#i hope i have all the information i need and that it makes sense

[acid-ixx]

I have a question, well 2 questions to be exact that’s been rattling around in my head since I started reading platonic yandere batfam fics, why would reader stay in Gotham? I’d be sneakily stealing as much money as I could without getting caught as soon as I reach a “fuck these guys” mentality. Like, asking to have some money for groceries or something and just pocketing it so that I could get a bus ticket and leave the city. Would you do it if you were reader? It just makes sense to me “this place sucks, these people suck, I’ve gotten enough to leave”, this is with me assuming that reader has the means of course, if the reader doesn’t then okay, yeah that makes sense

And my second question, do you ever feel resentful towards Alfred when you read batfam photonic yandere content? I do sometimes, especially when the reader is neglected. I know this might sound odd but when I read these fics I recognize that Alfred could do more, out of everyone in the manner, I think Alfred’s word carries the most weight, especially with Bruce due to him raising Bruce. I also notice in some batfam fics that the reader doesn’t get mad at him due to him giving them attention, but idk it feels kinda like a slap to the face, knowing that I don’t have the power but he does and yet not exercising it until I’ve burned every last tie to that family.

I know my thoughts are a more “well you’re on the outside looking in” type takes, but idk, it hurts my heart knowing that if reader stays in that city, it will be far more easier for the batfam to find them, where if they were outside the city, they’d have a fighting chance to make a new life for themselves

On a side note, I think we are underutilizing the angst potential of reader legally changing their name and the batfam not knowing until months or even years later when reader leaves. Like Bruce and the fam would just have to sit and realize that reader hates/dislikes/doesn’t care about them enough to legally change their name from Wayne to whatever reader chooses. Jason was Batman’s greatest failure, but Reader would be Bruce’s greatest failure, and what a delightful public failure it would be if the tabloids were to somehow find out that one of Bruce Wayne’s biological children changed their legal name

I’m loving your batfam content btw, like it makes me want to create one of those “screw therapy, I need to fist fight my dad” tiktoks and tag Bruce Wayne, that’s what I can phenomenal writing!! And sorry for making this so long! Hope you have a great existence!

slight spoilers for future chapters.

this is one of my favorite asks... anon, you are so brilliant because your two questions tie into the reader's character so well and the flaws that they (you) conjured from years of neglect, so i hope my answers would suffice (i am answering based on the perspective of the reader from my series: again & again with a bit of my own perspective). tysm for sending this in, i actually really enjoy long asks and appreciate it when people take the time to send me these things!

why would the reader stay in gotham?

chapter one wasn't all the detailed about why they stayed in gotham. firstly, their self-worth had them reason that in no way, shape, or form would their family that basically estranged them would come running to them, especially not when the only time the reader could even stumble across them is by some miracle of coincidence. this also ties into their lack of knowledge about their family. sure, they know that babs is the oracle but do they know just how much access she has across gotham? not really. they know tim, like bruce, has a tendency to collect information about other people, but they don't know that they have contingency plans to be creeped out enough to get away from gotham and from their reach.

"it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!"

and the third point is, despite bruce being a billionaire of some sort, it was stated that the reader was too well-behaved and quiet. how does this make sense? as you've stated, they wouldn't simply have the means to get out. seeing as they were sheltered by alfred and never really explored the concept of traveling far away, they never asked for money; the only advantage of being a wayne is having quite a lot of things served on a silver platter.

they have this sort of toxic bond for staying with the people who have hurt them and it materialized to them physically staying despite knowing it would only cause more pain than anything else, and they don't know that. plus, they'd rather not have the wayne name associated with them and getting money from cheques or credit cards would be too risky for the reader's safety.

they've only realized just how shitty their family is after more than 10-13 years of staying in the manor, and saving up to move to an entirely different place would be difficult, alongside college and the jobs they have to take. so the next best thing they could do is rely on any means of advantage they could get whilst also moving on to the path of self-discovery and recovery.

but that doesn't mean they're staying in gotham forever, definitely not. the moment the reader realizes that dick gained some sort of interest towards them, they're booking it out of gotham. preferably to metropolis or central city or even somewhere far, far away— they're naive, but not stupid. sudden interest towards them means danger rather than anything else. and they're aware that alfred is capable enough to pull strings, so that's why spoiler alert: they have a secret stash of money hidden somewhere and like any children of bruce, they inherited the capability to be smart enough to already back up their contacts and everything on their phone, buy a burner phone and even change their entire identity in one quick go right after they move into an entirely different city or country.

gotham is merely their practice course.

do you ever feel resentment towards alfred?

quite frankly, yes. the reader in the fic feels resentment towards everyone for a reason actually, but alfred's part was stated vaguely as to not spoil a future chapter that focuses on his perspective. they know that he has the more power inside the manor more than bruce has. everyone, and i mean everyone respects alfred, and it doesn't take a genius to know that if you mess with him, you're messing with an entire family of crime fighters.

it's not obvious, but the reader's narrative in chapter one is them trying so hard to delude themself into thinking things can be better until it's too late. so in a sense, there's false narrative coming into play.

"alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least."

at some point in time, alfred had also neglected the reader emotionally with the same reasoning as the others; he was busy with their father. and this all could've been avoided if alfred had tried to confront the entire family about it. i'm not delving deeper into this to really avoid spoilers other than pointing out some details in the first chapter.

just know that alfred relishes in your newfound favoritism towards him, and that he may or may not have pulled some strings himself from helping you become closer to the family.

the part about reading changing their name from (name) wayne to (name) (last name) is what made me so drawn to this ask. you have pretty much predicted one of the chapters that explored (name) wayne to the public eye. they're not so much of an internet celebrity because of their rare appearances in public, but that's what causes immense curiosity about their identity to uprise in gotham, and their fame was one of the means to get to you.

there was one news article published that was the reason that made bruce distant towards you.

but let's focus on what yan! bruce would've felt once he turns a full 360.

because the first thing he would do once he has you in his grasp is to change your last name back to his. you are not the child of a (last name), you are a wayne first and foremost, bruce's third child and his greatest mistake, quite literally. you were a product of a one-night-stand, and because he was drowning in despair from jason's death, he had failed to notice you. all his years of neglect, and he doesn't even know a single thing about you, simply because he refused to acknowledge your presence.

and you rightfully hated him, he should've accepted that. but your diary entries and the way you innocently thought of him destroyed any sliver of hope for a peaceful reconciliation. he hates how you were experiencing the same type of despair as him when it comes to battling your own monsters— you truly are a wayne at heart. he couldn't afford to let you get away any further. just like dick, he needs to fix it now or further sever the already broken ties you have with him.

it's not batman now, but rather bruce. bruce wayne had failed to save another one of his children, not as a vigilante, but as a father.

knowing bruce, he's quick to take into action and search for you.

holy shit, this is a really long post but i hope it does answer the questions ! im so grateful that you like my writing enough to write a really long ask, and i hope to see your messages more once the new chapters are published <3

[evagreen-stories]

Mother’s madness | (Aemond x f!lowborn!reader) (2/?)

Summary: Aemond, troubled by his unfruitful marriage and the stress of the war, takes himself a bedslave when he seizes Harrenhal and gets more attached to her than he ever thought possible. Bringing her to the Red Keep after he needs to leave Harrenhal would not go as he hoped it would, especially after the birth of the babes he sired onto her.

Warnings: mentions of violence, light angst (kinda?), canon typical misogyny, canon typical behaviour, dark!aemond, abusive!aemond, forced relationship, forced impregnantion, canon typical classicism, mentions of assault, stockholm syndrom (kind of), obsessive!aemond, non-canon storyline

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

< part 1 masterlist part 3 >

When Aemond finally arrived back in the Red Keep he paid the staff and advisors waiting for him at the entrance little mind, waving them off dismissively before making his way towards his precious bedslaves chamber. 

He knew you must've given birth by now and he could not wait a moment longer to find out what happened and how you're faring.

Approaching your chamber with a quick step he took note of the unusual sight of the guard standing opposite of the door, not in front of it as usual, though he did not inquire about it. Instead, his hand fell onto the door handle and he pushed down on it, wanting to make his entrance but instead walking into the wooden door, his forehead connecting to it with a thud.

Stunned, he's standing in front of it for a few moments, blankly staring at the dark wood before starting to slowly press down and rattle on the door handle yet again. 

Nothing. It's not budging. Why on earth is this door locked? A sense of panic washed over him as he keeps rattling the door, all worst case scenarios he could think of filling his head at once. 

With hurried steps a maester approached. He had waited at the entrance for him with the others, wanting to inform him about your peculiar behaviour, but struggling to keep up with the younger man's hurried step when he had brushed past him.

“Wait, my prince!” He finally catches up to Aemond as he stands rattling your door with a confused and frustrated expression.

“What do you want?” He snaps, his voice bitter and sharp. “Why is her door locked? Where is the key?” 

“My prince, I need to talk to you about her. It would be best if we go somewhere quiet.” The maester answers, still out of breath.

Aemond felt a chill run down his spine, this could not be good. “Just tell me now. What has happened to her?” His voice was curt, the way it always was when he’s worried. He wanted to know now, not have it dragged out any longer. 

“I believe it's best we discuss this in your chambers, my prince.” 

He gave the maester a look, his fist clenching at his side as his frustration started to grow into anger. “My chambers then.” He gruntled dismayed before turning and walking towards them. The pair soon arrived and Aemond quickly shut the door behind them.

“Just tell me. What's wrong with her? What has happened to my y/n?” 

“My prince, I'm afraid she has developed some sort of hysteria.” The maester says and sighs, sitting down on a nearby chair. “The birth went well for a twin birth, both babes healthy. She seemed normal the first few days but had soon grown paranoid, not letting any of us handle the babes anymore. She has taken to locking herself into her room at all times.”

“And you have allowed this?” Aemond barks. “You've allowed my y/n to go into hysterics? Did she take any medicine you gave her? Are the babes well?” His tone was accusing, as though this had been completely this maesters fault. 

The idea of his precious bed slave going hysterical all alone in her chambers was deeply unsettling to him.

The old man shakes his head. “She allowed treatment of her body after the birth but never took any of the medicine we tried to give her. She only drinks water and tea, but tea only if the it is served dry and she can brew it herself. I assume it's to inspect the leaves. She insists no guards stand in front of the door, seemingly concerned they will grab her. As for the babes, the last time I saw them when I went in to plead with her, they both looked well. Grown plumb over the weeks she seems to be giving enough milk for the two. She washes and changes them herself. She… She eats and cleans herself too, though she does not look well.”

“How long has it been like this? How long has she kept herself locked away?” He asks angrily. He had been away for months, yes, but she never showed any such behaviour herself. Never once did she show the slightest signs of madness or hysteria before. He cursed the war as his frustration and worry grows in him. 

He should've stayed. He never should have left her alone.

“She seemed to be growing agitated almost immediately after the birth and soon took to locking herself in at night. We were still allowed to handle the babes then but she would always stand right behind us and never leaving them out her sight.  A fortnight or so later she started keeping the door locked at all times and denied anyone to touch them.”

“She is denying anyone to touch them? This is madness!” An anxious knot forms in his stomach as he realises the extent this had reached. “Have any servants been in her room at all?”

“She opens the door for servants when they bring food or come to clean her room or run a bath. However, when she does let anyone into her room, she will have both babes tied to her chest and stand in a far back corner away from them while they work.” 

“She is keeping them bound to her chest? Does she know that they can't spend their whole life glued to her body?” Aemonds mind was reeling at this point. He knew she was simple-minded and uneducated but a child, she was not. She knew better, that he was sure of. 

Something else must be going on, some reason for her madness… 

As his mind keeps reeling the maester speaks up. “I'm afraid she is unfit to raise these babes, my prince. I recommend they be taken from her.” He states matter of factly. 

“No.” Aemond states firmly and quickly. This was a suggestion he hadn't expected at all. This man wants to take these infants from their mother and sees no issue with it? That was a cruelty even he wouldn't commit.

