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d0youc0py · 10 months

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Even when he wasn’t working his mask seem to haunt him. He wanted to be here with you- but every time he looked in the mirror he was pulled away. Red bumps littered his jaw and some even around his hairline. He had always struggled with acne, having the acne scars to prove it, but it seemed to be getting worse. He’d been in a hotter climate this last mission, the sweat and not being able to air out his face was taking its toll.

He felt so unattractive. He quickly figured out when you feel ugly- you act ugly.

“Sweetheart, open up.” Simon sighed, his hand knocking at the door to emphasize. You two had just gone out on your first date since he’s been back and he snipped at you the whole time.

“Fuck off!”

Ouch.

“Sweetheart.” He started again. The bedroom door finally swung open. His body tensed at your teary face.

“I don’t know what happened to you while you were out there, and god knows you won’t tell me, but you have no right to take it out on me. I’ve been waiting for you to come home for the past three weeks and what am I greeted with? Hostility. It’s like I can’t do anything right.” You sputtered, glaring up at him. His hand instinctively went up to wipe the tears away from your face. He had never been the best at comforting people, but he would do anything to get your tears to stop.

“You’re right.” He admitted. The glare left your face. He was usually much more stubborn- unless he knew he in the was wrong. You softened. “It has nothin to do with work, at least not in the way you think.” His hand went up to rub his jaw but he quickly stopped himself. “I just haven’t been feeling”- He paused. He brought his hand up and motioned to his jaw, turning his head to the side.

“Si.” You murmured. You had noticed a little flare in his skin, but you didn’t really process it. He was always so handsome in your eyes. Your fingers reached up and traced along his cheekbone. “I understand.”

“Shouldn’t take it out on you though, yeah?” He affirmed.

“No you shouldn’t, but I understand now.” You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his chin. “You’re so handsome, you know.” You mumbled down his neck. He flushed, clearing his throat. “Do you want some help with it?” You offered.

His metabolism wasn’t what it use to be. Luckily the physical activity of his job kept away any unwanted pounds. That was until he was forced to go on medical leave and spend three months ‘taking it easy.’

He would be completely lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it though. Being home with you had been heaven- but a bit of hell on his waistline. He noticed it a bit, but he honestly didn’t think anyone else would. He was rudely awoken when he arrived back at base only to have Soap and Gaz poke fun at him. He knew it was all in good fun, but his first thoughts were about you. Had you noticed? If you did, how did you feel about it? He hushed his own thoughts figuring he would loose the weight out on the field. That was his second rude awakening. He had shed a few pounds, but a few stubborn ones remained poking out over his belt.

“How does Y/N feel about their new pillow?” Soap hummed, plopping down next to him. It had been like this for the past month.

“Sleeps like a rock.” Price grumbled.

“Didn’t know you knew what that was Cap.”

“Soap fuck off.” Ghost growled from across the aisle. “Fucking hell.”

The plane was quiet for a while after that.

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was never one to be insecure, but this was striking a cord. He remembers being younger and overhearing his mother gossiping in the kitchen about the neighbors.

“Alice has gained so much weight. She’s just gotten married too! Couldn’t imagine already letting myself go like that.”

Letting himself go.

That’s what it was. He didn’t want you- or anyone to think that he had ‘let himself go.’ That it was no longer important to him if you had found him attractive. That the two of you had been married for a little over a year so he could just give up. He shook himself out of his thoughts again.

•••••••••

He couldn’t even get through the door by the time you were on him.

“Welcome Home.” You smiled, pressing kisses to anywhere you could reach. He chuckled, leaning into you. He placed one arm under your bottom lifting you up to him. He dropped his duffle bag at the door kicking the door closed behind him.

“I missed you.” He murmured kissing you back just as desperate. He plopped down on the couch, settling you tightly in his lap. All was right in the world till your hands started to wander.

“You get hurt again?” You questioned after he flinched. Your hands went to pull up his shirt to inspect the damage. He stopped you. “John?” You questioned softly. He tangled his hands with yours.

“You know I have a tendency to be a bit old fashioned.” He started. You pressed your brows together.

“John I’ve seen you naked before.”

“No, love.” He chuckled. “I’ve gained a bit of weight and back in my day that was more scandalous than adultery”-

“You know I don’t care about that.” You interjected.

“I know, that’s what makes this whole thing ridiculous. It’s just something I’ve found out about myself, something that I need to work through.” He sighed, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

“Does this mean I can’t touch you?” You mumbled, fiddling with his shirt collar. He quickly shook his head.

“Course not.” He whispered.

“Johnny, you’re being too loud.”

That sentence had been replaying in his head like a broken record. You didn’t mean anything by it. You were just keeping him in check. Yet he could feel your embarrassment. The heat rising to your cheeks. The panic in your voice. The way you gave total strangers an apologetic smile when they turned your way. He had always been a naturally loud talker. Growing up with five siblings in a small two bedroom apartment was to thank for that. The fact that he had been around explosives for the past eight years didn’t help either.

“Johnny?” You tapped his arm. His eyes fled from the small paper bowl of ice cream to you. “You okay? You’ve been so quiet since we’ve left the restaurant.”

He couldn’t stop a dry chuckle. He grabbed the small bowl, shoving a spoonful in his mouth.

“ ‘m fine.” He mumbled. You sighed leaning across the table gripping his hand with yours.

“Jo.” You pressed again, flashing him your undeniable puppy eyes. He gave your hand a small squeeze.

“Sorry for the way I was at the restaurant.” He grumbled.

“What?” You asked, leaning forward again.

“I said, I’m sorry for the way I was at the restaurant.” He repeated. Your brows furrowed. Suddenly it hit you. Your hand left his and clamped over your mouth.

“No, no, no, Johnny.” You said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Well I did- but”- You cut yourself off. You rubbed your forehead. Your hands reached out again tangling yours and his together. “I’m sorry I made you feel bad. That wasn’t my intention. I just know you sometimes forget your own volume.”

He gave you a small smile, pressing a kiss to your knuckle.

“I know Bonnie. I just don’t like embarrassing you.”

“We’re just so different in that way Jo. My parents were so strict about how loud I was- especially in public. It’s just a stupid habit I have, but I should never expect you to follow it.” You smiled softly. He smiled back at you, the sparkle returning to his blue eyes.

“I should still work on it though. Don’t want to blow your eardrums out, then we’ll both be shouty.” He chuckled.

“You hate it when I do this don’t you?” You hummed.

“I’m still not use to it.” He sighed, using his thumb to run small circles against your hip. He shivered as your fingers traced over another long stretch mark on his back. He mumbled something and pulled you closer, your body almost completely buried underneath his.

It was no secret Konig was tall. Along with that height came stretch marks. Mostly on his lower back and calves, some even under his arms. Some had faded, a small ridge in his skin to show they were still there. Others were a deeper pink- more noticeable.

“Everybody has them Konnie.” You mumbled, pressing a kiss under his jaw.

“I know.” He purred out as you massaged a small kink out of his back. Truth be told he didn’t really care about them either- until the locker room. That’s when he noticed how excessive his seemed. He had carried that feeling for a while, it wasn’t until he met you did he become more comfortable with it. You had showed him your stretch marks and he saw how pretty they looked on you. He slowly began to figure out that if he thought they looked nice on you, then you probably felt the same way about his. He still tenses when you touch them, his eyes darting to yours for any sign of insincerity. He’s always met with love and want. Just the thought of it causes a flutter in his stomach.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

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I’m itching to request another Price kidnapping fic, but I’m not gonna make you write a THIRD one despite how delicious and delightful your writing is

Congratulations!🎉🎉🎉

—Burst Veins

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He never noticed you weren't behind him.] ❞

When he had looked back, you were gone.

Price had never been so panicked—his eyes snapping this way and that, body turning in a circle as the radio on his chest went wild with barks and intel coming in. This had turned into a shit-show fast; there were too many problems at once.

And now you had disappeared.

“Fuck!” He shouts, combat vest heavy on his chest as a soul-deep worry infects him. But John wasn’t one to drown in in-action; he was a Captain.

Wrenching a hand to the radio, he snarls the new plan to the rest of One-Four-One and tells Simon to radio into Laswell for air support as his boots begin tracing his footsteps back.

The building he was in had flickering lights above his head, making his eyes lose focus before they honed on as he shook his head. Finding you became his top priority in a matter of seconds, and that fact was both a stain and a curse on John’s brain.

Since when had you gotten so important to him beyond being a valuable asset and a member of his Task Force? It was a question for another time, evidently, because you’d been stolen out from under his very nose.

The question was…where had you gone?

—

You’re kneeling in the middle of a large lobby, hands tied and a rag stuck in your mouth as a gun is leveled at your head.

It was embarrassing how it happened—one of these goons had snuck up behind you and stuck a piece of fabric with chloroform on it to your mouth and nose, able to keep pressure for the few moments that was needed to make you loopy. And now…now you were stuck with a battle outside and your Captain probably looking for you.

Or at least…you hope he was.

The rag is ripped out of your mouth, your broken nose leaking long streaks of blood out as you hiss when fingers grab at it; a rabid shout stuck in your throat as your head is shoved back.

“Radio your soldiers,” the man speaks quickly, looking around. He couldn’t even drag you out of the building due to the gunfire—what did he expect to gain from this? “Tell them to retreat and that you are my hostage.”

Your chuckle catches him off guard, your head burning as your eyes fade in and out.

“That’s not gonna happen there, Pal.”

The safety of the gun is clicked off. “Now. Or I will shoot.”

“Then shoot,” you buy time, your hands slipping into your sleeve to grasp the handle of a blade strapped to your forearm. “Won’t matter to me—I’ll be dead.”

Those eyes of his flare as his lips peel back; the barrel firm to your forehead before it shifts to the side as he leans closer. You can smell his breath.

“Use your radio. Now—” A shadow slips into the lobby, and you don’t have to look to see who it is.

Price takes the shot with no hesitation, the man screaming as his shoulder bursts with gore and blood—wasting no time even with your loose mind, you cut your bonds and bring the knife down into the supple flesh of his neck.

Your name is called fiercely as you lean forward and cough over the body, hands grabbing at your shoulders to pull you back and get you to your knees.

