her wearing it and always ate her out in the mornings when she did wear one of them.

You hummed happily as you opened the bathroom door, mind already busy with deciding what kind of bathbomb you wanted to use. As you began to close the door behind you, you wondered if you should go by the scent or the visuals, if you shou–

A hand pushed against the door before it could close fully, pressing against it and opening again, the weight behind the other person too great, as the other forced themself into the bathroom. You stumbled back, no sound able to leave your mouth in pure confusion.

You had seen the man before. He closed the door behind him, not taking his eyes off you, locking it. The mere sound of the lock made you open your mouth, since you didn’t particularly want to stay in a closed room with the mountain of a man.

“Who are –”

The man in front of you lifted a finger in front of his mouth, as if to tell you to be quiet - that was, if you had been able to see his mouth. It was hidden beneath fabric, almost like a veil.

Like an executioner, eyeholes cut, but the rest of the face was hidden.

As he took a step forward, you took one backwards. He stood out against the light bathroom, with the white tiles, dark outfit with the cold eyes making him look unreal.

“You ruined everything,” he said, a strong german accent to his tone, his eyes intense beneath the fabric that covered his face, “I have been undercover here for over two years and you waltz in, ruining der plan, nervige Hure.”

You had a vague memory of him being one of the men following you the day you tried to escape. A part of you wondered darkly, if he had killed you, had he had the opportunity. If he would have pulled you into an alleyway and broken your neck, hiding your body near the trash cans, to be forgotten and lost. 

Another step towards you made you stumble backwards, mind running at high speed at his words. Undercover here for over  two years. While one part of your brain was screaming for you to get out, the other was screaming at you that he was it. He was the mole, the one who had been communicating with Graves, who had outed Kate, who had helped him inside–

“I have the blood of my brothers on mein hands, because of you, Schlampe,” he snarled, not even visibly armed - he didn’t need to be, his sheer size a danger when opposite you. A giant stepping out of a dark Grimm fairytale, to devour you whole, rip your head from your body, crunch through your ribs with his teeth. 

“I will choke you,” he declared, “kill you with mein bare hands.”

Finally it was like your voice finally returned.

“No - no no, please I -”

He hushed you, all gently, as if you were a spooked animal or a child who needed to calm down - you felt your breathing quicken and legs shake a little, before you did what you should probably have done from the start.

Screamed.

His hand collided with your cheek so quickly you could barely register it, hitting the wall from the force of the slap, your voice disappearing for a short moment again, as you struggled in his sudden grip on your shoulder, arms flailing as you tried getting free. Fingers pulling at some of the stuff nearby, two plants falling from their spots on the wall together with a bottle of perfume, all loudly breaking into tiny pieces. But it was no use. He merely ripped you back again, so stronger and bigger that it almost seemed like he didn’t need to try. You could hear the sound of your shirt ripping, but were too distracted by the giant hand that closed around your neck, the other then joining you.

“Laswell should have murdered her little Schlampe when Sie had the chance,” he whispered darkly, “she could have enjoyed it, nein?”

His hands had cut off all air, choking you as you twisted and clawed at his arms, desperately trying to get free. His grip hurt and it wasn’t soon before you felt pain filling your body from the lack of air - your lungs burning, mouth desperately open as you tried getting free. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it was going to be the rest of your life, if you even survived this; strange men trying to kill you, even when you just wanted a fucking bath.

Unable to get his hands to let go, you grabbed at the veil of your executioner, ripping with all your might, exposing the man beneath who let out a growl, lifting you forward a bit, only to slam you back against the wall. Stars appeared in your sight, the man snarling and spitting in your face. You could hear noise from the outside, hear people calling your name, but you didn’t care. Even his voice began to seem static, the edges of your sight beginning to darken.

“--See me, ja? The man who killed you, nutzlose Schlampe -” his eyes were blue, face scattered with scars, nose broken so many times that it was crooked to one side, “Watch me, as I kill you - nothing dangerous about you, useless hacker –”

One of your hands slid into your backpocket - you were shaking, almost unable to keep your eyes open, face feeling swollen beneath his fingers. Grabbing the knife almost seemed like an impossible task, unable to pull it from your pants pocket before your third attempt, the giant who was killing you babbling on - sounds coming from outside the door, closer and closer.

For just a moment, a memory flashed before your eyes - Soap showing you how to open it with one hand, how to grab it properly - your wound beneath the bandaid burning as you remembered how sharp it was.

“- ist revenge for Graves–” 

The man didn’t get further in his speech, as you opened the knife, gripping it hard - and with the last energy in your body, you pushed the knife into his throat and pulled it to the side.

You had never stabbed someone before, especially not like this, full force and in the throat. The blood that almost instantly hit your face made you close your eyes, the gurgling sound coming from the man echoing inside your head - but his grip around your neck loosened. You both fell to the floor, you down along the wall while he collided with the tiled floor, a loud sound leaving him.

Air returned to your lungs as you heard the knocking on the door. Everything burned and tears streamed down your face as you coughed and gasped, desperate for the air that had been denied you.

Once again bloodsoaked, this time fully broken. Kate’s knife in your hand, the sight of the demon at your feet, gurgling and clutching at his neck, his eyes wide, body shaking. Sounds were escaping him, wet and aggressive. You moved to the side as he weakly raised a leg to kick at you, but otherwise didn’t move. 

Blood dripped down your face, along your nose, down to your lips - collecting there for a moment, before continuing the travel towards the floor of the room. Seeping into your mouth and staining your teeth, blood splatters from where your mouth had been open.

The door was kicked in, several armed men stepped in - you knew them, knew their names, but you couldn’t recognize their faces, not right now. You didn’t want to know what you looked like. Half curled up against the wall, shirt half-ripped off, bloody knife in hand, covered in the familiar red liquid, merely staring at the dying man beneath you. A man that you should feel bad for killing, yet you didn’t.

Your hand with the knife was shaking a little, the feeling of sinking it into the throat somehow replaying in your mind again and again. The feeling of the resistance, the way his eyes had widened, the surprise and horror as he realised what you had done - then the blood. The blood. The unwanted taste of it was on your tongue.

Dangerous.

You were dangerous.