“She has only just given birth. You will not take the babes from their mother, especially not when she's proven herself capable to care for them despite going mad. I will deal with this when I have the time. For now just let her be and don't try to touch my children anymore. Is that clear?”

The maester shakes his head, his voice increasingly firm. “My prince, i don't think this is  right. She needs to be separated from them. There is another thing you should know… they are both boys.Your only sons so far, my prince. You cannot allow them in the grasps of a mad woman.”

For the first time in this conversation he seemed lost for words. The news of the babes being boys shook him to the core. It was a dream come true, of course, though he was so focused on the prospect of having any children strong enough to survive he had forbidden himself to hope for even one son, let alone two.

His only sons - his legacy, his blood.

What his wife had failed to provide him within four years of marriage, his bed slave had given him without issue.

The thought of her now gone mad and denying him access to them was outrageous, yet the maesters' continued attempt to separate them was even more infuriating to him.

She was a mere bed slave to him, flesh to make him happy whenever the mood took him, or so he thought. 

Knowing she was the mother of his only sons stirred both happiness and concern in him. Mad or not, she was his. His to use as he see fit, but also his to protect and care for. His responsibility, she and their sons. 

His sons.

His hands clenched at his sides as he approached the older man with quick steps. “You dare defy my orders?” He grabbed the sleeve of his robe and pulled him up to his feet, dragging him out of the room. “She does as I say and so do you. She will care for these children as she would if she were in her right mind, regardless how long it will take her to recover. I will see her right away.” 

The older man struggles to keep up with him, continuously protesting and objecting to his decision, urging him to take his sons away from her for their own protection.

With each of his words Aemonds rage grows in him. 

Could he not shut up? He said himself that the babes are fine. What's the urgency to take them away?

He finally reaches her chamber. “Open the bloody door.” He barks after knocking several times. Trying hard to push his anger back and not snap at her the second this door opens

You flinch when you hear the loud bangs and his shouts outside the door. Frozen in both fear and excitement it takes a few moments before you rush to put down the book you were reading and hurry to the door, one hand on the babes backs as they snuggle to your chest in the fabric tied around your body, the other hand on the wooden door as you lean against it, trying to hear the voice better and convince yourself it was really him. 

“Aemond? Is that you?”

He breathes a sigh of relief when he hears your voice, a faint smile tugging at his lips at the sound of it. It had always been music to his ears, a balm to his otherwise frantic mind.

“Open the door, y/n.” His voice remains firm. He would not have you play games with him right now, despite his happiness of being reunited with you.

You unlock the door and open it slowly, peeking outside. When you see him, a wave of relief washes over you. 

He was the only one able to save you, you were certain. 

The feeling of relief vanishes when you take note of the maester standing not far behind him.

“Not him.” You demand in a shaky voice, staring at the old man and ignoring Aemond completely.

When he sees you for the first time after so long, his heart flutters. You looked awful, yes, dark circles around your eyes, your face pale and sunken, hair dull and tangled. You looked drained, both your body and mind.

The maester tries to interject and walks closer but is immediately stopped and waved off by Aemond.

“No, not him. Just me.” he assures you, his tone now softened by your appearance and apparent fear. He steps inside when you make way for him, watching as you hastily close and lock the door once again.

When you turn around to face him you see him watching you already, analysing you in great detail. His gaze stops on your chest, trying to catch a glimpse of the tiny babes hidden beneath the fabric.

“You… you're back.” You say after long moments of silence.

“Yes, I'm back. Are they well?” Is the first thing on his mind. He steps closer to you. He wants his sons, yes, but he also wants you. Desperately.

You flinch and step back when he approaches, both hand wrapped protectively around your chest and the babes. Your voice is shaky and eyes glazed over as if you will cry any moment.

“Yes, they are. What did they tell you?”

The sound of your voice, the tremble when you answer him, it's enough to make his heart clench with worry. His hands itch with the urge to reach out and hold you, but he holds back, not wanting to scare you off again.

“They said you aren't well. That you lock yourself in this room at all times.That you haven’t allowed anyone to touch the babes. Tell me that is not true.”

“It is. They don't need to. I  do it well enough.” You stammer.

“You're keeping them away from them - from MY sons.” He says slowly, his voice carrying more anger and a threat this time. He steps forward and you step back again, a sharp stab of pain fills his chest when he sees you cowering away from him yet again.

“Why? I have the right as their father to be able to touch my sons. I won't let anyone keep them from me, not even you. Y/n, let me see my sons.”

You can feel your breath hitch in your throat, your jaw clenching. Hesitating for several moments, you eventually walk around him with great distance, over to the bed where the two cradles stand. 

Undoing the fabric carefully you take Aurelius out first and put him in his bassinet before doing the same with Patroclus. You stand next to them, preparing and folding the fabric for the next use. 

Aemond approaches slowly, his eye wide with wonder as his gaze focuses into the small beds and studying the two tiny humans attentively. They're both awake, looking back up at him with wide, curious eyes while sucking their thumbs, both moving in union and mirroring each other's actions as if they were one.

Your own movements are quick and tense, your eyes wide as you watch him approach your sons. He notices it all and feels his heart grow heavy at the sight of you. 

He had imagined this moment often, before he left and while he was gone, wondering how it'd be when he finally reunites with you and seesyour shared children for the first time. 

Never could he ever have imagined it being this way.

He sighs before turning his attention back to your sons, reaching out towards the nearest one and slowly picking him up. 

Your breath hitches at the sight and you clutch the fabric you're still holding onto in your hands, eyeing him like a hawk as he begins to cradle him on his arm. Aemond reaches out to stroke the white fluff on his son's head gently before taking the tiny hand in his.

Aemond seems lost in thought as he gently rocks the babe in his arms, smiling to himself. He's never been a fond or present father but the sight of his son's hand clutching onto his own finger makes him feel a way he hasn't felt before. A sense of pride swells in him as well as many other emotions he cant understand just now.

“What are their names?”

You calm slightly  when you see Aemond handle your son so calmly and smile widely.

“You're holding Aurelius, the elder, the younger is Patroclus.”

He hums as he leans over the crib and looks back and forth between the two, trying to tell them apart but failing to find any differences.

“I think Patroclus should be in his fathers arms, too.” He says out loud as he watches the younger move around and wave his arms excitedly.

You nod and put aside the fabric before reaching into the cradle to pick up the younger, helping to carefully place him onto Aemonds other arm. 

Aemond smiles down at both of them, rocking them gently from side to side. His sons, his blood, his legacy - so innocent and pure. When his gaze falls onto the fabric you had just put aside he asks you, his voice gentle and soft, “Why do you do that? Tie them to your chest?”

“So they're safe.” You answer quickly. “And they are calmer that way, especially when they're awake. They will fuss otherwise.”

“I see…” He replies carefully, nodding along while his gaze keeps wandering back and forth between the two tiny boys. “And… No one is allowed to touch them? Not even wash them, change them? You want to do it all by yourself?” 

“Yes. Aemond-” You begin before stopping yourself and looking around the room nervously. Noticing two open windows you quickly scurry over to close them. 

I need to tell him. I need to tell him now.

Aemonds brows furrow in confusion as he watches you hurry away to close the windows. That doesn't seem like a normal mother, he thought to himself. Why is she still acting so strangely? She should be delighted that he was back.

“What? What is it?”

Once all windows are closed you rush back to him, worry and fear etched all over your face as you stand in front of him, your bodies mere inches apart while your trembling hands move to grab his arms. Leaning in over the two tiny babes watching your every move you whisper to him as if someone else were in the room. 

“You need to help me, Aemond, please. They… they're trying to steal my sons from me.”

A chill runs down his spine at your words. How in the world did you convince yourself of this? Your fear was real, he could tell that much. Despite being safe in the castle you feared for your sons.

That must be what's driving her into madness. 

“No ones trying to steal your sons, y/n. The maesters are just concerned for their well being with you locking them away like this. Y/n, you must-”

“No!” You object. “No, no! Aemond you don't get it!” You're whisper-yelling at him, moving even closer, your eyes brimming with tears as your voice starts to quiver.

“The maesters, they want to steal them! Ever since they saw they are boys they've been scheming to take them from me! They want to steal them and give them to Floris to pass off as hers, I'm sure of it! I've heard them say it!” 

Your voice breaks as you start to plead with him. “Please, Aemond, you can't let that happen! I'm begging you!”

She really had lost her mind, He thinks to himself, taking a step back from you with both babes still in his arms. Shocked by how adamant and crazed you seem he can only shake his head and sigh deeply. You really believed this, he could tell.

Just when he starts speaking and wants to call you mad, his voice suddenly dies in his throat and he goes quiet. 

His mind wanders back to the maester that stands right outside the door at this very moment. The same one that had been adamant his sons be taken from you. The same one that had dared to defy his order and speak against him of all people several times, trying to stop him from seeing his y/n. Could there be truth to this after all? Maybe she wasn't as mad as he thought she was…

He clears his throat, trying to decide on what to do. He needed to get to the root of all this but not before calming you down. 

“No one will take them from you, y/n. I forbid anyone from doing so. I would kill anyone, maester or servant, before I let that happen.” 

You look at him, breathing heavily from the distress in your mind, studying his expression and eye in hopes of seeing the truth in it. 

Eventually, you swallow dryly and shake your head gently, not believing his words.  

“I will not leave that door unlocked, Aemond. I will not let them steal my sons.”

His face falters slightly at your words and behaviour. You seemed mad with the way you acted and spoke but he could tell the madness was fuelled by real fear. 

He sighs in defeat, understanding he won't get anywhere with this. Not now, at least. All he can do for now is try and support you within the little space of your mind that has not been clouded by fear.

“I understand you worry for your son's well-being but no one will take them away. I promise you this. I swear it to you. But… you need to let someone in. You need help, y/n. You can't do this all alone. You need to rest more.”

“No, Aemond.” You shake your head again. “I can only sleep when they sleep and that door is locked. Only when I know they can’t pry them from my sleeping body.”

The sound of your trembling voice filled with fear was like a dagger to his heart. You were clearly terrified and exhausted. He had to resolve this, find something, anything to make you stop fearing. You are the mother of his sons. You deserve his protection. As your protector, he must find a way to protect you even from your own mind.

“You will sleep. You will eat. And you will stop doing this. I need you to be healthy. Our sons need you to be healthy.” He begins, his voice firm but gentle. 

“I will send all masters away. Not one will be allowed in here unless you allow it. I will have two guards at your door at all times. They will be sworn to me and you. They will not let any maester enter without your permission and they will not take orders from anyone but us two. I will also appoint a handmaid to you. Someone I will select carefully, one that can be trusted. She will also be sworn to you and me only. I will instruct her not to take the boys unless you allow it. But you need to let her in and let her help you, let her take care of you. Will you do that for me? For Aurelius, for Patroclus?”

You stare at him for a long while, mouth opening and closing several times, struggling to make a decision. You had prayed for his safe return and his help daily for weeks on end. Now that he was finally here and trying to help you, you know you should accept it. He was right, after all, but the fears in your mind were too strong to just act like nothing happened. 

“Just… just one.” You accept eventually. “Just her. And… and I will still keep that door locked. But I will let her in. Her and you only.”

A small smile forms on Aemonds lips and he sighs in relief. He had won this small battle at least but it couldn't go on forever like this.

He assures you again while he puts the boys back down into their cradles with your help and pulls you into a tight hug despite your protests. 

He holds you close to his chest and strokes your back gently as he repeats the same promises over and over again before eventually letting go of you reluctantly. 

Bidding you goodbye for now he steps out the door, grumbling dismayed when he hears the door shut and lock as soon as he steps out the door frame. 

He turns to leave but the maester that had been waiting all this time wastes no time, following him and speaking to him with the same urgency as before. “See, she is mad! My prince, you must intervene before something happens”

Aemond stops and turns to look at the man, the anger growing in him with every word. He struggles to hold back his accusations, knowing he can't say too much before he gets the chance to investigate further.

“She is not mad, that I can guarantee you. There is nothing wrong with her. You'd do well to start abiding by my orders and leaving her and my sons alone before I have you punished for your insolence.” 