“Fuckin’ hell, look at me.” A light is flicked and runs over your eyes—you bat it away as a familiar beard and serious blue eyes grace you. Your lips flicker at John’s firm stare.

“Chloroform. All good.” An aggressive sigh.

“You need to be more—”

“Aware of my surroundings, yes, Sir,” you mutter, putting a hand to your head as his fingers loosen on your gear.

“Head still on?” He asks you, eyes jumping up and down as he grunts at your broken nose; hand moving forward to push the blood back as your face heats.

“As much as it can be,” you cough again at your raw throat. “Shit, we need to get going.”

John sighs, knowing it to be true. There wasn’t time for rest—you’d put them back in crucial time. He’ll need to address this another time.

“Up and at it, soldier, we’re late.”

“Fashionably, Sir.” He hides his violent smirk before grabbing your arm and dragging you up.

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irishmammonagenda · 2 months

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How I Think The Obey Me Dateables + Co Would React to The Rumours™️

Summary: Rumours have been floating around the Devildom. Rumours about a certain Angel and Sorcerer...how will the demon brothers react? Word Count: funny joke! Content Warnings: nothing i dont think Disclaimer: This will probably not make a lot of sense unless you've read this fic here for context, but ykw life doesnt make sense you do you <3

[Brothers Version]

dividers by @cafekitsune

You had left the Sorcerers' Society feeling quite flustered, but also extremely pleased with yourself. Take that Solomon. You grin. In all the excitement of the following days, you'd forgotten about the rumour you had accidentally spread around the Devildom. Perhaps you shouldn't've pretended to be Archangel Michael to gain entry....

💙💚BARBATOS💚💙

Finds out about the rumours relatively quickly, Little D No.2 sees him nearly dropping a plate before catching it with his tail. He was sworn to secrecy.

Poor Little D No.2

His first thought is shock, his second thought is.

'What did you do MC?'

smiling he dials your number on his DDD.

You were in the middle of doing homework, or rather, sitting at your desk staring at your homework when Barbatos called. "Hiya Barbs!" You grin into your DDD. "Hello MC." You can hear the Butler's smile through the phone. "What's got you calling Barbie?" "There have been some rumours of a certian bastard sorcerer and Archangel in a romantic relationship...you wouldn't happen to know anything of it?" You laugh. "My assassination attempt went wrong." Barbatos lets out a small chuckle along with you. "I can't say Solomon doesn't deserve it." You pause. "Barbs?" "Yes, MC?" "Would you maybe wanna...go to the next Devildom Carnival with me?" You mumble into the phone, but he catches it. Thankfully, he was feeling nice, and did not teasingly ask you to repeat it. "Of course I would MC," Barbatos tone softens, smile visible in his voice. "Perhaps you can tell me more of this assassination attempt going aray?" "It'd be my pleasure Barbie."

❤️❤️DIAVOLO❤️❤️

Barbatos tells him.

Remember the sticker incident? Yeah. Diavolo laughs when he hears about it

This could be a great help in uniting the 3 realms!!!

And hey, if someone commissions Asmo to make stickers of Michael x Solomon, dont look at Diavolo who is very suspiciously whistling innocently.

"Hi Asmo!" Lord Diavolo steps out from the shadows. Asmodeus shrieks, loosing all colour in his face before gaining it back again and grinning excitedly." Diavolo! What are you doing in my room?~" Diavolo shooshes him, pale golden eyes widening as he looks around the Avatar of Lust's room. "Not so loud." After deeming it safe enough, the Demon Prince continues, "I snuck away from Barbatos" Asmo makes a noise of understanding, he looks up at the other through foxlike eyes. "So what can I do for you Dia? ~" The Prince smiles ear to ear. "Remember the stickers you made of me and Lucifer. Well, I'd like to commission something." Asmodeus gasps excitedly, moving a stray champagne coloured lock from his forehead, he grabs his bejeweled pen and journal. "Of course! We can discuss pricing later on! First things first! What would you like?~" "Well..." Diavolo lets out a booming laugh, "Maybe something quite similar to the stickers of me and Lucifer, except with Michael and Solomon?" Asmodeus sets his pen and sketchbook down, looking up at the Devildom's present goofball and future ruler. "Y'know what, Diavolo?" He smirks mischievously. "It's on the house." Diavolo pouts, "At least let me buy you Majolish's new line of clothes." "Awww!~ If I had a ring that I didn't want to keep for myself I'd propose to you!~" Diavolo laughs. These stickers were going to be amazing.

🩷🩷THIRTEEN 🩷🩷

Haha L Solomon

Knows it's fake from the moment she hears it.

Upset she didn't think to start it....but when she finds out from Satan you had a hand in it?

Damn bbg she's about to have your hand in marriage😏

You were just trying to walk home from RAD, having finally gotten a moment of peace from your idiots when an extremely loud 'VROOOM' startles you. A black motorcycle with pink accents traverses the streets of the Devildom like it's attempting to audition for Fast and Furious, before going rogue and coming straight towards you. Scared, you start to sprint, alas, even as an angel,you can't outrun motorcycles. You don't wanna die! The mystery rider drives beside your sprinting, catching up to you before reaching their leather gloved hands out and; YOINK! The motorcyclist pulls you flush against their chest, holding you there with one arm as they use the other to steer. You've been kidnapped by a motorcyclist who thinks they're in GTA. Great. Being kidnapped by a crazed motorcyclist before GTA 6....actually, maybe this was GTA 6. "As much as I'd love to hear your screams in a different context MC, can you stop screaming?" A voice asks through the Motorcycle helmet, you immediately stop squirming to get out of the Motorcyclist's arms. "Thirteen?!" She laughs, "Awww, I love it when you say my name!" You drive in relative silence for a while until she reaches a small cafe. She stops the bike and takes her helmet off, her long ombre hair is tied in a ponytail, she takes out the bauble and lets it fall down. Bloodied emerald eyes lock onto yours as she pulls you in for a kiss. "What's this about you dying and not giving me your soul...." She says in mock sadness before jumping off of the motorcycle, helping a dazed you to your feet. "No bother!" She flirts, tucking a stray hair away from your face, "You can just give me your soul, and your heart, and your body, and your mind!" You blush. "W-why are you in the Devildom Tee?" "Well a certain someone-" She pinches your cheek, "made up a fabulous rumour about that Rat-Bastard! So I'm here to give them a lovely little dinner date and my hand in marriage as a reward!" "Excuse me? Could you repeat that?!" You ask, heart racing. Thirteen just laughs and gives you a kiss that leaves you breathless, a soft blush of her own showing up on her porcelain skin. You walked out of your impromptu unofficial kidnapping dinner date a married MC. Time to go to Vegas to make it official!

💜💜MEPHISTOPHELES💜💜

The man found out because you told him.

He is not impressed. Couldn't you have made up a rumour about Lucifer dating someone?!

No MC, this is a serious newspaper! He is not posting gossip. Or advertising fanfictions. Especially ones with a name like that!

What do you mean Lord Diavolo would 'want you to do it, Mephisto!!' are you trying to emotionally blackmail him?!

"Pleaseeeee!" "No." You try again. "Mephisto pleaseeeeeee?" He gives you a rather rude look. Damn, rich people really were good at looking at people like they were dirt on their shoes. "I won't ask for anything ever again!" "You will, and the answer is still no MC." He glares at you. Pear green eyes filled with annoyance. "The RAD newspaper is sacred! I'm not posting fanfiction on there! We are a serious organisation!" "You post popularity polls." You deadpan. "This is why I hate rich people." "Let me go wipe my tears with my various stacks of grimm lying around. Speaking of which, how did you get into my house, MC?" You grin sheepishly. "No comment!" "MC." "Your little brother let me in! He's very nice, unlike you! Now please I'm begging you!" Mephisto raises an eyebrow. "You don't look like you're begging." "I'm not getting down on my knees. I'm going to piss in your cereal." Mephistopheles scoffs. "I don't eat cereal. That's poor people behaviour." You sniffle, deciding that the best course of action would be to annoy him. "You know, you're acting like Lucifer right now! Not letting me post this in the Newspaper." Mephisto waggles his finger at you, "Send me a Devilmail of what you want included later." "Yay!" You cheer. Satan was going to be so happy when he found out you managed to get your fanfic mentioned in the RAD Newspaper!

🩵🩵SIMEON 🩵🩵

He finds out after you print out the published parts of the fanfiction you and Satan wrote.

He's an author after all! What better person to get constructive criticism from?!

Someone please save this poor man.

Solomon looked up at Michael with dull eyes devoid of emotion, just previously they had shone with tears, now they were just dead. A graveyard of feeling. "Take it back Michael." The sorcerer mutters, but Michael heard him clearly. "What you said about Humankind...take it back!" "It's the truth Solomon!" Michael raises his voice, the rain dropping like bullets against the windows of Cocytus Hall. "I can't do this anymore!" Solomon blurts out, before turning on his heel, cape flapping, as he runs out of the door, into the storm outside, his arms cover tear-stricken his face. "Solomon wait!" Michael races out after him braving the- "MC..." Simeon looks up at you, he takes his reading glasses off and gently sets the paper down, attempting to avoid looking at anything else written on it. "MC, what is this?" "Art." You nod seriously. "It is good writing MC, but, why?" "Why not?" You tilt your head. "With all the love in my heart, darling, I'm forcing myself to forget this story's existence." You pat Simeon's back. "That's probably for the best Simmy."

🤎🤎RAPHAEL 🤎🤎

Solomon? Michael was going out with Solomon?

This worked out great for him actually, this meant he could eat Solomon's food more often. How delicious!

Disappointed when he finds out the rumours aren't true.

"Raphael for the last time, do I look like the type of person that would date Solomon?!" Michael says exasperatedly, covering his face with his hands and fake sobbing. Drama king. "You are a bit odd. Are you sure you're not dating him? I won't judge you, Michael, I respect you a lot." Raphael nods seriously. "I am not dating Solomon." Raphael pouts, "I see. Have you considered dating Solomon?" Michael grabs a pillow and screams into it.

🖤🖤SOLOMON🖤🖤

Finds out through Asmo

Is that a fanficiton, MC?

Two can play at this game.

You enter your room when you feel a hand go over your mouth. You attempt to scream, but seeing as there's a hand over your mouth, it doesn't exactly go very well for you. "Relax Mc, It's just me." You turn your head around to see Solomon and that signature sneaky smile on his face. You scream louder. He chuckles and mutters a few words, all of a sudden you feel very sleepy.... Hours later, you wake up on your bed, now around 3 feet tall and with familiar pink wool, your hands and feet are now hooves, beside you Solomon had been oh so kind as to leave you a note. Cant write Fanfiction if you don't have hands. Jokes on him. You're a co-author.

🩵🤍LUKE🤍🩵

hears some demons talking about it at RAD while he´s in Devildom history

Michael are Solomon are DATING??!!!

LIKE THE THING PEOPLE DO BEFORE THEY GET MARRIED??!!

Michael and Solomon are getting MARRIED??!!

Is Solomon his dad now?

Luckily for Luke and Unluckily for Michael, Michael is still in the Devildom, so when Luke gets home, he goes to ask Michael about it.

Sounds of sizzling and chopping can be heard from the kitchen in Purgatory Hall, and thankfully, it's not Solomon. Michael hums as he expertly dices the onions up and puts them into the blender with the tomatoes, broccoli and cauliflower. His long golden hair had been haphazardly thrown into a plait, small curls that didn't feel like conforming popping out here and there, sauce stains found themselves a home on his dark skin, he stuck his tongue out in concentration. Frozen meatballs had been left out to thaw, and now the Archangel was making the vegetables in the sauce so they'd undetectable to a certain fussy young angel. "Michael?" The young angel in question calls out in the doorway resulting in Michael exclaiming something that sounded like 'GAH!' and attempting to hide Luke's view of the blender. "Hiya Lukey!" Michael grins awkwardly. "What's up with you today? Haha." Now long used to Michael's strangeness, Luke pays it no mind. "Michael, I have a question." The archangel turns the various pans on the stove to the lowest heat before sitting on a stool on the kitchen island and pulling Luke up to sit on his knee. "What's up Kiddo?" He grins, tilting his head at the boy. Luke fiddles with his thumbs, his blue eyes meeting Michael's red ones. "Is it true you and Solomon are getting married?" Michael's smile drops. He pats Luke's blond hair, "No Lukey, me and Solomon are not getting married, nor are we in a relationship." Luke's face flushes, he clenches his tiny fists. "Those demons! Making up lies!" Michael shakes the image of you from his mind. "Yeah. Demons. Yup!"

lads im gonna be honest here i havent met mephsitles or hwoever u spell it a lot in game (as well as thirteen and raphael) so apologies if theyre really ooc😰

#obey me imagines #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me x reader #omswd #obey me mc #obey me michael #obey me thirteen #obey me thirteen x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me asmodeus #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me luke #obey me mephisto x mc #obey me mephisto #obey me solomon #obey me raphael #obey me simeon

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janus-cadet · 5 months

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Tarot Project - N°33

This is yet another tarot card- strangely, the first I drew for the MCU. Obviously, it was motivated by the ending of the last show I saw, which did not left me indifferent.

(it broke me and I'll never be the same again)

So here is Loki, burdened with glorious purposes, as The Magician.

(If you haven't see the season yet and are avoiding spoilers, don't look for the explanation under the cut!)

For starters, the Magician is said to be the conduit that converts energy into matter. He represents worldly experience and knowledge ; he has seen it all, experience it all, and acts at the gateway between spiritual and material realms- just like would be a God trapped in the roots of Yggdrasil, all seeing, all creating. He is the root of the whole tarot- having access to the symbols of each suits : Wands, Swords, Cups, Pentacles. The Magician has unlimited potential, is manifestation at its best : who else to embody that, than the God of Stories, the most powerful being in the universe? Timely was right- truly a magician.

But that's not all. Let's start with the meaning of the card, upright.

As the master manifestor, the Magician brings you -you, person living in any timelines ever- the ressources and energy you need to make your own choice. He's giving you a chance. Like him, you might be facing changes, new ideas that challenge who you were: it's now time to act on them. The skills (maybe time magic ?) and knowledges (perhaps your brand new sciency PhD) you have gathered along your life path have led you where you are now. You must have a clear vision of the goal you are trying to achieve. It is not enough to be motivated by ego, money, status or fame, by a throne. When you are clear about your "what", your "why"... your "who"... you will be able to take actions. You are powerful, you are a creative being: you can reach, now, your highest potential. Focus on the ONE thing that will truly motivate you. Be active. Be a tree.

Reversed, the card can indicate that are still uncertain. You know that you have to take action, but are uncertain of the course it must take. You are afraid of what you might loose, what path you need to choose; be patient, be attentive- the solution will manifest itself in time, when you'll be ready to accept it. If you are already acting on your goal, the Magician Reversed can be a sign that you are struggling to see progress and success (perhaps because of some annoying Avengers who refuse to accept your perfectly reasonnable demands ; perhaps you can't make yourself kill that one person to save the rest.) Maybe you are not clear on your desired outcome; maybe your effort are misdirected, unfocused. You may be lacking conviction. Perhaps the goal you're going after is not the one you actually need, or even want. Are you sure you want that throne ? Are you aware of the price coming with any glorious purpose ?

At its worst, the Magician Reversed signifies manipulation and trickery. You may be masterful at manifesting, but you are lost, and you may only do it for personal gain and at the expense of others. Does it feels off? Maybe. It might means you were made to work for the highest good, before you find yourself lost. Remember your "why", remember your "who". You have many skills, talents, capabilities, but your real potential is not being maximized. You have to ask yourself- what needs to change for you to reach your full potential? What do you crave the most? You can't lie to yourself: you have to be honest, as painful as it might be. You have to be ready to do what it takes to reach your most important goal.

If, in the end, it matters most to see your friends having a shot at life, at happiness, than it matters to not be alone- then, you know what you have to do.

With that, I conclude my explanation. Only one more card, and I'll be done with the Major Arcana!

(Just like Marvel is done with Loki a h)

I hope you liked it. You, yes, you who is still reading! Thank you for that.

#loki #loki fanart #marvel loki #loki season 2 #loki s2 ep6 #loki spoilers #loki series #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #god of stories #loki god of stories #loki ending #tom hiddleston #yggdrasil #tarot project #tarot card #the magician #loki season 2 spoilers

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everydayyoulovemeless · 3 months

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Random request but what about Fo4 companions reactions to a werewolf!Sole (either gender neutral or male idm)? 🙏

Fo4 Companions Reactions to a Werewolf!Sole

➼ Word Count » 1.6k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Platonic/Romantic, Werewolf AU

MacCready's surprised when he first sees you turn. You didn't warn him about his when he first accepted your contract? Don't you think that maybe this should've been something you told him? Once you've reverted back to your usual self, he'll have a lot of questions he's going to ask you. First off, should he be cautious? Living in Little Lamplight and being so close to the Mutant vault has made him weary when it comes to evolutionary transformations on humans, and he'd like to know if there are any drawbacks to your ability. Second, who are you? At first, he assumed you'd be like any other client, but this certainly changes things. As interesting and helpful as you're transformation is, he's not one to mess around with anything supernatural and might drop you as a client depending on how long the two of you have known each other. If it happened right away, you're being dropped, but if he's gotten to know you a bit more, then he'll stay, but there's a very clear shift in tone toward the relationship.

Nick isn't sure how he's supposed to feel. It isn't every day you see someone turn from a human to a wolf in a matter of seconds, and he's not quite sure what to say. He'll stare at you silently for a while before settling on something like, "If your nose is as good as Dogmeat's, I might have a job for you." He supposes that you haven't really changed, so there's no need for him to be all uppity about it, but he can't help but find your relationship comical. A robot detective and a werewolf. Sounds like something straight out of the Unstoppables, and anytime you pass a poster or billboard from the pre-war series, he'll point to it and say something like, "Look, it's us."

Cait didn't trust you before and doesn't trust you now. How long will it take before you lose control and start mauling her? Can't hardly trust regular mutts as it is, so what makes you any different from a stray? She's hostile at first, mostly out of fear that you'll kill her, but there's also a part of her that thinks you'd make traveling the wasteland so much more fun. Now, suddenly, she's scheming ways to scare vendors into lowering prices or taking you to raider hideouts so that she can blow off some steam. Give her a few days and she'll quickly warm up to you and your ability. It might come off as disingenuous, but she'll become a lot more open with you. The two of you could really make a name for yourself out here, and she doesn't plan on leaving your side for a long time to come. The Commonwealth could gain a lot from having a few monsters running loose, and who better than the two of you?

Danse might actually shoot you on sight if you turn in front of him. To him, your transformation is an abomination, and he believes you need to be neutralized before you wreak havoc on anyone. He does it sorrowfully, but he sees it as something that must be done, even if you are someone he's considerably close to. If he finds out after Blind Betrayal, he'll just be incredibly uncomfortable around you, but he won't put you down. It makes him feel guilty, but he just finds the entire thing to be so unnatural and out of touch with humanity. Killing you is for the greater good, at least to him.

Preston didn't know what to think when he saw you change somewhere around the size of the deathclaw you were fighting. He gripped his musket tighter, afraid that you'd try and attack the settlers next. He wasn't sure what to do. You technically saved him and the rest of the people he was with, but there was a part of him that feared what you would do if you got too close. He stays with you despite it, not wanting to judge too quickly, but he's hesitant about the decision. He keeps his position as general until he feels he knows you better, but he wouldn't mind if you stayed with them in Sanctuary. He still doesn't trust you fully, never really sleeping in fear of what will happen when that same moon comes out again and you turn into that monster you were in Concord. It takes a while for him to warm up to you - he's got people he needs to protect, after all. As long as you stand with him and his cause, he won't have any trouble. The Minutemen could use soldiers like you anyway.

Codsworth was... confused? He's known you for years and hadn't ever noticed this change. He feels ashamed that he didn't find out sooner and would be devastated. But, fear not! He'll make it up to you by taking you to the best pet stores in the Commonwealth! He knows them all by heart, just in case you and your spouse ever decide to get a pet, and.. maybe something in there will help?