Its now the maesters turn to grow angry at the prince, though he pushes his emotions aside so as not to risk losing his head, but he still can't stop his objections. His status as the Court maester was always enough to make the nobles and royals cling to his every word like gospel but this young, green prince was challenging his expertise without second thought.

“No prince should have a madwoman have his only sons in her grasp. She must not be allowed to keep them. Who knows, she may harm them, and then what? She must be placed in confinement before she hurts someone!” He demands, his tone firm and cold.

Aemond snaps at him now, approaching him with a quick step and raising a warning finger to him. There definitely was much more to this situation than he first thought, he was sure of it now.

“She is not mad! There is no way she would harm her children! She will be allowed in her chamber with her sons and with all the rest and care she deserves. Door locked and all. Am I understood?”

The older man needs to stand down eventually, leaving the matter be for now. 

He follows the prince along as they wander the long hallways towards the council room, following Aemonds initial summoning of the small council to report all that has happened during his time on the battlefield.

He needs to sit through what feels like hours of discussions with his brother, King Aegon, his mother Alicent and all the other members of the small council before he can finally attempt to make sense of his y/n’s paranoia and fear of the maesters.

< part 1 masterlist part 3 >

[firefly-sky]

I really do hope that more evidence is coming forward soon because I do admit, the fact that both Brody and Trevor are out for the week does seem sketchy. But so does the way that all of these allegations came out. It only seems to be talked about on Instagram and Reddit and nowhere else.

that’s what i’m saying-all of this is so sketchy. maybe it’s inconvenient timing? but there’s so many things wrong with this that point me to believe it isn’t true

First off there’s so many inconsistencies within the posts. Nobody has shown any actual proof other than someone claiming they know where Brody went to college. But since I’m a bit of an ‘I need evidence’ kind of person, I figured I’d check it out. They claim he went to UF but I found nothing about him going to UF online. Second, why is it JUST Brody they’re going after? They’re claiming the cast is “full of r*pists” but they aren’t focused on anyone but Brody.

Second, you think that there would be a news outlet talking about this. I mean, rape allegations are serious and should be handled as such. So it’s weird that Instagram is the first place this all came out. The night after the Tony’s nonetheless. There was no concrete proof either. This chick just said that she ‘knew it and that everyone else did too’ when she was contacted by the actual musical themselves (at one of the producers at least)

Third off is the accuser’s response to any form of criticism. Normally in a case like this, it would make sense to show evidence when faced with criticism and skepticism and be like ‘okay, yes, this is why this happened’ and instead she doubled down and said shit like ‘oh where’s your address so I can mail you a clown suit’ and ‘everyone knows it’ without proving anything.

Fourthly Angelina Jolie is the producer of this. She stands with victims and is fairly open about it. If there was even an inkling that Brody did this don’t you think she’d fire him on the spot? There are also claims of police involvement and investigation but I’ve found no such thing. The original accuser fails to provide sourcing-which is also suspicious. You’d think she’d provide sourcing on where she gets her information but she doesn’t. You’d think she would have solid concrete evidence rather than just doubling down and saying ‘that’s what happened’. That’s the kind of shit you do when like-your sibling hits you and they’re lying about it by saying ‘oh it happened everyone knows it’ without providing solid evidence.

Fifthly, there was another post that the cast was talking about how they were gonna win best musical and everyone else could leave-you saw the video of Brody ripping his shirt off and speed changing into his tux for the Best Actor Award. There was no way he had any involvement in that at least. And secondly, I seriously don’t think any of them had time for that. I really don’t.

Sixthly, I met some of the cast when I went. They were all super nice and when they saw me with my cane they asked me if they could do the face touching thing and were perfectly okay when I said no. And from what I’ve heard Brody is like that too and asks for consent before touching a fan. Heard this from a few people.

It’s really suspicious that this all only comes to light after they won best musical. It’s more suspicious that they’re only going after Brody and nobody else. They say the cast is full of r*pists but then refuse to provide names other than Brody Grant. And there were people that were super pissed that Suffs and Hell’s kitchen didn’t win the Best Musical Award. So it could be plausible that people are trying to take them down for whatever reason. Maybe because they’re men and won. I dunno.

I’m of course not saying it didn’t happen. I was SA’ed when I was younger by my late grandfather. I know how hard it is to want to come forward about these things. But it’s extremely sketchy the way these things played out. I do admit that Brody taking a step back is awfully suspicious too. But I don’t have insight on that and I don’t feel like stalking this poor man’s whereabouts. He could be taking a break-I mean, it’s been a few months. He could be on vacation. Who knows? And there have been many, many times that people have lied about rape for clout. Like the Kwite situation a few years back. Now am I saying this didn’t happen? No. No Im not. Am I saying this is extraordinarily sketchy and that there’s no solid evidence this girl provided? Yes. Yes I am.

I’m not saying anyone did or didn’t do anything until it’s been proven by an actual news source and not some girl on IG. But if these allegations are true, of course I hope Brody gets fired and serves prison time for what he’s done. If not, I hope her IG account gets taken down and she serves time. Accusing an innocent person of r*pe should be just as illegal as the crime they’re being accused of. That could ruin someone’s whole life.

This whole thing is sketchy. That’s where I’ll leave it.

[EDIT] I’ve been looking into it. It’s not uncommon for actors to take breaks after the Tony Awards. I don’t blame him for taking a break. I can’t say much about Trevor though. Apparently Shoshana Bean is taking a break too.

[clotpolesonly]

okay so i've been seeing some love for the show's latino!Gansey and i just gotta say, i can't relate aldfkjgh

no shade, i get that we're all desperate for minority rep, and it's really nice to get a latino character that breaks so many stereotypes (wealthy, universally respected, an academic, beloved by literally everyone but without being unduly sexualized, etc etc)

HOWEVER

i feel like people think Gansey as he's written in the books is a blank slate that they can project onto and racebending him won't/shouldn't/didn't change anything about him, but honestly i think that's a bit of lowkey racist take in and of itself? in a way?? in the sense that it plays into the white supremacist idea of whiteness being the default (aka nothing) instead of being its own something with identifiable characteristics.

book!Gansey does have a cultural identity and very strong cultural influences that play a crucial role in his characterization, and that cultural identity is WASP

(the irony is not lost on me alkdfjgh)

White Anglo Saxon Protestants, essentially the "ruling class" of the US for centuries, The Establishment™, etc. they're known primarily for being wealthy, snobbish, and repressed. they're the kind of people who like to think they're Good People but are soooo concerned with image and reputation that they'd rather perpetuate harm than admit they were ever responsible for it.

Mrs Gansey guilt tripping her son for missing her fundraiser instead of, ya know, being worried that he's not responding to any of her texts?

Gansey literally fleeing the country as a PRETEEN because his ptsd made him messy and embarrassing for the family?

his very first thought upon being fatally stung by hundreds of hornets being that he was going to interrupt and ruin the party?

that entire family luncheon where Gansey is constantly on red alert, searching for passive aggression in every single comment (and finding it), reading into every word for What They're Actually Saying Without Really Saying?

that is so WASP it should be in the dictionary next to the term!!! being presentable is more important than communicating directly, at all times, and the protestant roots mean that Suffering In Silence is a VIRTUE. it's a sin to need things and a double sin to ask for them. god forbid you impose upon another person, it's contractually required that you suffer quietly for a respectable amount of time while you drop the subtlest of hints in the direction of whoever you want help from in the hopes that they will do the good respectable charitable christian thing and offer you that help out of the goodness of their hearts, and if they don't, then you suffer some more and also nurse a lifelong grudge against them in the most passive aggressive unspoken festering way possible.

being raised in that culture informs everything about Gansey's personality and how he interacts with other people and forms relationships.

and it also informs Gansey's relationship with his wealth and his position!! Gansey's class guilt is like half of his character arc!!! and we can't pretend that class and race aren't tied together, okay, we can't get away with pretending that race doesn't play a part in people's place in society. for the Ganseys to be old money like they are, and old virginian money at that, to make them anything other than white introduces a whole HOST of complications that, frankly, the show is not engaging with.

the showrunners have made so much noise about diversifying the cast since the books were so white, and they're reeeeaaally patting themselves on the back for this, but it doesn't feel like they put any THOUGHT into how this change would actually affect the characterization!!!!

do they think that a latino in the upper echelons of the (white) (republican) virginian old money social scene wouldn't have a different experience? a different relationship with their money, and with their own heritage, and with other pocs?? that it wouldn't affect and complicate Gansey's relationship with Blue, especially with how much stronger they've leaned into Blue's connection with her cultural heritage and her political activism and how vocal she's been about intersectionality as a poor non-christian mixed race Black woman in appalachia.

Gansey is a latino man who can't speak spanish living in a mansion on a former slave plantation and Blue doesn't have anything to say about that?? Gansey doesn't have any extra layer of guilt or shame about his disconnect from his own culture?? Gansey is so full of guilt and insecurity about so many things, but there's been NO indication so far of how his race intersects with that.

for them to make this kind of huge change, i would've needed to see them really commit to it and show me that they understand the sociological implications of this decision. and they haven't done that. i know we've only gotten season 1, and hey, maybe i'm wrong and there'll be an arc about it somewhere in season 2, but so far i'm wholly disappointed. it really feels like they slipped it in there just to say that they had and then functionally ignored it aside from that one spanish-speaking scene.

what was the POINT except to pat themselves on the back??

[anon-sect]

Picture source: @spencer-kicks

PART ONE......

Kevin had a popular YouTube channel where he would show off his shoes and give a review about them, all the positive, and negative notes. He had over 5K subscribers and was approaching 6K. He decided that he would do a special celebration the moment he reached 6k subscribers.

A few weeks later, he reached 6K. He posted a contest to celebrate reaching a milestone since starting his YouTube channel. One lucky subscriber would get to help out with a video review on his channel. After a week, he picked the winner of the contest. The winner was invited to his house to participate in the next video review.

Alex couldn't believe he was selected out of the many that entered the contest. Kevin had really picked him to be in his video. He was surprised when Kevin had paid for his flight out. He was also informed that his hotel arrangments had been made as well. He just needed to catch the flight out to him. He would pick him up at the airport.

When the day came, Alex was curious as to why there wasn't a return flight ticket. It was just a one-way ticket. He was sure Kevin would explain once they finally met. True to his work, Kevin was at the airport waiting on him. On the ride to his place, both him and Kevin had a wonderful conversation. But back at Kevin's place, was when he started to suspect something was wrong.

"I have a question." Alex asked. Kevin nodded for him to ask. "I didn't get a return flight ticket, and what hotel will I be staying at?" He was curious on both questions.

Kevin just smiled. "Actually, don't worry about the return flight ticket. And as for the hotel, you will be staying with me." He paused. "Now, to your assistance with my next video, you will be helping showcase my new pair of sneakers, Nike Air Zoom Flight 95s." He added.

Alex had seen a pair of those sneakers online before. "So will I be doing the camera shoots?" He asked after he was sort of satisfied with the living arrangements. He saw a smile appear on Kevin's face that told him something different he would be doing.

"Actually, you will be part of the video showcasing my new shoes that just arrived today. The reason why you don't have a return flight ticket is because......well......you will see." Kevin explained as he went to his room and came back with a device in his hand. He programmed the transformation. He pointed the device at Alex and hit flash.

Alex saw a bright light flash at him, and there was an instant change. His body felt different. It felt like he was split in two halves. His field of vision had limited light. He also found himself incapable of moving on his own. No matter how hard he tried to move or speak, he was both immobile and voiceless. The only thing he could materailize is the thoughts in his mind.

"As the winner of my celebration contest, you was selected to be my new pair of shoes to be added to my ever growing colletion." Kevin paused. "But you will be my favorite pair, because you are my very first pair of living shoes. I will wear you many times during every week. You and my feet will get to become best friends. As the winner, you will be in my next video featured on my feet. The only thing is that no one will ever know what happened to you. Even those who will watch the video will only think of you as normal shoes. I hope you enjoy your reward for winning." Kevin finished as the put on his new pair of shoes.