Piper will approach you slowly when she first sees you turn. You're not exactly what she remembers you looking like, but you're still the same person.. right? You won't eat her or anything? Once the initial shock disappears, she'll start having a field day with you. She'll say things about how "you were prettier as a human" or "can you smell yourself as well? Or...?" (she thinks you stink). You're definitely interview material, and she wastes no time asking you about when approximately you discovered you could do this? And does it have any limitations? There's no stopping the press, especially when having you around keeps critics off her back.

There's never a moment where Curie fears you. She instead just walks up to you and starts petting you, too excited to care about the possible dangers that could arise by doing so. She'll want to run so many tests on you. Not in a mean, exploitative way, but in a way where she can learn more about what it is that's causing you to do this. Is it radiation? A chemical imbalance? Or maybe it's a product of an evolutionary disease she's yet to hear of? Either way, she thinks it's vitally important for her to gain knowledge on it so that she's prepared if it ever becomes an issue in the future.

Strong is so happy when he sees it happen. Finally, the human is strong and has some kind of natural fighting instinct to rely on. He assumes you're just a different kind of mutant and is ecstatic to see it happen. He'll come to view you as the one true leader he should follow and would do literally anything you said.

Hancock thought he was tripping balls when he watched you turn from a regular guy into... well, whatever you were. He doesn't even realize how long he's been staring at you until you're shifting back. His first reaction is to sling his arm around your shoulder and ask if you saw that too. He's genuinely so confused and ecstatic all at once, and he's not sure what to do about it. All you need to know is that he doesn't think any differently about you and that he thinks it's one of the coolest things out here in the Commonwealth, even if he still doesn't believe he saw what he saw.

Deacon just laughs nervously the first time he sees you shift. Out of everything that could've happened, this is what... happened? He's incredibly confused. All his knowledge of history and old-world books did NOT prepare him for this, and it's making him a tad anxious. He'll watch you for a while out of curiosity and slight concern until you finally turn back. He'll grab your shoulders firmly and tell you to never do that around HQ 'cause they wouldn't recognize you and shoot you on sight, but that you should do that around HQ 'cause it'd be funny. After the initial confusion wears off, he'll take you straight to Tinker Tom. He just knows he'll have a field day with you, and neither of you were doing anything that important anyway.

X6-88 would've exterminated you long ago If it weren't for the fact you're related to Father. He thinks you'd do much better as a lab experiment than as the Institute's leader, mostly because he thinks you're contaminating in some way, and who knows how long it'll take before you run amok throughout the bunker. He'll keep quiet about it, though. It's not his place to say anything, so he won't, but he doesn't like or trust you in any capacity.

Old Longfellow starts firing at you the moment he turns to see you're changed form. It's not on purpose or out of any ill intent, it's just his survival instincts coming into play. Whenever he sees a beast like that emerging from the fog, he doesn't know what else to do but shoot at it. If you live, he'll just sheepishly apologize and tell you not to do that again, at least not while he's around. He's not here for games, and he can't tell who he's supposed to kill when you look similar to the Yao Guai's of Far Harbor. So, no more of that.

Gage isn't really sure what to think. He's just hoping the other gangs will be alright with it. After a while, it might grow on him. You being a werewolf fits nicely in the rugged raider aesthetic most of them have going on, and the stories that come out of people seeing you make the park seem more dangerous than it probably is. It helps keep others away, and he's glad for that.

65 notes · View notes

aghostwrites · 5 months

Text

Doll

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Warnings: orgasm (male and female) oral (male and female), face sitting, dominant female, praise kink, mentions of trauma, helplessness, smut, NSFW, penetration, female empowerment, overstimulation, begging, she/her pronouns, he/him pronouns

paring: Captain Price x F!reader

word count: 8k

*minors do not engage*

extras: this is the longest fic we have written, please let us know what you think.

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Price lets his body weight rest against your back while his hands pin yours above your head. You wiggle to get free and he growls low in your ear. You thrust your hips into his working to get a knee under you so you can tip him over and escape. No luck. You tap the mat three times and Price removes himself from you. You turn over so you are lying on your back panting hard.

“You’re fighting like a man, stop it.” Price orders you, walking over to the edge of the sparring mat and picking up two towels and a bottle of water. “You are not built like us. Use that to your advantage.” He says while tossing a towel onto your still-collapsed body. You grunt and sit up wiping the sweat from your brow with the towel. He hands you the water and you take it nodding in thanks before downing half the contents.

“I have been fighting this way for half my life. It worked for me then, it should still work for me now. I don’t need special treatment or training, I’m a soldier like you.” You say when you have gained some of your breath back. You have spent the last few years working your way up the ranks in the British army to get to where you are. The newest member of the 141 Task Force, specifically requested by Captain John Price himself.

“No, it won’t,” Price growles. You glare at him and he glares back. “I’m trying to keep you from getting killed, Sergeant. The men you fought before now weren’t trying to actively kill you, these men will.” You scoff.

“You have read my file, you know that is a fucking lie.” Your eyes cast down looking at a sweat stain on the mat trying to distract yourself from the memory. Price sighs and comes to sit next to you on the mat.

“I hate to say it Sergeant, but that experience will be every day on the field. Tell me now if you can’t do this and I’ll transfer you back to your old squadron.” He says, sounding defeated. You whip your head up to meet his eyes, the shock quickly turns to rage.

“You do anything of the sort and I will make your life a living hell, Captain.” You growl out. Your old squadron is where you had the most difficulties. Men you thought to be not only your teammates but friends betrayed you. They wanted to knock you down a peg after you finally outranked them. They attacked a superior officer and were dishonorably discharged. You ended up with four weeks in intensive care. That is why Price ordered special combat training with him every morning before the briefings.

“That’s the spirit, lass. Come on, one last round.” Price grins and stands helping you up as well with an outstretched hand. You finish off the water before tossing the empty bottle and the towel back into the corner. You both get into a defensive stance, arms up and hands guarding your face. Your fists are clenched ready to throw the first punch but Price steps out of his stance, walks over to you, and grabs one of your hands.

He is gentle as he pries your hand out of a fist, his calloused fingers dragging across your skin as he holds your hand in an open palm. His hand doesn't leave yours as you stare up at him.

“Try this. Instead of immediately going into offensive, work with a loose defensive stance. Tire your enemy and misdirect their hits instead of blocking with your arms. Once you have them off-balance use your size to slip under them and take them down.” He says his deep blue eyes boring into you. You nod and suddenly the heat of his body is gone. He is back to his starting spot hands raised with closed fists. You shake your hands out then jump back into your stance this time with open palms.

He rushes forward and punches toward your chest. You instinctually block letting his arm hit you, definitely leaving a bruise before you remember you are supposed to be misdirecting. You move your arm so his hit slides off and he stumbles forward more than he was planning for. You duck under his arm and kick his knee. Price bucks backward but doesn’t fall.

“That’s it.” He praises raising to his full height again and facing you. “Keep that up, lass.” He brings his leg up and aims for your stomach. Redirect you remind yourself. So when you feel his foot barely press against your stomach you swipe your hand down and away from your body. His leg lands giving you an opening to his head or shoulder. You puch his face causing Price to stagger backwards. You take the second opening and dive for his legs, grabbing them both in your arms and pulling them together as you push forward. Price grabs your shirt when you bring him down to the mat with you causing it to rise and slip up over your head.

You let the fabric slide over your head, his hands now tangled in your shirt. With one arm you wrap around his and pull both his arms tight to your body, with the other you slip it out of the sleeve of your shirt and press your forearm to Price’s throat briefly cutting off his air. Your faces are inches apart and you are practically straddling him. Price lets his head fall back and taps your side three times. You jump off of him letting the shirt fall away completely so you are only in your sports bra and PT shorts.

“Fuck,” You groan and sit on the mat your energy completely drained. Price sits up to detangle himself from your shirt. He is grinning from ear to ear, the expression exposing the crow's feet around his eyes.

“Two weeks and you finally beat me. Nice job.” He tosses your shirt back to you. You catch it but fall backwards arms above your head and close your eyes in silent victory. When you open your eyes Price is standing over you his hand out to help you up again. You take it and he pulls you to his chest then quickly lets go. You wish he hadn’t, his body heat feels so nice against your cold sweat-dampened skin.

“Good work today, Sergeant. Hit the showers and be in the debriefing room in fifteen.” He says stepping off the mat and leaving you in the quiet training room to stew in your thoughts. You groan and fall back to the mat, you are used to guys taking it easy on you, Price doesn't do that. Instead, he treats you like a soldier, and you respect him for that. Except, these early morning private sparing sessions have got your head spinning. You know it’s wrong, it’s so wrong. He is your superior, yet.

“Fuck me,” You tell the room. You have developed a crush on your Captain. Not that it’s hard, it seems like everyone in the 141 except you is drop-dead gorgeous or has a voice that sends shivers down your spine. Out of the four men you now work with, why has your mind continuously wandered to Price and how he treats you? Soap is a non-stop flirt, Gaz is the closest to your age, and you are frankly scared shitless of Ghost but fuck if his voice isn’t sexy. Price, Price showers you with praise, something you are not used to. Could that be the factor for your attraction to him? It has to be, right?

You finally stand and head to the women's changing room to shower and prepare for the day. The hot water feels like heaven against your soar muscles and bruising skin, and still, you think of Price when he gently took your hand and ran his calloused fingers over your knuckles. How would his hands feel on other parts of your body? You turn the water to cold to help calm you down and quickly finish your shower. You dress faster than you showered and head to the briefing room. This will be your first mission with the 141, you need to have your head on straight.

“Well hello, Beautiful.” Soap calls when you open the door. You sigh and take a seat as far from him as you can.

“Price is running late.” Ghost says looking at the clock and then at you as if it is your fault. You hold up your hands.

“He left before I did,” You say. Price enters not long after looking refreshed and serious. He hits the lights and grabs a remote to turn on the projector.

“This is our target.” He clicks the remote and a face pops up on the screen. He then jumps right into describing how the mission will go and what everyone's jobs are. Since this is your first mission you will be out of the main fighting, instead you will be providing support as sniper recon. You preen, sniper is your favorite job since you are so good at it. Soap said you might be better than Ghost, which caused the masked man to glare at his field partner and growl. Gaz will be with Price securing the target while Soap and Ghost clear the way for evac.

“Wheels out at 1300.” Price dismisses everyone. You get up to leave but he calls you back.

“Yes, Sir.” You say standing at parade rest, feet apart and hands behind your back. You can and have stood in this position for almost 24 hours as punishment at your first base so this pose comes naturally and comfortably.

“Need a call sign for you.” He says. You are surprised, normally call signs are things you are given by your team or a nickname that sticks for whatever reason. You didn’t think Price would allow you to pick your call sign so you have nothing to offer him.

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t have one.” You admit sheepishly. He looks at you, his gaze softening.

“It’s alright, do you have a nickname? Something from your early training days or from back home.” Yes, a word that has haunted you for years. A word that has been used as an insult and catcall since you started in the army. Your hands clenched into fists behind your back.

“Come on, doll. Just one more and you can be done.” Your First Sergeant mutters next to your ear as he leans down next to you a heavy hand on the small of your back pressing you down as you try and finish your final push-up. One more and you are finished with Physical training for the day. Most of your battalion have left after finishing their PT for the day, but a few members remain. Their smiles are sinister watching your First Sergeant mock you.

“Over here, doll. I have a nice warm seat for you.” One of your teammates shouts over the room patting his lap. There are no other free seats so you opt to stand in the back but he grabs your arm as you pass. He tries to pull you into his lap but you twist out of his grip. “Come on, doll. Don’t be mean. I’m only trying to make you feel like part of the guys.”

You stand in the rain in full-field gear. You zone out trying to make it through this hellish drill. Your drill instructor steps close his face inches from yours as he starts to scream at you. “What the fuck is that look on your face, Private? You are a soldier, not a doll. Act like it.”

“That’s it doll, cry for us.” Your teammate says looking down at your beaten body. Five other members of your team, men you considered friends until that moment, are laughing with him. “Think you're a big shot now. Well, let me tell you something.” He kicks you in the stomach causing you to cry out in pain. You black out before you can hear what he is going to say.

“No, Sir. I don’t have one.” You tell Price. He looks at you as if he could see the memories playing like a movie through your eyes. He places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes giving you a reassuring touch.

“That’s alright. We’ll figure something out for this mission but let me know if you think of something.” He says then motions for you to exit the room ahead of him. You quickly walk to your barracks room to get ready for the mission.

……….

Packing doesn’t take long, so you spend the rest of your time sitting in your bed reading a book. The book has been on your ‘To Read’ list for a while now but isn’t interesting. Your mind keeps thinking about Price asking you about a call sign. Even the men of the 141 have all called you “Doll” at one point in time, they quickly stopped once they noticed how angry you got towards them shortly after hearing the pet name. You could make up your own name and be happy with it, no one would ever call you Doll again because you would be respected. Have a name that people will respect instead of constantly calling you pet names that do nothing but make your skin crawl.

So, why do you keep thinking about that name? When you try to think about something else, your mind shifts to thinking about Price that morning holding your hand. You are getting frustrated with your head and the book does nothing to distract you like it should.

The book is a remake of Beauty and the Beast, Stockholm syndrome, and taboo love with a monster. You wonder what kind of beast Price would be if you lived in a fantasy world. With how much he smokes you immediately picture him as a dragon, his horde the soldiers he takes care of. Including you.

You snap the book closed and jump off the bed. Restless you pace the small room until you find yourself in the private bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are glassy and your face resting. You can see it when you look like that, the reason everyone calls you doll. You look like painted porcelain, if only everyone could see the cracks you hide.

A knock at your door pulls you from your reflection.

“Hey, Captain is calling everyone to the mess hall,” Gaz says through your door. You open it to see him raising his hand to knock again. “Sorry, I wasn't sure if you were asleep or not. No one has seen you all morning.”

“Reading,” You tell him walking out of your room and down the hall Gaz following next to you.

“What book?” He tried to make small talk. You tell him the name of the book but stay silent.

“Is it any good?”

“No,” You say. You don’t mean to sound harsh, but your brain has been your worst enemy today and it has not left you in a good mood. Gaz is a part of your team now, you can trust him.

‘But you did that before and look where you ended up.’ A voice in the back of your head whispers. You shake your head and enter the mess hall with Gaz at your back to see Soap and Ghost sitting next to each other at a table and Price standing in front of them one boot propped on a seat. Price grins when he sees the two of you enter.

“Glad you decided to join us, Luv.” He says motioning to a seat for you to sit in, Gaz takes the seat next to you and Price finally sits as well on the other side of Soap.

“What’s up, Captain? Change of plans to the mission?” You ask, looking around at the men. You know these are good men, respectable men. Price is a protector and he would never let anything happen to them, which means he would not let them do anything to you either. Yet, that voice in the back of your head starts to scream. You are surrounded by men you don’t know and can’t trust. You want to run or sit far away from them.

“Nothing of the sort, lass. You are still green with the 141, so we,” he gestures to the rest of the team. “Want to share some stories with you. It’s smart for a team to have a foundation before they go into the field together.” You nod agreeing with his statement but still uncomfortable with the idea of sharing parts of your life with these men. Price knows the most about you since he read your file, but the rest of the team knows next to nothing about you except what they have seen for themselves.

“Ok, I’ll go first,” Soap says and jumps immediately into a funny story about introducing Ghost to a battalion in Mexico. Ghost was polite enough to play along and delivered his line with enough prompting from Soap.

“I nearly told them his first name but this big yin stops me mid-sentence and says,” He motions for Ghost to say the line giving the masked man the biggest puppy dog eyes ever.

“That’ll do,” Ghost says grumpy and irritated. The men laugh, except Ghost of course. You smile, playing along with the cheerful atmosphere surrounding you, but you are still on edge. You are surrounded by men. The way to the exit is blocked by men. Men sit so close to you that if they shift an inch one of them could touch you. Someone else starts talking but you keep the strained smile on your lips trying to not bring attention to yourself.

Someone says your name, but you are too locked in your thoughts to notice. All you can think of is the last time you were surrounded by so many strong men, taller and faster than you. You can practically feel the cracking of bones and the splitting of skin. Your heart is racing but your eyes focus on the floor, seeing it tinted red with your blood.

“Hey, you ok Doll?” Soap asks, placing a hand across the table and touching your arm. Your focus shifts to him. His touch. His words. In an instant, you flip your hand around and grab his arm pulling him towards you across the table. You stand from your seat and grab Soap's hair, you pull his face away from the table and then slam it back down. Your eyes are blown out wide searching for the next to move.

Ghost.

He lunges across the table and grabs your arms trying to make you release his field partner. You let Soap go and switch to defending yourself against the tallest and deadliest member in the room. Your chest is aching with the effort of keeping your breath, your heart nearly beating through your ribs.

The room is dark, only a sliver of light bleeds through the crack in the door frame and your friends surround you but they are not your friends anymore. Someone grabs your shoulders and a fist connects with your stomach. Your dinner threatens to come back up, staining the floor more than your blood does. Another punch, this time to your skull, ears ringing.

“Stop,” A gruff deep authoritative voice shouts. The hands release you causing you to collapse to the ground. The pain stops but the sounds continue. You can hear the pounding of fists against flesh, of bones breaking, and your gaged screams. The voice says your name, the aggressive authoritarian tone gone, replaced with gentleness unnatural for the event you are suffering through.

“Come back to us Sergeant, you are safe.” He says. It is a man. But not the men who beat and nearly killed you, a different man. You associate his voice with gentle corrections and praise. Warm calloused hands caressing yours as they relax your hands, their touch lingering longer than necessary.

“Deep breaths Luv, we got you.” The room is still dark, your body still aches, and your chest still pounds but the men are gone. Replaced with absolute blackness. You are aware of what you just did, and how you reacted to a simple word and gesture. You attacked a teammate, and the rest of the group protected him. Protected him from you.

“Oh, god,” You breath, you have turned into your attackers. After this, you will be discharged and forced into civilian life. With no protection, your attackers can find you and finish what they started. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You sob. You feel bad for what you did to soap, you truly do. It was a reflex caused by trauma, they can’t blame you for that but they will. You know they will.

“Easy luv. No one is upset with you. You are safe.” the voice pulls you back to the surface again. Not enough for you to surface but enough to make it easier to breathe.

“Hey, it’s alright lass. I’m fine.” Soap. his voice cuts clear through the darkness pulling you out of your thoughts. You squint at the bright light as you open your eyes and see the 141 sitting on the floor around you giving you the space you need to breathe. All of the except Price, he kneels in front of you, his hands hovering around your shoulders afraid to touch you in case it would send you spiraling again but close enough so he is there to catch you if you faint.

“There you are, Luv. How you feeling?” Price asks. You shake your head not trusting your voice at the moment. Your chest is aching from how fast your heart is racing and your throat feels raw. “Can you walk?” He asks next. You tense your legs feeling the muscles, and you should be able to stand and walk for a bit. You nod. Price adjusts so he can pull you up and offer you his hand. Fingers shaking you place your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet. You look down at Soap, his nose is bloody and Ghost is hovering over his form but otherwise, he seems unharmed. Nothing permanent at least. You will need to apologize to him once you have calmed down.

“Come on then Luv, I’ll walk you to your room.” He keeps an arm out for you to grab if you need it. You stand on your own two feet and take a few steps before wrapping your arm around his when you feel your knees start to buckle. “Everyone back to their barracks, get some rest, and be ready for the mission in 4 hours.” Price orders. The other three men in the room stand, watching as you and the captain walk out of the room.

Walking back to your barrack is quick, you make it quicker by picking up the pace before your legs give out. Price keeps up and even reaches the door before you, having it open so you can stroll in and collapse in a chair in the corner of the room. He steps in turning the lights on before he closes the door behind him. He kneels between your shaking legs and looks you in the eyes.

“Are you still good for the mission or should I pull you?” he asks. Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“I’m good. I can do this.” You argue. He stares into your eyes searching for any hits that something is off. So much is off, so much is wrong but nothing that involves this mission or the 141. Everything is from your past, your problem. If there is one thing you are the best at, it is shoving your problems away until you can deal with them in a safe environment.