Alex was mortified. He did want to in the video, but not as literal shoes. He saw the light blotted out as a pair of feet crushed his insole face with tremendous pressure. He could tell the sock Kevin was wearing was slightly dirty and had a bad odor to them. To make things worse, all of his senses weere increased by almost 1000%. The odor from the sock was intense. Each step was like being crushed by a mountain, extremely painful. Even feeling the ground that he was being crushed against was no walk in the park. It fetl like he could feel the gravel, sand, and even concrete up against his back. To be walked on was mentally crazy, and he was wondering if his mind would survive being stuck this way forever.

Alex could hear Kevin talking while recording the video. Every word was in reference to him as though he was normal sneakers. He mentally screamed for help in a hopeless situation, wishing his thoughts could be heard through the recording. This was not what he had hoped for when he thought he was going to be in the youtubers next video. It all made sense when there was no return plane ticket or list of hotel reservations. This was Kevin's plan the entire time, and his fans were clueless on it. His only hope now was that help would come rescue him from this fate. He only had one hope of seeing his humanity again. It was a good thing he made a backup plan in case something went wrong on his trip.

After recording the video, Kevin loved how his new shoes felt. They felt way better than normal sneakers. He definitely had to get himself another pair like these. Human material does make for better sneakers, the thought to himself. He knew Alex wasn't expecting this fate. Actually, none of his fans would have suspected it. Neither will anyone know what happened to the winner. The secret about his new pair of Nike Air Zoom Flight 95s would just be that, a secret, only between himself and the very sneakers. That thought cause him to laugh at the situation.

Continuation in PART 2............

[pinkgy]

Niflheim Character Charts just dropped and they are the most interesting kingdom, here's why.

There are a lot of things to talk about I don't even know where to begin.

I've seen a lot of blogs here giving their opinion about them, and i wanted to do the same :D

First of all, the only kink that we maybe would've been able to assume was Beleth's, and honestly, that tobacco kink never crossed my mind.

Where do they even get these kinks?

They just get more creative every time.

I'm going to begin with probably my favorite Niflheim demon since today morning.

You have no idea how BAD I wanna know how he ended up surrendering his role as a king even tho he still wants to be the king, just how powerful Bephegor is?

Now a question I've always had that has nothing to do with this post, Who is actually the strongest king? Because every noble says their king is the strongest (except Andrealphus, if I'm not mistaken he said Beelzebub was the one)

But if we put some head into this question, Lucifer should be the strongest, but when they bring up the strongest king in the game either in the story, cards, or events, no one mentions him.

I don't know.

Something that seems interesting to me about his description is that:

They describe Niflheim as a lawless city, which is quite the opposite of what all of us thought since it's a military land and shit.

Did Niflheim become a "Lawless city" because of him and that's why Belphegor dethroned him, or did it become like that because of Belphegor?

And the fact that Agaros is described as the most insane guy in hell is ... crazy.

And gets even crazier when we remember Glasyalabolas, Abaddon itself, and Andrealphus are out there.

Also, it's said that he doesn't recognize Belphegor as his king, and unlike a certain jealous king that we know could never tolerate that, Belphegor probably doesn't give a fuck or is too lazy to bother, so he let him be.

Now, Vassago

Listen, I don't want to judge him this quick, but if there's something I don't like about some characters of the game, is when they are overly and extremely loyal and obedient to their kings, and it's something really common in whb, I like when the characters don't make that their whole personality and even when they're a bit rebellious, some examples are Glasyalabolas, Barbatos, Paimon, Leraye and more.

The thing is that Vassago seems to be the greatest of these types of characters, but again, I'm not going to judge him so soon, I'll wait until we get more information about him to give a more objective opinion.

Then we have Beleth.

I love his eyes omg, they look really simple but there's something about them.

I know the game doesn't respect much the fact that the nobles have ranks in the Ars Goetia, but Beleth is a king, and Agaros is a duke, and it would've been great if they switched their names, I don't know, I don't pay much attention to this since it's a game at the end of the day, there's no need to follow the canon.

Either way, Beleth is like a king in Niflheim, specifically a De Facto King, which according to my mom, is a leader who leads without being authorized to, and yes, this a very resumed definition, we still don't know why this happened, I had my theory that Beleth does as he pleases with Niflheim and Belphegor lets him because he's too lazy to bother, but it's said in his description that he let's people know that the one in charge is Belphegor so my theory doesn't make much sense.

I hope they clarify this in the event because this Niflheim lore seems reaaaaaally interesting.

Also, I think we all noticed, but now we know why he has so many bite marks, the dude gets laid every day and he probably hides a monster down there.

And Belphie and Him have matching horns AGhhh how cute (I have my theory that that's not a horn, but okay)

And now the main guy of the day.

I still have no idea what his kink is, as much as people explain it, I don't get it.

At this point, I think PB is inventing kinks because there's no way.

Him having Narcolepsy is expected, my bets for his mental illness were that and insomnia, maybe one of the reasons he doesn't appear (aside from him being literally the demon king of sloth) is because he has a very serious case of narcolepsy, but I don't know, we'll have to wait until we meet him.

I said this in a post I did before, but I love that he's 1cm taller than Satan and his dick being 0.1 cm bigger, PB did this on purpose obviously and I can't wait to see interactions between them.

Since we don't have an actual description of him, I can't say much, i just know I love him.

So far I think this is the most interesting kingdom, there seems to be a lot of lore behind them and I absolutely love that, I hope we get a lot of information in the event because of my calculations are right, there’s going to be a looooooong while until we can finally meet them in the main story (and since PB is taking so long with the chapters, I don’t expect them to come to the main story until next year)

[sunny-mercya]

Revenge

Trafalgar Law x Male Reader

Fandom -> One Piece

Masterlist | Related OS

Law knew, from firsthand experience, that you're indeed capable of killing—especially when the situation is needing dry, after all you're a Pirate—a member of the Strawhats nonetheless—and having no qualms of getting bloody and murderous, was a required qualification to survive on the rough wide open sea.

So seeing you on the ground—after coming back from a two day trip—surrounded by all these dead bodies of children and their blood and spilled organs and chopped off limps—Law highly doubts that it had been you, who killed the Children.

These children which you loved as if they were your own and vowed to protect from any harm as long as you're staying in Wano.

So with all that in mind, it wouldn't make any sense if you're being the killer.

Kneeling down in front of you, gently prying Esu's dead body from your hold—laying him down next to you, noting to himself to bury the baby properly later—taking your bloodstained hands in his.

»[Name]-ya, what happened?« Law asked in a whisper, not wanting to give you any fright and might cause a reaction of fleeting panic and survival defensive instincts in you.

Law squeezed your hands, drawing some circling motion over your skin—hoping to bring you some comfort and back from your unfocused sight.

»[Name]-ya, tell me what happen.« Law asks again.

Your head whipped forward, sucking in a breath as if you hadn't breathed any air at all, you stared down at your bloody hands—which are in the hold of Laws own.

»I only.....only went.....went down, down to the market and....and when I came back I–I there's.....« you lurched forward, hand going up to your mouth—holding the back the uprising bile which came ascending from your stomach and up to your throat.

Law stood up, pulling you upward along and leads you quickly into the bathroom—where you instantly kneel down to a bucket below and emptied out your stomach.

~~~

Restless—as if you had way too much energy, like a bundle of lighting ready to be released—you walked through the small bedroom, itching badly for a killing spree of revenge your own.

The hot bath, which Law had drawn for you to get you clean from the blood and grant your mind and body some relaxation—firmly believing as he's a doctor after all, that a good hot bath does indeed—although only in the mental aspect of medical knowledge—cure some medical problems and conditions—didn't seemed to have helped that much.

Law observers you, haven't really gotten much information out of you—besides that you went down to the local market and once returned you found the door open and children in puddle of their own blood.

»[Name]-ya. I advise to sit down.«

» No, no, no! Not till I've found these fuckers and make them suffer twice!«

»We need to bury them first.«

This snapped you out from your stupor of aimless planning revenge, making you stop in your tracks—turning to Law, who sits on the mattress, looking at him with wide eyes.

Your lower lip wobbles, eyes burning with the upcoming brimming of tears—nodding your head to the side, blinking and still looking at Law—you flung yourself into his arms, like a crashing force of air, within the next seconds.

Law lets you sob, letting you grieve the love you've lost—circling his arms around you, engulfing you in a hug, holding you close.

The world is cruel, you know that yourself, but even you had limits and killing helpless children—were in your eyes, an unforgivable crime.

~~~

Revenge tastes either sweet or bitter—depending on what circumstances and the context of situation—but this revenge, which you had looked forward to ever since the children had been killed in cold blood, tastes so heavenly honey sweet—that you're enjoying it perhaps, a bit too much.

Finding the group of men—drunkards they were, with no sense of human decency—was rather easy in the small village Law and you had decided to stay undercover.

Besides the leader of this little group, you've beaten all of them to death—dunking them in their own puddles of blood—still wanting to know their reasons for such actions.

And when he told you their reasons for it—had done it just out of boredom and fun, less mouth to waste food on then—you didn't hesitate to use your devil-fruit abilities.

Law wonders, watching from the shadows of an alley—having followed you—if you too had lost your last bit of human decency now.

[faeyramaeyra]

Hey! I dont know if you have already, but do you have a guide on what you NEED to know as a beginner?

🌷 Beginner Advice/Guide 🌷

As a beginner, You should be learning “The Golden Five” (as I like to call them) before anything else. They include: Grounding, Cleansing, Warding, Protection and Banishing. You can find information for these literally anywhere but I’m more than happy to cover them!

I will also cover some extra things too that are just handy to know/keep in mind!

Grounding

Grounding is something good to know in general, Not just for spirituality/paganism. The principle behind it is that you want to use techniques that calm/relax you (send you into your comfort/happy place) so you can focus on the here and now. I hope this makes sense. Meditation is a form of grounding!

Cleansing

Cleansing is the act of getting rid of any unwanted or negative energies etc. Different methods are used for this but the most common are smoke cleansing (using incense or even candle smoke for example), sound cleansing (using the sound of bells for example) and water (example: some people use moon water or create little bags of herbs they use in the shower/bath to cleanse themselves). There are plenty of other methods too but those are the ones I see used most often! Just use whatever works for you. A good incense to use if you like smoke cleansing but are prone to headaches (coming from someone who has chronic migraines) is frankincense and myrrh. A lot of people recommend dragons blood but for me it’s too strong.

Warding

The simple explanation for this one is that wards repel or trap any negative energies/entities/etc that attempt to attach to you or enter your space. People also use wards as defensive barriers against baneful workings. I have a guide on making a plant ward on my page that you could give a quick read but there are other methods too. I have enchanted witches bells that hang on my doorway for example. A common ward I see is salt along doorways, windowsills or any other point of entry into your space. Depending on the energy and intent you place into wards, Some may need to be renewed often and others may be okay for months.

Protection

This is the act of protecting yourself from unwanted/negative energies, backfired spell work, entities you may encounter etc. I have a more in depth guide on my page about why protection is important. Some common protection methods include: crystals and crystal jewellery, witches bottles, candles (use black ones for protection or you can substitute them with white candles as long as you set the intention of protection into them), drawing a pentagram on the roof of your mouth with your tongue and many more. Just use whatever works for you and your practice!

Banishing

Banishing is the act of getting rid of something, Not just repelling it. Most commonly it’s used to get rid of entities that try to attach themselves to you or enter your space but it can also be used to get rid of baneful workings, unwanted spell work results etc. This works for me (for entities) but may not for others: Opening a door or window and telling the entity to leave while shoving it out pretty much.

Extras

- Research closed practices. Learn why they are closed, who they are closed to, what practices are closed etc so you don’t unintentionally/accidentally appropriate a practice. Note: You shouldn’t be doing/using things from closed practices if you are not a part of them.

- Have a grimoire or book of shadows. A book of shadows/grimoire is basically a journal of all the knowledge you have learned throughout your practice. It’s a place you can find answers from or just give yourself a refresh on a topic. It’s like when you would write down everything you learnt in class.

- Meditation is the basis of everything. You need to be grounded and you need to be in tune with yourself for things like divination (as one example) to go smoothly. Try different methods of meditation, Find out what works for you. For example, I struggle to meditate unless the room is pitch black, there is no noise and I am laid down. Other people may benefit more from things like guided meditations which you can easily find on YouTube.

- Be careful of what information you take from social media. Always properly research a subject, cross reference resources and make sure the source is not problematic. Unfortunately, I have seen a lot of misinformation and potentially harmful activities being promoted on platforms such as tik tok.

🌷Recommended YouTubers 🌷

Below is a list of YouTubers that I would personally recommend for useful information:

- The Witch of Wonderlust (Great source of information for beginners. Has plenty of videos to do with cleansing, protection and banishing. One of my go tos for witchy content.)

- The Norse Witch (Has plenty of information for beginners as well as additional information about Norse Paganism if that’s an interest. Occasionally does unboxings for witchcraft subscription boxes if you are interested in those.)

- The witches cookery (Has a great playlist called “Witchcraft 101” which has some great “how to” and “witchy tips” videos. Also features a lot of information for kitchen and green witches.)

Side note: There are probably more content creators out there that are worth recommending but I rarely use YouTube anymore so I’m not too up to date on witchy channels on there.

Sorry this post took me so long to write, I’ve had a lot going on in my personal life today that I’ve had to prioritise. I hope this helps even a little! 💕

Tip-Jar and Readings

[rileyglas]

Demonic Convergence - Pt. 3 - Dueling Practice

Hazbin Hotel OC Story x Alastor

Frustrated by Vexel and Alastor's constant power struggle, Althea suggests a friendly duel practice for the men to get more accustomed to each other's power. Two cocky, powerful sinners fighting for 'fun'. What could possibly go wrong? @laudrawin killed it once again with Vexel's part AND this chapters artwork - she perfectly captured the intensity of this 'friendly' battle.

Meet the OCs Pt. 1 - First Impressions Pt. 2 - A Cold WelcomePt. 2.5 - The Long Game

It’d been a few weeks since Vexel spoke with Althea. Plenty of things were in motion, however he wanted to make absolutely sure of the information he was given before dragging her and Alastor into the mess with the Vees. Things are starting to get serious and now, he has no choice but to reach out. He opens a portal on the roof of their hotel room, peeking his head around to find it empty. Guess I’ll just wait, he thinks to himself. He plops down to the bed and makes himself at home with Heniffer happily nestling on his chest.

A few quiet moments pass. Just when Vexel starts to feel himself relax, a voice cuts through the room, "You know if you wish to stay on my good side, the use of a door would be wise. Especially when it comes to making unannounced visits."  Alastor chirps behind a newspaper, annoyed. Having sensed someone in his room, he shadowed in moments earlier, sitting by the bayou in his chair. He crosses his legs, refusing to even look at the unwelcome guest.

"Use of a door would require interaction with those I don’t care to see. Where's Althea?" Vexel’s monotone tone fueled Alastor’s frustration, not to mention how he nonchalantly played with necromantic glyphs and runes without a care in the world. Alastor slams the paper to the table, voice dripping with static, "Is there something I can help you with? Something that will get you out of MY BED!" 

The necromancer chuckles darkly, "Bring me Althea, I just asked for it- Oh, wait, they let pets in the hotel? How amusing they give someone like you a bed.” A growl rumbles in Alastor’s throat but his smile never falters. With a snap of his fingers, a single black tentacle wraps around Vexel’s ankle and rips him down off the bed. The force sends Heniffer flying off his chest with a thud. The dark appendage retracts immediately as Alastor hums in amusement,  "What do you need with her?"

"Do not touch me -" Vexel grunts, laying on the floor for a moment before getting up. “- unless you want me to chain you to that pretty chair of yours…or send you away. And that would be me being polite." He shuffles to lean against the window pane. His tone drops slightly at the realization the demon could easily send him out of the window, "If you must know, we have a deal to talk about."

Alastor nods, containing any further hostility for the sake of keeping his word to Althea. He grins menacingly at the chicken, "She should be here shortly. In the meantime, mind your vermin. It would be a shame if Nifty had to take care of it." Heniffer walks past him with a hiss and a glare. Vexel smirks, “The great Radio Demon is all bark and no bite, isn’t he?”

"Hardly.” Alastor sneers, “I am merely respectful of Althea and her....ideas.  She seems to think you have potential of sorts. I, however, think you're only taking advantage of her kindness. I just hope she sees through this act of yours before things go too far." He stands from his chair, summoning a cup of tea and setting it within arms reach of Vexel, "Do not cross us. I have made a promise to not agitate the situation further but will step in if I need to." 

Vexel cautiously takes the cup, sniffing for any oddities before taking a sip and nodding as a thank you. "I may or may not. You see I've spoken to Vox - all three Vees, actually. They don't like you at all." He opens a tiny portal, his hand crossing it to get a spoon of sugar for his drink.

"Trying to play both sides of the field? Can't say I'm surprised in the slightest." Alastor stalks slowly towards Vexel. His growing demonic form makes the lights flicker throughout the room, "So you do intend on crossing us if you're cavorting with the Vees. That's all the reason I need to -"

Althea opens the door, "Alastor!" she yells, scolding the scene she sees before her. He quickly retracts, glaring at Vexel. "My dear we have a visitor." he says calmly before taking a seat by the fireplace across the room. 

"I was wondering when I would hear from you!" she bounces towards the man leaning against the window happily but stops to take a step back, "Sorry - personal space - I know...What do I owe the pleasure?"

"At last someone with a brain I can properly speak with." His eyes dart to Alastor before focusing back to her, "I've met the Vees, and they really believe I'm on their side. Oh and Heniffer wanted to see you too." The hen peaks from behind the necromancer, chirping and jumping to Althea’s arms. She lets out a quiet giggle as she pats its head adoringly. Vexel’s head turns to the Radio Demon, “Also it'd be nice not to be dropped on the floor like a ragdoll next time or be threatened when I'm proposing to be your undercover associate.” 

The demon scoffs and rolls his eyes, "Maybe lead with that information before announcing your communications with such company." Althea sets a loving hand on his shoulder and looks to Vexel, "Our history with the Vees is far from civil. You have to understand our apprehension when it comes to dealing with them in any form." She moves to the bed, setting Heniffer on a pillow for her to relax.  "They play dirty - What have they offered you in exchange for your alliance?"

"The ‘all powerful Vees’ offered me a seat with them. Just for the small price of using my power against him.” Vexel’s eyes shine for a moment, making Alastor’s fingertips grow numb. 

"Don't do that!" Both Alastor and Althea snap. 

“Apologies. It seems I can do it anytime, but I won't." His eyes go back to normal and Alastor shakes out his hands in annoyance. Vexel smirks, "I could reject their offer but I believe getting some extra knowledge would be more useful." He tilts his head, eyes burning into Althea, "Just say the word."

She clears her throat, "Any information is useful if it means keeping ahead of their plans. It's dangerous to get involved without getting tangled in their web. They're probably looking at you as merely a pet, only to be rid of you the second Alastor is out of the way. I wonder though..."

She begins to pace, Heniffer happily jumping down to shadow her, "They fear being overpowered...to not have control...you obviously can overtake Alastor with ease - " Alastor groans at the comment to which Althea holds a finger up, "- bare with me dear - is there a way you can train him to fight off your control? It would allow you to explore your abilities more, give Alastor a fighting chance should you ever need to prove yourself to the Vees, AND be a show of power on our end. If no one can control us then they'll be running with a tail between their legs."

Vexel follows her with his eyes. "I guess I can. I'm trying to outsmart them, no need to worry about me falling for any of their tricks." His stare moves to Alastor for a moment then back to her, "Mutual training sounds good. Do we need a safe word or will he accidentally pierce my heart before I can even say it? How far do they overpower you, Alastor?" 

Alastor sighs. He can't believe he's actually going along with this plan, but he'd do anything for Althea...and to get Vox off his ass. "Get each one alone and they do not stand a chance against me. However, as mentioned, they do not care about playing fair." He walks over to Althea, grabbing her shoulder to force her nervous pacing to stop, "If this training happens I want to use my full capacity and you shouldn't hold back either. I think for best results, Althea should overlook the sessions to ensure neither of us go too far."

"If they are weaker than you, then I should be able to control them as well." His eyebrow lifts again, "If they don't stand a chance, how come you haven't killed them already?" 

"Taking out an Overlord can cause quite a ripple in the hierarchy of Hell. Killing all three would do nothing but bring unwanted attention and danger to our doorstep." Althea takes Alastor's hand. Sensing his apprehension, she gives a reassuring squeeze before continuing, "Alastor has taken out many Overlords in the past. The only reason Valentino still breathes is because Al stopped me before I could finish the job. We don't know the repercussions of my power if I were to take a life and we don't wish to find out." 

A look of astonishment crosses Vexel’s face for a moment. "You escalated that far as an Overlord just by healing and getting contracts? I'm glad I don't underestimate you anymore. Though it seems the danger is already here. No offense, but Alastor here seems to be the life goal of Vox.”

"Damn, I save your ass and you still don’t have an ounce of trust." Althea mumbles, taking a seat by the table in front of the wooden bayou. If they were going to work together, she needed some level of respect and trust. Something she knows is going to be a slow process. Vexel snaps back, "This is Hell, Althea, sooner or later someone will stab you in the back. You’re here so obviously your intentions were not always good." 

"The system is flawed, don't assume my reasons for being here." Althea growls then points to Alastor with a shrug, "Him on the other hand? Serial killer." Alastor's toothy grin darkens with pride. She turns the focus back to the issue at hand, “Vox has eyes everywhere, we will need a place he cannot find us. Where do you suggest we train?"

Alastor walks over to the table, snapping his fingers to make a map of Pride City appear, "His cameras are usually on every corner along with his drones going where they please."

The necromancer approaches the table, focused on the map. "Any underground caverns? That's where I set my studio. It's quite silent and the worst thing that could happen is us provoking a light earthquake." 

She looks at Alastor, "Can you see if you can find a good area? Preferably one with enough room for your full form?" He nods in acknowledgement then turns his attention to Vexel, "No kidnapping, no mind control. I'll be back." he sneers before disappearing into his shadow.

Vexel can't help but let go a soft laugh at his words. "Alone at last." With Alastor gone, he feels free to wander the room, "Do I need to ask him for permission before having a private meeting next time? I suppose I need to make my intentions clear so your demon can breathe when you're left alone with the mighty necromancer." He chuckles.

She matches his amusement, giggling at his sudden, but welcome, change in demeanor. "He'll warm up. It's admittedly entertaining to see him squirm a little. He could use some humbling." Her eyes track him across the room, "He's just a little apprehensive. However I'm very much my own person and I extend you the freedom to visit whenever you please." she offers a small smile before turning to look out at the bayou, "Humor me, if I - er well we - weren't in the picture, would you have accepted Vox's offer to join them?" Curiosity always tends to get the best of her, but she enjoys exploring possibilities.

"They wouldn't have gotten in touch in the first place if it wasn't for your demon getting chained up." He tilts his head, questioning her sudden prodding, "If what you mean is - would I join them if I didn't owe you my life, the answer would still be no. Vox is loud and immature. Valentino's stare was uncomfortably predatory. Velvette seems smart though. If they're easy to control, power would be mine in no time, Velvette could have joined my plan, siding with the more powerful party. Hell would be ours, the end." 

"Hmph. Possibly." she breathes unsurprised by his absurd assumptions. She points to an armchair by the fireplace. "Please have a seat, make yourself comfortable." She stands to pour more tea, offering him another cup, "And don't be so confident in your 'take over Hell' plan. You forget who truly rules over the seven rings..." a shudder rolls across her shoulders, "...Lucifer. Fallen Angel, King of Hell. And a royal pain in my ass."

He takes the cup without hesitation, an unfamiliar ease taking over, "So Lucifer was real after all! And you're in touch with him? Why doesn't he get rid of the Vees for you? And I assume the pain isn't literal."