“Okay,” He says, nodding at your words. “Get some rest, take care of what you need to do before the mission. If you need me you know where to find me. Promise me you will come to me if you need help.” It sounds like an offer but by the look in his eyes you know it is an order. You nod. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I will. If I need help I’ll come find you. I promise.” You say just to get Price to go away but when you finish you realize that you mean it too. You have always been independent, and would rather fix your problems yourself instead of asking for help, but Price feels different. You feel safe with him like you could truly be yourself around him, show him a side of you no one has ever seen before. Price smiles at you and your face heats up. You look down at the space between you, finding a loose thread on the seam of your pants.

“Get some rest,” He says again, he slowly reaches his hand into your view so you can pull away if you need, and pats your knee before standing. You raise your head watching him leave. When his hand touches the nob you call him back.

“Wait,” You say, he turns to look at you slumped in your chair as you admit for the first time that you need help. “Can you stay for a bit? I don’t know what to do,” you admit. Price nods and motions for you to move to the bed so he can sit next to you. You sit and feel the dip in the mattress as he joins you. You look at the floor and then back at the string on your pants.

“What do you need, Luv?” Price asks.

“To talk, I guess. I don’t know what I need. I’ve never asked for help if I’m being honest.” you tell him. He chuckles and holds out his hand for you to take. You place your hand in his and feel the warm calloused fingers engulf yours.

“That’s alright. How about you tell me what set you off? We can work from there.” He says giving your hand a gentle squeeze. You take a deep breath then let it out in a shaky sigh.

“I wasn’t entirely honest with you after the briefing. I have a nickname, ever since I grew into my body men have called me ‘Doll’. The men who,” You hesitate to continue as the memories flood your head again. You squeeze Price’s hand cementing you in the here and now. “The men who attacked me, I thought they were my friends. Throughout the whole event, they referred to me as ‘Doll’. It was derogatory and an insult. Claiming I was weak and shatterable like porcelain. Being in a room with men of similar build and attitude to them, with no immediate way of escape. It had me on edge, I felt trapped then Soap grabbed me, called me Doll, and I was back in that room again.” You tell Price as tears slowly run down your cheeks. You start to wipe them away but there are too many and your face burns. You let them run.

“I’m sorry,” Price says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders slowly. You huddle close to him feeling the warmth radiating off his body. He tucks you closer to his side. “I put you in that situation without thinking. I should have considered your past and planned better. I’m so sorry, Luv.” You shake your head at his apology.

“Normally I'm fine. I can be in the canteen during meals and not have a problem. I think today was different because I kept thinking about my call sign.” Price looks at you confused.

“I want to move past what happened to me. I nearly died, so what? There is always the possibility of death in this line of work.” You ball your hands into fists. Price starts to draw circles over your shoulder making you shiver. Anger starts to take over your mind, “You know what I want, Price? I want men to fear me, respect me, and give me space when I walk into the room. I want men to look at me and have shivers go down their spines. I want them to stay away because they know I’m not to be fucked with. I never again want a man to think that he has nothing to fear if he approaches me.” you take a quick breath and let the anger settle in your heart. “Men look at me and see a fragile doll that can shatter with one touch. They look at me and see a porcelain face without chips in my paint. Men see a doll that doesn’t belong in the military but in a kitchen. I no longer want to be fragile, Price. I want my paint to chip, the porcelain to crack, my clothes in rags. I want to be lethal. I want to be the doll that people are afraid to sleep with at night.”

Price slowly releases your shoulders and kneels, looking straight into your eyes. “Then be that, be terrifying. Never let your gaze falter, stare until you have the world bowing to you. Be a symbol, let your face crack and your smile fade, and be filled with the desire to own the room. Let yourself be ready for war”. He pauses, “Never back down and never stop until every man knows that your porcelain does not crack from fear but from strength. You are no longer made from weakness, you are a storm that doesn’t relent until everything is shattered, rebuilt in your image.”

“Price,” You whisper, licking your lips. You can’t help the rush you feel as your eyes lower to his lips. “Will you,” You pause, not sure how to share your feelings. You want to kiss him, want him to kiss you. He makes you feel safe and strong, and you want him to make you feel loved. “Can I,” You try again but falter before you can get the word out. You are unsure how he feels about you, so asking him to kiss you would be inappropriate. Not to mention he is your superior, a relationship between you two could never work out. Instead, you take a deep breath and let your eyes glaze over.

“Call me Doll.” You tell him. You feel powerful instead of dread and fear filling your chest at the word. Price has helped you become the nightmare that will terrify your enemies, just like you have always wanted to be.

“You got it, Doll.” Price looks like he wants to say something else, like he wants to say something more but he holds back. A small part of you shudders at your new call sign, but the rest of you is electrified. You are ready to be the thing that goes bump in the night, the terrifying Doll that haunts men's dreams.

“Thank you, Price. For everything.” You say. Price nods then stands placing his hands on his knees to push himself up. You follow his face as he now towers above you.

“Need anything else?” He asks. You shake your head but then nod. Unsure if it is appropriate to ask but the worst thing he can say is ‘no’.

“Would you like to stay?” You ask gesturing to the chair and then around the room. “If you are done packing and whatnot,” You start to stutter over your words at how one could take your words. “I mean if you have nothing else to do, it would be nice to just sit and read, or talk.” Price puts you out of your misery by placing his hand on your shoulder. You look up at him again, you glance at his pants as you raise your eyes to meet his.

“I would like that,” He says, then walks over to the small pile of books you have on a dresser and picks up a random book before walking back to the chair. He lets out a huff of air as he sits then rests a foot over his knee and begins to read his book. You watch him for a moment, admiring his relaxed posture. He is so handsome when he doesn’t have the world on his shoulders, he almost looks younger. You clear your throat and grab the book you had been reading before from your nightstand and open it to the part you had been reading before Gaz interrupted you and continued reading.

To your horror, this is the part in the book where things start to get steamy between the main characters. So there you are, reading smut, while your captain that you admire sits a few feet away reading a book of his own, his crotch in clear view now that you think about it.

The next few hours are going to be long and torturous.

……

The mission. What to say about the mission? Well for starters it was a success, you watched the team as they made their entrance into the compound and covered their ass while inside. Ghost and Soap make the arrest instead of Price and Gaz because the fucker ran. To finish it all off you kept their exit clear and covered their rear as they left the compound and made their way to exfile where you would all rendezvous back up.

Even the rain that pelted against your back didn’t stall the mission at all. It provided you with more coverage than you needed and made your exit quite fun as you slid down a muddy hill to reach a bunch of trees.

That's where things took a turn, however. Lightning had been striking the areas around you in the far distance as you landed in the gathering of trees, rifle pointed up into the sky to prevent you from tripping over the muzzle. You took one step away from the trees and that's when you were hit.

Your scream rang through the coms and the forest alerting everyone in the area of your location, friend and foe alike. All you remember is a blinding flash of white and then electrifying pain coursing through your body heating it until your fingers felt on fire.

That was three weeks ago. The lightning strike knocked you on your ass but in honesty, you were lucky. You suffered some nerve damage to your left arm and fingers but you got away without any neural damage. It is a miracle. You still have to go to physical therapy to build strength in your arm and fingers but recovery is fast approaching. Captain Price had backed off for the first week, doing everything but ignoring you to your face. It only stopped when you barged into his office one morning and demanded he spar with you, after the long talk you both had while trading fists you have gone back to your normal. Well almost.

Price sits in your room with a book in his hands and a foot propped on his knee as he leans back relaxing in the chair. You sit on your bed, back to the footboard so you can sneakily peek over at Price while he reads. You have moved on to a different series of books but Price is now reading the book you were before you left on the mission. You watch his face deciphering his emotions by the twitch in his brow or the way his breathing alters. You want to know what he thinks of the book but you also want to know when he gets to that part.

The part where the two main characters finally give in to their sexual desires. You see Price shift a little bit, pulling on the tight part of his pants. You can’t help but smile over this action, knowing that he did indeed get to the smutty part of the book. Price’s cheeks start to turn red.

“These are the types of books you read, Doll? I would never have pegged you for a person who has this much interest in this type of reading material.” Price says holding the book up. Your cheeks flush red but you also feel a rush of adrenaline hearing your call sign in his gruff voice.

You can’t help the quick remark that comes out of your mouth, “Well no one here wants to play out my fantasies so I might as well read them, unless you know anyone that's willing to enlighten me.” You smirk. Price's eyes dilate at your words.

“Cheeky,” Price says, his smirk turning into a full grin as he tosses his book onto your nightstand and makes his way over to you. You close your book and place it on the bed next to you watching the man you fancy move towards you slowly. You watch his hands dangling down his hips as they clench and unclench. Watch his shoulders straighten as the tension builds in his body. Watch his eyes roam over your clothed body imagining what it would look like bare against the sheets.

He reaches the side of your bed and leans over so his hands are gripping the footrest next to your shoulders. His face is so close to yours that you are breathing in his air. “What kind of fantasies do you have, Doll?” He says leaning forward to whisper the words against your ear. This is wrong but you don’t care anymore. You nearly died twice, you are not going to waste this third chance at life.

“The kind that involves a bit of rope, a dash of leather, and a whole dollop of begging.” You say into his lips. You see the shiver rack his body as he imagines your words, not the way you mean them though. He begins to run a hand up your leg scratching at the cloth covering the skin he is desperate to feel.

“I think we can make your wish come true.” Price says finally leaning in and capturing your lips in a fiery kiss. You feel like you are being struck by lightning for a second time but instead of pain, you feel pleasure. His lips are rough and tase of beeswax, but when he deepens the kiss by shoving his tongue into your mouth you moan at his taste. Rich and smokey just like his cigars and an undercurrent that is solely him, solely Price and you love it.

“Undress me,” You say into his lips. Price backs out of the kiss, his breath sporadic. He kisses your jaw working your belt and pulling your shirt from where it is tucked into your pants. He pulls the shirt over your head leaving you exposed in your bra. Price then dives for your stomach peppering it in kisses as he works your pants and panties down your hips and off your legs. The ends of your pants get caught on your feet so Price has to pull away to free you from your clothing. You laugh at his struggle and roll onto your stomach as he tosses the pants onto the ground.