An uncomfortable laugh leaves her throat as she mumbles under her breath, "If he had it his way, it would be." her eyes widen in embarrassment for being so forward. She cooly tries to recover, “I mean...yes he is real and yes, he is Charlie's dad. He doesn't wish to get involved with anything unless it directly affects himself or his family.”

"Excuse me? Is he - bothering you?" Vexel took in her words but seemed to hang onto her discomfort towards Lucifer. His knuckles whiten with tension. Althea's face twists in shock at his sudden worry, "It's nothing I can't handle..." she sighs knowing there's no going back now, "But you wonder why Alastor is so apprehensive and jealous of you? The last two men who said they wanted to 'help' or 'team up' were Vox, who nearly killed me...and Lucifer...who seems to think my body is where his hands and lips belong."

She shrugs, both in indifference and to shake the chill that ran down her spine at the thought. He remains quiet. His eyes stare into her with something she's never seen from him before, though she can't put a finger on it, "I told you...things work differently here. And the system is...well it's fucked. Key reason Al and I have chosen to stay here and try to help Charlie with the hotel."

"Of fucking course, we're in Hell after all." He huffs with his own reminder, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Next time you find yourself stuck with him - I can only hope I’m there to help…Valentino had those eyes, too. Perverted, disgusting eyes. Perhaps this Hotel and my studio are the only safe places in Hell after all. It makes sense now - Alastor's overprotection I mean."

She hums with admiration at this new side of him, a soft smile curving her face, "You are a quick learner. Thank you Vexel." A ringing in her ears pulls her out of the sweet moment, "Ah and here he comes."

On queue Alastor’s shadow dances across the wall shortly followed by the demon materializing by her chair. "Oh good, still in one piece." He says half joking half serious. "I've found a decent cavern just below Cannibal Town. We can either portal, shadow, or need be, Rosie's Emporium has a cellar with a shared wall." He says boastfully, clearly happy with his find.

"Welcome back." Vexel’s body returns to its cold, tense state as he stands up and opens a portal, "Just for you to know, Alastor, I'm not a threat. You don’t need to worry about me.” Alastor shoots a confused glance at Althea. She chuckles, standing to place a kiss on his cheek, "You did great dear." she coos before bouncing through Vexel's portal into the cavern. 

A cool air stings her face the moment she enters. The glow emitting from the portal is just enough for her to see how large the cavern is. The ground seems clear and solid enough and there were only a few groups of stalactites decorating the ceiling above, "Holy shit Al - this place is huge. H-how has no one found this? It's perfect! Needs a little light but -" With an elegant move of his hand, Vexel sends necromantic bolts all around the cavern, leaving no corner without a teal light, "Until we can afford some candles, this will work. Are you joining us, deer man?"

"Woah - neat trick. Remind me to give you a call next time Vox takes out the power in the city." she teases. Alastor, refusing to use the portal, shadows in a few feet behind Vexel, "That's all necromancers are good for...tricks." With a snap of his fingers, a few chairs and a large table materialize from puffs of green smoke on one side of the cavern. He pulls a chair for Althea, locking eyes to Vexel, "Enlighten me, where exactly have you learned such a craft?"

The necromancer lifts his chin and crosses his arms with a subtle cockiness, "Living world. We had all the information, just lacked the magic touch. Once I got down here I gathered any new knowledge and made it happen. But hey, it's just a trick." 

Annoyed by the hostility the two men continue to brew, Althea scoffs, "Alright I think you two need to let off some steam. Heniffer dear, would you like to come sit with me while the boys get their frustrations out?" she pats at the chair to her right, "When I announce it's enough, you both will stop. I don't feel like dealing with the pain of healing just because you two can't get along."

The hen jumps off Vexel's head. Her body comically runs to Althea while her head follows with a small delay. "About time to put him in his place!" Vexel grunts through a wide grin, eyes glowing and threads of necromancy clinging to his body from thin air.

The Radio Demon swiftly moves to stand across from Vexel, "And what place is that, sir?" he begins to glow green as he summons smaller shadow minions who rush towards Vexel.

"As equals." He smirks, the skull hanging from his belt shines bright. His power begins to flow through his hair and body, eyes shining a bright teal. With a move of his hand, orbs appear and run to each of the demons. Within a moment the small shadows rot from the inside, “How rude using souls to fight for you!" 

Alastor’s fingertips become numb, quickly spreading to his wrists as necromantic threads start to embrace him. A feral snarl comes from Alastor, "Not going to be as easy this time." his body begins to contort into his full demon form. Althea can’t help but smile watching his eyes flash to dials and a red 'x' flickering on his forehead. “There you go, don’t hold back.” She eggs him on. He continues to grow as tentacles flail from his back, sparking with green power. The dark appendages bolt towards Vexel, swiping at his body and landing a few blows.

A portal forms beneath Vexel as the first tentacles make him fall. He appears suddenly behind Alastor while sending a couple glyphs and harmless bolts into his back, "I don't want this to be easy!"

The demon stumbles forward before swinging a large claw behind him. Static fills the air as red liquid begins spilling from his mouth, "Then you should start trying harder. You're supposed to be teaching me how to defend against you, not have a pillow fight." his other hand swings to the roof, breaking a few stalactites. They crash violently around Vexel. 

"EASY AL - Power only. Don't bring other elements into this!" Althea warns while giving Heniffer a few pats.

"Listen to your girl!" Vexel taunts. A glyph appears in front of him, forcing his body to swap places with Alastor, "This is practically child’s play!" His power begins growing across Alastor’s arms and legs. A chain appears in Vexel's hand, connecting him to Alastor who gradually feels the loss of control over his limbs.

"Put your energy in staying in your own head, not obliterating him. You might physically be more powerful but you're allowing him to break you through your mind. Focus!" Althea shouts, trying to keep the demon grounded in the fight. His confidence will always be his greatest weakness and right now he is showing it more than ever.

Alastor falls to his hands and knees from the pull. He shrinks slightly, still keeping his flashing eyes and extended antlers. "Let me turn up the heat then!" he shouts, sending a blazing ring of green flames around him and forward to knock his opponent back.

Vexel lifts a hand as a silent request for a moment to breathe after that hit, "What if you have to fight me and Vox all together?" 

Alastor pauses in an attempt to catch his own breath. He sheds his jacket, gracefully brushing it off and tossing it to Althea. "One thing you'll learn about Vox, he won't even bother trying to fight when he has a pet to do it for him. Even if you're pinned down, the coward will leave you to die before stepping into a fight. Especially against us." 

Smokey green symbols emit from the demon and he fades into the shadows. They flood throughout the cavern, surrounding Vexel and hindering his ability to see. "You can control the dead, but can you control what you cannot see." his voice echoes off the cold walls.

"Can’t you see, that is my only worry -" Vexel closes his eyes as he gets up. His power transfers to Heniffer and she glows in the chair. He uses her eyes to get a better look around, "- I worry he wants to test me against you. He will ask me to control you." A portal opens under his feet, allowing him to reappear next to Althea. "But indeed, I can control what I can't see." His whole body charges, absorbing energy from his surroundings. He crouches, touching the floor as his magic looks for his objective - dead bodies buried within the ground around him. 

Black shadows sneak over Vexel's feet then climb up his legs with the weight of concrete. "There has to be a limit to your control, I just need to chip away until I find it." Alastor's laugh bounces around the room before he reappears in the middle of the cavern, "And he will never ask anything. You will be his pet and he will treat you as such. His ego is about as fragile as that screen head of his."

Althea watches Vexel who stays completely still. She realizes he is waiting for something, "No outside elements. He's frustrated. His mind is weak right now." she advises under her breath to him, half expecting him to ignore her. His threads find the demon once more and chains fall into his hands, "You enjoy talking about how I'll be a pet, yet I’m not the one wearing the harness." Vexel chuckles and pulls the chains connecting him to Alastor. 

Alastor's mind blurs, disorientating him. Not even gravity makes sense once his conscious is pushed to the back, unable to act on his own. With another yank he is pulled out of his shadow as if being fished out of thin air. Vexel guides him to stand in front of Althea. The demons once black and red eyes now glow a deep teal.

“Well your mind is weak, isn't it? You need to work on that." The necromancer approaches his new puppet, "Sing for me, radio man" He smirks through the command. A hum can be heard from Alastor’s chest. Althea stands from her seat, "Fight it Alastor - push him out. You control your soul, so fuckin act like it!" she yells, further trying to enrage him into power.

"Check this out, Althy -” Vexel laughs and covers his mouth, doing a classic puppet/puppeteer impression, “I actually think Vox is quite attractive and Vex is way better than me!" Alastor's voice speaks out with a wide, relaxed smile. He watches from the back of his mind, seeing everything through his eyes like a movie but unable to say or do anything - The fuck did he just call her? 

"Oh wow Vex, you really got him now. Hey, could you make him admit I'm always right?" she teases, purposely putting on a more flirtatious voice that Alastor hates. If pure ire wasn't flowing through him already, it was now. He feels himself trying to lunge back into his mind. He only needs a moment of control back, and right now he is fighting tooth and nail to get it.

Vexel keeps focused on him, realizing he's actually resisting. "Keep trying, demon, I have all the time in Hell.” His hair flows around him with such strength a whip of it could leave a red mark on anyones skin. Alastor’s voice rings out again, “You are always right, my dear. I'm a cocked up demon who should let others spend some time with you as well! Especially in private with Vex!" Vexel smirks, noticing Althea’s acting and going along with it.

That’s all it takes for Alastor to finally snap. He lunges past Vexel's control, eyes flashing from teal to a bright red. It only takes a moment for him to regain complete control out of pure rage, screaming as he comes back to his senses, "FUCK YOU!" 

Vexel turns being caught off guard, "F-fuck -"

A large, glowing red fist lands a full power hit against Vexel's cheek. Before his body has the chance to hit the ground, Alastor wraps a hand into his hair as a handle to throw him against the cavern wall. The sound of his skull cracking against the stone is deafening. 

"ENOUGH ALASTOR!" Althea rushes over, pushing him out of the way to make her way to Vexel. She stops short a few feet in fear of the possible retaliation. This is bad and doesn’t want to be at the brunt of a return attack. 

All orbs in the cavern vanish. The necromancer grunts after a few seconds, weakened from the blow. He feels all of his magic gone, causing even Heniffer to drop "dead". His eyes search frantically for Alastor in the darkness but all he can sense is Althea close by. As soon as he catches a solid breath, he casts a portal beneath himself to get back to his studio.

"Damn it!" Althea yells into the darkness. A hand wraps around her and within a second she's back in their room, "Wait - go get Heniffer." Alastor rolls his eyes at the request but complies, disappearing and reappearing with the limp skeleton chicken. 

Althea scoops her from him. She takes a deep breath to speak softly, "I'm not angry at you. We pushed you and I know it was hard, however lashing out physically was not necessary in the moment. You broke free of him, you need to hone in to how you did that." she rests Heniffer on the bed, "I think you should go to your tower. He won't want to see you after that and I know he's hurt pretty bad."

Without a word he leaves with a mix of anger and hurt in his eyes. Althea sits next to the chicken trying to figure out how to reach out to the necromancer. I know he can communicate or at least sense through Heniffer...Worth a shot... "Vexel? It's just me here. Please....let me heal you. I'm sorry..." her voice desperately calls out to him, defeated and embarrassed.

[liminalpebble]

Between the Lines, Chapter 5

Minors DNI

Cw: Dubcon

Masterlist link

Chapter 5

You sleep soundly through the night. He makes sure of it.

You only stir ever-so-slightly with an adorable little mumble when he rustles the duvet, sliding in next to you. It lightens his ruminating mood just a little. The prince lays on his side, and releases a long pensive sigh, hoping thoughts of what he'd just done would be whisked way with it. He tells himself he's still in control, and that's all that matters.

But he's not, entirely, and it matters a good deal less to him than it ought to. Loki doesn't dare let that idea surface. He holds it underwater and hopes it will drown.

He reaches his hand out to cradle the curve of your back, but hesitates; watching your shoulders undulate to the tempo of slow inhales and exhales. The moonlight paints a soft glowing highlight over you hair as it cascades around your neck and shoulders. You're so beautiful like this. He has to feel it...feel you; has to assure himself that you're really here and tangible.

He dares to touch the pads of his fingers against a lock of your hair, slyly, and light as a feather. You don't notice it consciously, even as iridescent green ribbons of light glimmer around you, enchanting you with the sweetest dreams and the deepest rest his magic can provide.

Loki smiles faintly, hoping you'll appreciate the romantic dreams he peppers in; the two of you together, flesh against flesh, fingers lacing through hair, the smell and taste of warm skin and the salt of sweat, the weight and rhythm of entwined bodies consumed by electric pleasure.

Beneath the fatigue, he suspects you must be aching as badly as he was, and he's determined to ease that splendid ache, if only in your mind...for now.

He tries not the think of how you must have been dripping deliciously between your legs all evening, incandescent with need beneath all that shy fear.

She wants me, clearly, as much as I want her. So why all this hesitation?

He knows the answer.

Because we're strangers, he reasons.

Or a least, Loki is a stranger to you. You couldn't know how his voracious studying lead the prince to your vast body of work; the fiction and poetry you'd penned, even your immaculate academic papers and petitions to do away with banning and censorship.

He even followed news of the work you'd accomplished as a librarian and archivist, preserving priceless knowledge. You were relentless and whip-smart. Any scrap of information with your name attached to it had begun to make his heart beat a little faster. He'd never felt this way before; infatuated and flustered by someone so completely from simple words on a page.

Before long, he felt that he knew you so completely; your interests, intelligence, bravery and endless imagination, even your sense of humor. Yet, it wasn't enough. He was telescopically focused on finding the version of you between the lines of your work. He pined after the details of you; your favorite foods, your favorite flowers, what you longed for from a partner, what frightened you the most and what gave you joy. Did you smile often? What did it sound like when you laugh? Was anyone there to hold you when you cry?...Did you like to dance?

He was consumed with the need to know you...really. He had to meet you.

So, Loki did what he does best. He schemed, and schemed well, using this avenue to bring you to his door...to his bed. There was no other way within your society to engage (not without a devastating scandal).

And, yes, this would still be a scandal, but much less of one than an honest courtship would be. No one would be particularly surprised that the god of chaos suddenly changed his mind about taking concubines. Most would probably shrug their shoulder at the hypocrisy. What could one expect from the god of lies?

Nothing good. He thought, sadly, No one ever expects anything virtuous from me.

He could never let you know the depth of his fascination with you...of course he couldn't. You'd think him desperate, some kind of deplorable obsessive.

It's not as if I planned to fall so hard for her. It just happened. I just...

For all the silver-tongued rationalizing he was capable of, it failed him now. Apparently, he couldn't do it for his own sake.

This is far from the first mess the god of chaos has ever made, but, for once, chaos has found him in return, and it has burrowed so deeply into his heart..into the core of him.

You turn on your back languidly as you sleep, interrupting his thoughts. He moves closer tucking himself near enough to gaze down upon your face; that beautiful face. He's pleased to hear you let out a soft breathy moan, knowing you've found one of those sinful dreams he'd given you. Your hand hovers up, reaching for him.

Warm...your fingers shock Loki with their warmth. They curl along his solid bicep pulling him closer, and though he is so much stronger, he relents easily as you gather him into your arms.

Loki curls eagerly against you. He holds you close enough that his lips brush your cheek and he kisses softly; your cheek, your temple, the curve of your jaw, your neck and shoulder.

But not your lips, no, he wants to save that indulgence for when you are wide awake.

In your sleep your breath hitches and your back arches. He holds you and watches as your body shudders in climax against his sturdy frame, lost in the heat of imaginary coupling. The sweetest dream you've ever had.

You give one last luxurious sigh, and it reaches him like incense ascending from an alter to a god; an offering. He nuzzles against your chest, falling asleep to the lullaby of your slowing heartbeat.

He smiles furtively, like a fox, then kisses your cheek, satisfied with his good work.

Good night, sweet one.

----

You wake up slowly. To your surprise you wake up alone, and apparently, untouched.

I guess he is a gentleman after all.

Still, you vaguely remember sweet dreams...wet dreams. You blush at the memory, feeling how wet you still are between your legs. Although the sex was imaginary, the climax certainly wasn't. The odd pleasure of it, considered in the light of day, it is decidedly disorienting.

The prince's vast chambers look so different in the morning, cozier and less imposing. Like their resident, you imagine their personalities can vary vastly in the span of a day. You shake your head, wondering if you'll ever really understand him, his actions, or his motives.

You look for some kind of note, but find none. He has, however, left you everything you might need in neat piles; clothes, toiletries, a scrumptious array of food. The double doors to the library have been left wide open for you. You drift around, exploring what you assume will be your new home.

The thought crashes over you like ice water.

My new home.

You heart feels impaled. You want to go home...your real home, but you can't. There's a tightness in your throat and a claustrophobia itching and buzzing at the edges of your senses.

You test the doors leading outside, or at least out of his chambers and into the main castle...every single one, and there are many. You jiggle each handle once, twice, thrice, a dozen times, to be sure.

Locked...all locked. You're not really sure what else you could expect. Of course he would lock you in your cage like a pet canary. He owns you now.

You try not to think about that as you make a pathetic attempt to eat, or as you bathe, or as you change into fresh clothes, with the hope that all these familiar rituals in such an unfamiliar place will make you feel better, but they don't.

They can't, because you didn't choose your food, or your clothes, or even the scent of your soap. Nothing is yours. Even your existence feels borrowed...borrowed from him.

The thought makes your stomach turn, and though it's been hours and you're famished, you don't dare to try eating again. Time marches on and the sky changes in great vistas of color through the tall windows. It feels as if it's teasing you, mocking you.

No, you think, he's the one teasing and mocking me. I can't blame the outside world for going on existing, whether I get to experience it or not.

Finally, as dusk descends, you resign yourself to your situation. Finding a comfortable chair, you gather yourself into it like a disconsolate child. You have no sense of how long you've been there once the main doors finally click open again and footsteps echo towards you.

@lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @peaches1958 @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @muddyorbs @mischief2sarawr @icytrickster17 @goblingirlsarah @sweetsigyn @unlucky-number-13 @mochie85 @acidcasualties @alexakeyloveloki @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @ladyofthestayingpower @mischiefmaker615 @loopsisloops @sailorholly @coldnique @smolvenger @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @gigglingtiggerv2 @anukulee @azula-karai-27 @eleniblue @marcotheflychair @litaloni @gruftiela @literatureatthebowofnails @meowmeow-motherfucker @wolfsmom1

[salemlunaa]

Hi:,) I hope you’re having a great day! I have a question regarding my situation.. It’s Trigger Warning/ death‼️ I just found out by my boyfriends family that he was killed. Before I found out this terrible news I was anxious and thinking something bad probably happened to him because he hadn’t responded to my messages in over 2 weeks. Well. I got a call from them telling me this right today.. what can I do? I been spiraling and confused in total disarray all around on what to do so I can be with him again and see and talk with him. I miss him so much Its hard. I couldn’t find much information about manifesting a specific person who passed. I was only met with thats not possible even when I hear people say “ anything is possible and we are limitless” Please reply back if you see this. Thank you

@celestials-realm

hi sweetheart, first off: i am so sorry, and second: gonna write this post with a message to you and to anyone else manifesting something “big” or “heavy”. anything, absolutely anything is possible. If you see someone who acts so high and mighty preaching about the law, just for them to turn around and have the audacity to tell someone that something is “too big” to manifest, then they’re dumb and not someone you should be looking to for advice or opinions.

If you want to manifest his revival, i suggest doing it with a subconscious method, although there is NOTHING too big or small, i feel like a subconscious method would make things “easier” if that makes sense. methods like the void and SATS are two big ones i would recommend. When it comes to the void specifically i want you to steer clear of overconsumption, once you read to much you will begin to put the void on some super high pedestal and view it as this real hard thing. Trust yourself and tell yourself how easily and instantly you enter the void. Don’t over complicated this easy method and don’t overthink it. You’re a god so whatever you say goes.

For more on SATS there is a video by the youtuber Rita Kaminiski explaining what SATS is and i truly recommend 💗

And again i’ll tell you guys there is nothing too big or too small, too many hypocrites have infested this community with their bullshit, preaching about how we can do anything yet turning around to tell someone that what they want to do isn’t possible. Now tell me, if we’re gods and we can do anything, how does that even make any sense?

Manifesting a needle is the same as manifesting being a billionaire

Manifesting your eyes to be a lighter shade is the same as revising a whole ass country for you to live in

There’s nothing too big. ever. It’s your mindset and the way you look at things that become an obstacle, all you need to do is change self and the rest will follow 💋💋

[neet-elite]

☆ 500 FOLLOWER PROMPT EVENT ☆

yahoooo!!! we hit 500 followers, that's insane! thank you so much everyone for following, liking, interacting, and generally supporting me, this blog, and my creative endeavours! i've made so many friends thanks to this blog, and i appreciate every single one of you (even if you just lurk hehe). Please read the following carefully if you'd like to take part in a celebration event!!

— the event will last until: April 30th. you can send multiple requests in during this time period !!

— characters included in the event are as follows !! SDV: sam, sebastian, alex, harvey, elliott, shane, kent, penny, haley. DoL: whitney, robin, kylar, sydney, alex. — if asking for alex, please specify if you mean SDV or DoL alex, thank you!

— max of 2 characters and 2 prompt numbers allowed per ask !! — i only write for f!reader, but i also don't mind doing character/character requests! just make sure to tell me you want character/character only, otherwise i'll assume you want threesome content.

↳ how to take part!!

— be 18+, duh. include your age in your bio because i will be checking lmao. if you don't have this, your request will be deleted.

— send me an ask off anon. this is because i want to be able to track who asked for what more easily, however, you will still remain anonymous because all of the event requests will be posted as STANDALONE TEXT POSTS meaning I will only answer your ask privately to let you know when i've finished the request!

— include the character(s) you want included, the prompt number(s), and anything else you feel is necessary! such as: enemies to lovers, childhood besties, your preferred setting like school, bedroom, beach, etc. ↳ for example: for the follower event, can i request sam and sebastian with numbers 3 and 6? i'd like it if both sam and seb were childhood friends with the reader if possible. thank you! *

↳ prompts !!

.01 — sleepy/good morning sex

.02 — hybrid(s) (you can specify if just one character is a hybrid, or if you want everyone to be a hybrid etc!)

.03 — date night

.04 — breeding

.05 — worship (you can specify the type of worship, such as general body, a specific body part, or something like yandere worship!)

.06 — jealousy sex

.07 — incest (you can specify if blood or step!)

.08 — stuck (like in a wall, under a fence, etc)

.09 — dry humping

.10 — phone sex

.11 — oral fixation

.12 — corruption kink

.13 — aphrodisiac

.14 — hypnosis

.15 — dumbification (you can specify who you want to be dumbified!)

.16 — role reversal

.17 — watersports

.18 — yandere (for characters who are not already!)

.19 — anal (you can specify who you want to be giving/receiving!)

.20 — AU of your choice! (for example: rock star sam, etc. just be sure to tell me the general basis of which au you're picking!)

that's all folks! thank you for taking the time to look, and thank you extra if you want to take part in the event! i'll update this post with a completed masterlist of all of the posts when the event is over. i hope you're all doing well and im sending u all a lil kiss mwah!

↳ event masterlist !!