“Get on your hands and knees' ' he demands, lust filling his eyes. You do as he says, turning and giving Price the perfect view of your ass. He lays down so he is under you, and spreads your thighs, now giving him the perfect view of your pussy. He lets out a low groan before he attaches his lips to your clit, sucking at an agonizingly low pace. You can’t help but grind your hips on his mouth, silently begging him to go faster. You sit up, putting all your body weight onto his face. This won’t do, you want to make Price beg. You begin to ride his face, moaning out his name. Price slowly reaches a hand up, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples, causing your back to arch.

“Enough,” You growl and carefully get off his face. “Captain, tonight, I’m in charge of what goes on in my room and I’m going to ride you until you’re begging for release.” He looks up at you from between your legs, he cautiously nods his head allowing you to take over and use him like a toy.

“Good boy,” you say as you recenter yourself over Price’s face. He grabs hold of your legs but you smack his hands away, he then clenches his hands into the sheets under him. You sit on your Captain's face and you ride him. Your hips begin to move at a fast pace, and Price’s fingers cup your ass in a way that you knew would leave marks. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was claiming Price’s face. You feel your high and you chase it, moving faster and faster until finally, the release comes, spilling all over your Captain's face.

“I’m so proud of you”, you coo to Price, “You’ve been so good, let me show you what happens when you obey.” You slide off his face and kiss down his chest, leaving little love bites as you move further down. Finally, you make your way to his pants and make quick work of the zipper so you see his cock and grasp it. Price moans at the touch of your fingers. “Now Captain, I have control over you, you will not come unless I allow you. You will not move, you will not resist, I will set the pace and you will like it, understood?” You say with a smirk.

“Yes, Doll,” he sighs. You begin to move your hand up and down his shaft, making little circles around his tip with your thumb. The sounds coming out of your Capitan makes your clit throb. You wanted his pleasure and you wanted him to know that only you could make it happen, as long as he listened. You set the pace and watch Price struggle. He tries to thrust his hips to match your movements resulting in you stopping. “Captain, what did I say? You will not move, you will not resist.” You let out a satisfied sigh “And if you move again I’ll have no choice but to stop, understand?”

“Yes, doll,” Price replies, his eyes longing for your continued touch. You continue where you left off, you can’t help but smile. Price is biting his lip, eyes rolling, enjoying your movements. You give him a few more low strokes before picking up your pace. Little moans escaped Price’s lips. You can feel his release coming as his cock begins to throb. This is exactly what you wanted. You quickly move your hand and replace it with your mouth, molding your cheeks to his size and suck. Price doesn’t last long like this before he comes into your mouth. He is such a good boy. You lift your lips off of him, opening your mouth, showing Price his mess before swallowing.

“Now Captain, are you ready? I was thinking of riding you until you are screaming my name, how does that sound?” You coo. Price gives a quick nod, his cock already back at attention. Your excitement pools down your legs, and you feel nothing but joy and lust.

You adjust your position until you have centered yourself over his shaft reading yourself for the blissful stretching of your cunt. You give his cock a few last-minute pumps before sliding down slowly. Price lets out a long hiss as his hands grasp your hips, his nails leaving crescent marks on your skin. You relish in the feeling of having Price’s cock inside you as he stretches you out and fills every inch you give him. The heat of him warming your whole body.

Once you have adjusted to the feeling you begin to slowly rock your hips giving Price as little stimulation as you can while giving yourself all the pleasure in the world. As you rock he begins to growl at how unsatisfied he is. You run your hands along his chest letting your nails gently scratch his skin. His moan is loud and mouthwatering.

“Use your words.” You tell him, rocking faster not letting your lips leave his pelvis.

“Please,” He begs. Your whole body shivers at the desperation dripping from his lips. You have complete control over this man and he couldn’t be happier.

“Please what, Captain? Be specific.” You halt your rocking to torment the man underneath you. His grip on your hips tightens wanting to force your hips to move again but he knows better. He relaxes his hold on you and takes a few deep breaths.

“Please Doll, more. Make me cum.” He begs. You lean forward and place a deep kiss against his lips. He licks your lips wanting to taste his release mixed with your mouth, you grant his wish. His moan turns into a gasp as you almost raise completely off Price’s cock then slam back down. Your speed is brutal as the sound of slapping skin fills the room along with his moans. You break the kiss to look down at your new toy, his eyes are rolling into the back of his head.

“I’m going to milk you dry,” You tell Price. He looks at you, something in your eyes must have pleased him greatly because he releases his climax deep into your pussy. Your moan fills the air as you feel the warmth coat your walls and fill the spaces inside you Price's dick hadn’t managed to reach. You turn your moan into a sound of disappointment while you lock eyes with your captain.

“Captain, did I give you permission to cum?” You ask him still moving your body along his cock. He shakes his head breathing heavily. “This time, you may only cum when I say you can.”

“Yes, Doll.” He breaths. You grab his wrists and pull his hands away from your body.

“You are forbidden from touching me. Keep your hands above your head until I say otherwise.” He is slower to stand at attention than last time but as you order Price around you can feel him harden. He raises his hands above his head and curls his hands into the sheets to stop himself from touching your damp skin.

While last time you were hard and fast this time you take your time letting Price feel every flutter of your cunt as you rise and fall on his cock. You meticulously clench your walls around his erect shaft and watch as it causes the man below you to unravel into a babbling mess. When you feel his cock twitch, you pause your hips until Price crashes back to earth. After the third time of denying his release Price nearly has tears in his eyes as he begs you.

“Please Doll, Ma’am, may I cum?” He asks like such a polite little toy. You cup his face in your palm rubbing your thumb through his beard. He leans into your touch.

“Make me cum, use your hands. If you do a good job I'll give you your reward, if you disappoint me, this ends immediately. Understood?” Price quickly nods as his hands back your body, one hand going between your legs and the other grasping at your breasts. His thumb makes quick work of your clit rubbing quick circles along the sensitive bundle of nerves. You clench around him as he works your clit and breasts building your climax. You can feel him begin to twitch and throb against your walls, you both drawing close to your release.

“Cum with me,” You tell him.

“Yes Ma’am,” He responds. Hearing him refer to you like a superior pushes you over the edge, making you shudder. Price didn’t hold on much longer and released himself inside of you, both of you coming together.

….

You don’t remember falling asleep after the wild night you and Price had. You quickly take in your surroundings, Price asleep on your chest, your arms wrapped around his body. You smile to yourself, the captain of the 141 is nestled into you like you're his safe haven, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you were. You didn’t want to admit that you were falling in love with Captain Price.

#captain price #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #price #john price #smut stories #call of duty smut #modern warfare x reader #male and female #x reader #cod mw2 #captain john price #cod price

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lullabyes22-blog · 6 months

Text

Mel x Silco - Happy Ending AU - A Drabble Thing

Based on this ask by @elviriel <3

Part of an AU meta of the Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO universe.

tw: pandemics, terminal illness, death

cw: sex, angst

"When I am gone, you will have many who will offer their love. Take their love, but never trade on it. Love is not a currency. Love is a gift, and a gift given is a gift given freely.

I cannot give you mine, not any longer. But know that it was real. It was true. And it was yours."

Given the fraught relationship these two have with love and trust, I truly believe it would be a long time coming. For a woman like Mel, love has always been conditional. It comes at a price: trade of power for power. Her mother may have loved her in her own way. But it was a love contingent on her worth as a Medarda.

Ambessa promised her the world... but only if she could prove herself in her mother's eyes.

With Silco, love is nothing but a petty conceit. He's known betrayal and disappointment from those he once called family, and from those who claimed to love him. So he doesn't put any stock in it. It's just a word that people use to control others. If need be, he'll weaponize it. He'll say anything, to get what he wants.

And what he wants most, is Zaun's ascendancy.

But somewhere along the way, Silco's and Mel's lives entwine, and feelings begin to creep in. Certainly, there'd have to be a level of mutual chemistry between them—cerebral, verbal, physical—if they chose to flout their cities’ conventions and tie the knot despite vehement protests from their respective political parties.

Baseline: Mel likes Silco. He's not a good man, but she's drawn to his brilliance. He's an incredible tactician and a shrewd politician. And the more she sees of Zaun, the more she admires him for what he's built. His ruthless streak unnerves her with memories of her own mother, and yet it's offset by his capacity for intense tenderness. For Jinx, for the future of Zaun, even, if in a twistedly wry way, for her. Despite coming from two diametrically opposite social strata, their tastes are surprisingly well-aligned. They have a keen appreciation for art, music, fashion, philosophy. He denies it, but she thinks he's a fine dancer whenever he lets himself cut loose. And, when they're not trying to best each other in conversation, their silences are comfortable.

As a husband, he's not half-bad. He's attentive, in a hold-the-door-for-you and pull-out-your-chair sort of way. He's perceptive, and knows almost intuitively when she's tired or unhappy in need of a distraction. In an indulgent mood, he'll leave queer little tokens on her pillowcase or in her trousseau, like a funny note from a fortune cookie or a pretty dried flower or a small gemstone. And he's got an appreciation for her intellect that goes hand-in-hand with his admiration for her beauty. He'll notice when she uses a special perfume with the same astuteness as when he catches a coy innuendo or a well-timed pun. Sometimes he'll even smile when she's not looking, a crooked curve to his mouth, gone as soon as it's there.

But love?

There's something there, for sure, this quiet warmth that grows between them. Something that's a little like amusement, and a little like fondness, and a lot like family.

But she'll never put a name to it. Naming things brings them to life. Like a curse.

The Medarda bloodline has enough curses to go around.

As for Silco?

Baseline: he likes Mel, too. Granted, she began as an unforeseen complication. He didn't anticipate falling into a relationship with a Topsider, much less a member of the Council. Still, the gains far outmatch the costs. He gets to make a mockery of Piltover's hypocritical, stagnant elite. He gets an inside connection to the very seat of their power. He gets a gorgeous woman on his arm. Mel’s mind is an endless wonderland of strategy, she's got a tongue dipped in sterling silver, and that body is a gilded marvel. She can be a proud bitch, sometimes, but she's got a secret sweet streak that she's at pains to keep hidden. Marriage was never part of the plan, but now that he has it, he's got few complaints.