↳ EVENT 01. WHITNEY WORSHIP

↳ EVENT 02. WHITNEY (STUCK & WATERSPORTS)

↳ EVENT 03. SEBASTIAN (DATE NIGHT)

↳ EVENT 04. WHITNEY & SEBASTIAN (JEALOUSY SEX)

↳ EVENT 05. SEBASTIAN (YANDERE)

↳ EVENT 06. M!KYLAR (INCEST)

↳ EVENT 07. M!WHITNEY & SEBASTIAN (JEALOUSY SEX & AU)

↳ EVENT 08. HARVEY (CORRUPTION KINK & ANAL)

↳ EVENT 09. M!ROBIN (JEALOUSY SEX & YANDERE)

↳ EVENT 10. M!WHITNEY (INCEST & YANDERE)

↳ EVENT 11. ALEX SDV & PENNY (DRY HUMPING & CORRUPTION KINK)

↳ EVENT 12. M!WHITNEY (SLEEPY/GOOD MORNING SEX)

↳ EVENT 13. SEBASTIAN & SAM (HYPNOSIS & DUMBIFICATION)

↳ EVENT 14. SAM (BREEDING)

↳ EVENT 15. C!M!SYDNEY (DATE NIGHT)

↳ EVENT 16. ALEX SDV (DRY HUMPING)

↳ EVENT 17. C!M!SYDNEY (CORRUPTION KINK)

↳ EVENT 18. HARVEY (YANDERE & ANAL)

↳ EVENT 19. M!WHITNEY (BREEDING & INCEST)

↳ EVENT 20. M!ALEX DOL (BREEDING & JEALOUSY SEX)

↳ EVENT 21. KENT (APHRODISIAC)

↳ EVENT 22. M!ROBIN (ANAL)

↳ EVENT 23. ELLIOTT (ANAL)

↳ EVENT 24. SEBASTIAN & SAM (STUCK & ORAL FIXATION)

↳ EVENT 25. ALEX SDV (GRIDBALL PRO AU)

↳ EVENT 26. M!WHITNEY (HYBRIDS & INCEST)

↳ EVENT 27. M!WHITNEY (BREEDING & YANDERE)

↳ EVENT 28. M!SYDNEY (WORSHIP & YANDERE)

↳ EVENT 29. SEBASTIAN (DATE NIGHT & DRY HUMPING)

↳ EVENT 30. SEBASTIAN (SLEEPY/MORNING SEX & JEALOUSY SEX)

↳ EVENT 31. SAM (DRY HUMPING & PHONE SEX)

↳ EVENT 32. P!M!SYDNEY (DATE NIGHT & APHRODISIAC)

↳ EVENT 33. M!KYLAR (WORSHIP & WATERSPORTS)

↳ EVENT 34. M!ALEX DOL (BREEDING & HYBRIDS)

↳ EVENT 35. SEBASTIAN (APHRODISIAC)

↳ EVENT 36. SAM (GENDERBENT AU)

↳ EVENT 37. SAM (SLEEPY/GOOD MORNING SEX & COFFEE SHOP AU)

↳ EVENT 38. ALEX SDV (APHRODISIAC)

↳ EVENT 39. SEBASTIAN (SLEEPY/GOOD MORNING SEX & ORAL FIXATION)

↳ EVENT 40. M!KYLAR & SEBASTIAN (HYBRIDS)

↳ EVENT 41. HALEY & SEBASTIAN (CORRUPTION KINK & APHRODISIAC)

↳ EVENT 42. M!ROBIN (INCEST & OMEGAVERSE AU)

↳ EVENT 43. ELLIOT (APHRODISIAC)

↳ EVENT 44. SAM & KENT (JEALOUSY SEX & INCEST)

↳ EVENT 45. SEBASTIAN (JEALOUSY SEX & INCEST)

↳ EVENT 46. SEBASTIAN (APHRODISIAC & DUMBIFICATION)

↳ EVENT 47. M!WHITNEY (HYBRIDS)

↳ EVENT 48. SAM (BREEDING & JEALOUSY SEX)

↳ EVENT 49. M!WHITNEY (DATE NIGHT & BREEDING)

↳ EVENT 50. idk. i don't have a 50th event piece, but it feels weird to finish off on 49. so i might just write something for myself given the prompts, who knows :D?

[dragonsarecats]

To be fair CF is just as much about found family than VW

Hi anon! I'm gonna link the post I talked about the Golden Deer here for clarity's sake lol.

I think when discussing themes of found family in different three houses routes, it's important to talk about Byleth. In a game where the single, main variable between possible futures is Byleth's interference, it means the story has to be written in a particular way--I mentioned this before when talking about character supports and endings; each character needs to be able to have a romantic ending with Byleth, which affects how their supports are written. In the case of the Lord's, this means you're given tangible reasons why you should've chosen them.

I mean. Let's be real here. Claude has the highest survivability rate of any character in the base game. He can't die if you're completing Verdant Wind (for obvious reasons), or Blue Lions. He's heavily implied to live to see another day in Silver Snow, and you can spare him in Crimson Flower! Edelgard and Dimitri die without the professor's stabilizing influence--but Claude? What does he lose without the professor.

That's sort of how I determine subtler themes of each route in a way--by comparing what you get with and without Byleth.

So when I argue that Verdant Wind is the most about found family, I mean it thematically; the other routes don't have tangible less found family, but without Byleth members of the Golden Deer just blatantly disappear unrecruited post time skip in several routes!

Without Byleth, the option for found family is removed for Claude in a big way, I personally feel, and not just by full recruitment runs lol. Not completely, of course--even in Crimson Flower a recruited Lorenz laments having to face off against Claude and Hilda is willing to die in defense of him and the city--but enough that it was blatantly shocking to me that if you don't recruit Marianne, she does not appear at all post time skip, no exceptions.

In a narrative sense, perhaps slightly unshocking; but in a practical sense? This leaves Claude without a healer.

Claude can't hold onto all his Deer even if you don't recruit any of them in the Academy phase. Silver Snow, Azure Moon, Crimson Flower--Marianne will always be gone; consistent, non variable. Depending on the route other characters like Lorenz might disappear as well.

The themes of found family are prevalent in all the routes, but since each route is pretty much defined by the Lord who leads it, I feel as though their personal relationship with the found family is most defining, if that makes sense.

People stand by Edelgard, Dimitri, and even Rhea for better, or for worse. Even recruited, characters like Felix make it abundantly clear that switching sides doesn't change the immense emotional attachment they have to their original lord.

This just. Isn't true for Claude.

Without Byleth, he doesn't get to keep everyone together. Without Byleth Hilda is recruitable in two routes. The idea that you could ever do the same with Hubert or Dedue is blatantly laughable.

Byleth's presence is what enables Edelgard, Dimitri, and Rhea to remain the most of themselves, if that makes sense. Edelgard's war strategy in Crimson Flower is a lot less aggressive and scorched earth then it is in the other two routes because she's had the professor as an emotional rock. Similarly for Dimitri, he's able to recover because Byleth is there to keep him alive and safe. And then Rhea will blatantly die in the Verdant Wind route where she doesn't in Silver Snow. Byleth, in every sense of the word, keeps these three characters alive and well.

But without her? They still inspire loyalty and devotion--unquestionable, again, if no recruitment takes place. Dimitri, Edelgard, and Rhea can all face up against you as enemies with the full force of their houses/allies (save for, oddly, Annette).

Claude does not.

Claude's whole route is about learning to trust others in a way that allows them to trust him. The Deer are devoted to Claude in Verdant Wind in a way they just, textually aren't otherwise, and that's due to Byleth's influence, both as a Professor to these individual students, and to Claude.

When I say that Verdant Wind is the most found family thematically to me, I mean it at a very base level. Claude knows he doesn't have what Dimitri and Edelgard seem to take for granted. It seems almost effortless, in Verdant Wind, the loyalty and devotion he inspires in his friends despite how often you, as Byleth, are told that Claude appears to be an untrustworthy and sneaky individual.

But it's easy to see in routes where you don't chose him that without Byleth, that image mantains. Claude is an outsider. And maybe he doesn't need Byleth in the way the other lords do to survive or achieve his dream (after all, there's nothing saying he can't open diplomacy with his former classmates after he goes back to Almyra so long as he lives to do so), but just as Byleth is uniquely able to be a peer to the Golden Deer, so can Claude uniquely trust and gain the trust of his house in full.

It's not as dramatic as the other two houses, and I think it's the point. Edelgard and Dimitri have already built a solid foundation of devotion and loyalty. Ferdinand and Felix (your "rival" characters in those houses) are loyal without Byleth, even if Ferdinand claims it's to guide her or if Felix complains every step of the way. Lorenz isn't. In Verdant Wind, you sort of take it for granted that everyone will be there at the reunion if they survived the Academy phase. Of course they will--they promised, didn't they?

But outside Verdant Wind, it's clear to see that you as the player took it for granted. And that's why I think Verdant Wind is thematically the most found family. It's not because the other routes don't love each other as much or aren't as complex or there isn't devotion. It's because fundamentally Verdant Wind is about Claude, for the first time in his life, having a group of people he can rely on and who will rely on him without hesitation. It's about the formation of found family, and how Claude doesn't need it to achieve his dreams, but man, does it give him something to achieve those dreams for.

[the-busy-ghost]

Warning- this is a very petty post, but I think I'm entitled to at least one petty, pissed-off reaction every time I finish a classic novel that hit harder than I expected so take this as my quota for the year.

Also spoiler warning for a book that came out over a century ago but still, I didn't know the plot going in so don't want to ruin it for anyone else, if you haven't read it shut your eyes. (Also Local Tumblr User Going Wild Over Book Published a Hundred Years Ago That Everybody Else Already Read should probably be categorised as akey part of indigenous tumblr culture at this point).

Anyway I just finished the War of the Worlds and in between studying I've thinking about Themes and Motifs as you do, and idly looking for further analysis. I then accidentally ran into an article called 'A Quiet Place II Succeeds Where the War of the Worlds Failed' and:

Now I haven't seen any of the Quiet Place films, this is not a rant against them and of course everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But re: the ending of The War of the Worlds, I have to ask, did this guy somehow miss, uh, the entire point of the book or am I just utterly insane?

[calamitys-child]

Listening to a podcast discussing conspiracy theories and deconstructing the ideas behind them and it's reminded me of the coolest practical lessons in critical thinking I ever got, both in high school, both from the same teacher. One was a month long project on who killed jfk in which we could basically present any theory as long as we cited all our reasons and it got us really excited about research and interpretation, but it was the follow up that I liked best.

Our next project she brought us into class and showed us a documentary claiming the moon landing was faked. Gave us worksheets to do that sided with that stance. And at the end of class a bunch of us were like miss wait this doesn't seem right?? and she said okay, we'll discuss that next week. The next lesson, she showed us a mythbusters episode countering all the claims of the original documentary and gave us worksheets for that, and another bunch of people went wait miss you can't teach us two opposing things, which one is right? What do we put on the exam??

So she split the class in two and told us each to present a case based on each side, and to explain why our source was or wasn't the more reliable of the two. Got us to debate each other directly and use additional sources to back us up and explain why those sources were reliable and should be believed. And because they were randomly assigned there was no guarantee you'd agree with the stance you were presenting, but you had to present it like you did. At the end of the project she asked us all which stance we found more convincing and why, and the majority of us basically said "we think that the moon landing is real because most of the arguments against it seem like someone reacted to a confusing thing without testing it, but when you test it and ask the person running the test to explain the science it makes sense once you have more information. Also, one documentary was made with the help of scientists with qualifications and experience and the other was made by people who don't have that but like to write mystery books, which looks like a less reliable way to get an answer. But we still dont understand why you showed us both if one is wrong."

And she was like excellent. You've done exactly what you should do. At high school level, we as teachers are expected to filter for the reliable sources for you, so you know to repeat that to pass an exam, but if you want to be historians on your own, I won't be your teacher any more once you graduate. Lots of people have opinions and theories and research about times in history, and it's your job to learn how to look at them and decide who you want to trust. This won't be on the exam, but I need you all to know it. You all did a great job following the school's instructions to repeat information you were given, but for some of you, that information wasn't on a reliable foundation. I know you all know how to pass an exam. You're smart and you've been trained to follow these instructions. What you deserve to be taught is how to use all this once you don't have to do exams any more.

And then as a reward for us doing a good job at figuring out the value of checking your sources' sources she let us watch Bush get hit in the face with a shoe before we had to go to maths. Shoutout to you Ms Hannah you were a good'un I hope you're doing well ten years on from that class

[makoodles]

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.