As a wife, she's an unexpected boon. She's no homebody by a long shot. He's never once seen her set foot in the kitchen; nor does he care to. Cooking's not his thing, either, unless it's a cookie-baking night with Jinx. They have staff for that. But when they do entertain, she's a consummate hostess. She's a deft hand at managing her social calendar and his own. She dazzles at every event. Half the chem-barons would give their left rib for one dance with her; the rest fall over themselves just to catch a glimpse. And, she's got a wicked sense of humor. Behind closed doors, he's had more than one glass of whiskey ruined by her sly commentary on the partygoers.

But love?

Let's cut that word out of the picture entirely. It's a fairytale; a fantasy. Zaun has no room for either.

Yes, sometimes, at night, when she's curled up against him, her soft breathing stirring the hollow of his throat, he'll feel a bite of possessiveness and think, Mine. But, the next morning, it's a fleeting memory, lost in the heady rush of conquest.

He's got a city to run. There's no room for foolishness.

Less for love.

And then Zaun is struck by the Ash Plague.

It's a mutated variant of Grey Lung, a disease that ravages the respiratory system, causing progressive weakness and eventual death. The victim’s skin turns gray and papery, and lesions erupt everywhere, like the flesh is sloughing off their bodies. Their lungs blacken and their coughs fill with blood. They grow progressively weaker, unable to do much more than lay in bed, struggling for breath.

Silco doesn't catch the sickness. His constitution is stronger than most, thanks to years spent working in the mines. And he's a careful man, washing his hands and covering his mouth whenever a new outbreak occurs. The Shimmer microdosage also boosts his immunity, making him less susceptible to common diseases.

Jinx, likewise, seems to have been blessed with an immune system forged of steel. She catches the colds and stomach bugs that go around the Lanes, but the Ash Plague slips by her, like a black cat in the night.

Mel, on the other hand, is vulnerable as a newborn.

She's possessed with a fine constitution. She takes scrupulous care with her hygiene. But her lungs have always been delicate. It's why she's seldom in Zaun without a mask. When the first cases are reported, Silco makes arrangements to escort her back to Topside, where she'll be safely ensconced in her private apartments, and guarded by a veritable battalion of doctors.

But on the day they're to sail, Mel comes down with a fever.

Silco doesn't panic. Not immediately. But by the time they've returned to the Undercity, she's already coughing, a wet, hacking sound that has him summoning Singed.

And that's when things go sideways.

When Singed examines her, his face darkens. He looks at Silco and says, "I am sorry."

The Ash Plague has a near-total fatality rate. The strongest of victims might last three months. The weakest, a fortnight. There is no known cure. Singed suggests an experimental Shimmer cocktail: a compound that should boost Mel’s immunity and buy her more time. But the odds are long.

"How long does she have?" asks Silco.

"Six weeks. Perhaps eight. It's hard to tell."

"What can I do?"

"Keep her comfortable. Make her last days happy. She is strong. With luck, she may even pull through."

Jinx, of course, takes the news poorly.

"It's not fair!" she shrieks, tears streaming down her cheeks. "We can't let her die! She's family, Silco! You have to help her! We can't just sit here and let her die! You gotta do something!"

But what can he do?

For days, he sits by Mel's bedside. He's seen her sleep before. But not like this. Her breathing is labored. Sometimes, she hacks, and a bloody spume froths from her lips. The lesions are appearing all over her body, like a child's drawing of the sun. The fever rages on, no matter how many icepacks Singed prescribes.

When the fever is particularly bad, she'll murmur. A single word, again and again: "Mother."

Ambessa has already received the news. Due to the Plague's severity, Zaun is under lockdown. No one may come in, and no one may leave. Not unless they wish to be quarantined, and see the Plague spread to other lands.

Ambessa threatens to declare war on Zaun if they do not let her through the ports. But her warnings fall on deaf ears. She may be a fearsome general, but she is nothing in the face of a pandemic.

Ambessa curses, and rages, and swears her revenge on Silco.

"She should never have married you, you blasted snake!" Ambessa snarls at him, over the speaking telegraph. "But you had to drag her down, to your hellpit, where your fucking plague will do your work for you, won't it? Well, when the time comes, you can bet your life that I'll be there to cut your heart out and feed it to my hounds, and—"

At this point, Silco hangs up.

But her words haunt him.

You had to drag her down, to your hellpit...

He says nothing of the conversation to Mel. She's barely sensate, lapsing in and out of fever dreams. If he's lucky, she'll stay awake a few minutes. He'll spoon broth past her lips. But most of her feeding comes through tubes. The Plague is cruel, eating away at her lungs. She grows thinner by the day, the bones in her ribcage and hips like fragile branches. He'll lay beside her in bed, feeling each racking breath she draws.

Sometimes, she'll look at him and smile, murmuring, "Silco."

And then she'll close her eyes and sigh, and sleep.

When she's lucid enough to talk, she asks, "How is Jinx?"

"She's worried," he tells her.

So am I, he thinks but doesn't say.

"Tell her not to be."

"How can she not be, Mel?"

"I'll be fine," she says. "Don't worry."

She closes her eyes and falls asleep again.

The Plague rages on. Silco devotes more hours to Mel's caretaking.

And her time grows shorter.

In the afternoons, Silco takes to reading to her. He'll select a book from his shelf, or hers, and read a few pages. She seems to enjoy that, so he does it more often. The story of a soldier who finds a magical thimble. The legend of the Lady of the Lake. A romance about two star-crossed lovers. Fantastical tales as far removed from their reality as possible. Other times, poetry is her fare of choice, and Silco will recite the verses in slow, smooth cadences. He's not a bad reader, though his voice doesn't quite suit the tone of most of the poets' works.

There is one in particular that Mel enjoys. Each time he reads it, she sighs raptly. After he's done, she'll say, "Read it again?"

He'll kiss the inside of her wrist, and promise to read it the next afternoon.

Inside, he'll wonder if there'll be another.

Mel is dying. He can see it. Her skin grows grayer by the day, the lesions deepening in color. Her breathing is getting shallower. And when she talks, it's only to aspirate a few words. He's helpless against the tide of inevitability. It's an opponent he can't corner. Can't negotiate with. Can't kill. And the harder he tries to hold back the waters, the faster the tide rushes in.

She's dying.

But he keeps coming back, every afternoon, with a book under his arm and a bowl of soup in hand.

"Read the poem again," she'll say, her eyes half-lidded.

"And again," she'll repeat.

"Just a one more time," she'll rasp.

Sometimes, Jinx will join him. She's deeply agitated by Mel's illness, but determined to put on a brave face. She'll bring a pile of throw-pillows and her toolkit and sit at Mel's bedside, tinkering quietly with a new contraption.

"I'm working on a present," she'll tell Mel, with a wobbly smile. "It'll make you better."

"That's lovely, Jinx," says Mel, closing her eyes. "Thank you."

And then, barely a beat later, she's asleep.

Silco takes his daughter's hand and squeezes it. They trade a wordless glance.

She's dying, thinks Silco.

She's dying and there's nothing I can do.

But he still comes every day. He reads her books. He holds her hand. He brings her tea and hot-house hyacinths and anything she desires. In the evenings, Jinx keeps vigil, her gift blossoming beneath her hands in slow-motion. It resembles a flower, an intricate copper-plate bloom with furling petals. But she tells him it's meant to be a music box.

"To sing her to sleep," she says, and her smile is sad.

"It's beautiful, Jinx."

"Not yet. It's not done. Once it's ready, it'll sing to her, and she won't have to die."

But she is dying, he thinks.

She's dying and Jinx's music box cannot save her.

I cannot save her.

One evening, returning from his duties, he finds the door to Mel's bedroom ajar. He creeps closer, barely within the ambit of the lamplight, and finds a scene that has his heart skidding to a stop.

Mel is sitting up.

She is in her favorite dressing-gown, a ruched silk-and-chiffon number in pale cream. Her dark skin has gone a mottled gray. She is coughing, softly, the wet sound threading through the room. There's a handkerchief pressed to her mouth. When she lifts it away, there's a red stain on the cloth.

She is smiling.

"...That's why you married him?" Jinx's voice floats over. "Because he quoted a stupid poem?"

Mel chuckles, the once-melodic sound coarsened by suffering. "Not just any poem. The one I liked best. The one that was... mine."

"What d'you mean, yours?"

"I'd read so many poems growing up. None were meant for me. They were... generic. Like a suit. You know, a man goes to a tailor. He says, 'Make me a suit. Make it black. Make it sleek. Make it smart. For the ladies.' And then he wears it. Maybe it fits, maybe it doesn't. It doesn't matter. Because the suit doesn't matter. It's a costume. An... illusion."

"What does that have to do with the poem?"

"When Silco quoted that poem... that poem I'd always felt was mine... it wasn't like he'd tailored it to a passing fancy. It was like..." Her breath shivers out, "...he lived it."

Silco stays hidden behind the doorway, listening in, spellbound.

"Huh," says Jinx. "I think I get it."

"It was a gift, you see," Mel goes on. "In those eight lines... I saw myself. I saw our future."

"What was the poem, again?"

Mel closes her eyes. "It's a short one. I've memorized it."

Then she recites a poem Silco knows well. The same poem he has read to her, day in and day out, since her illness.

"'Had I heaven's embroidered cloths/Enwrought with golden and silver light/The blue and the dim and the dark cloths/Of night and light and the half-light/ I would spread the cloths under your feet/ But I, being poor, have only my dreams;/ I have spread my dreams under your feet;/ Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'"

Her voice falters. She's breathing hard. Her lashes flutter.

"Oh," says Jinx, softly.

"The poem is about an unequal match. A man and a woman. From two different worlds. Two different social strata. A love that can never be."

"You and Silco."

"Me and Silco," Mel agrees. "We could never be. Not by the laws of our respective societies. And yet we are married. We are together. Because we chose to defy expectations. And when we stand together, we are stronger. More than the sum of our parts. That's what the poem is about. A defiant love. A love that dares to be."

She's quiet a moment. She coughs. Her shoulders shiver.

"He loves you," says Jinx, quietly. "I know he does. Even if he won't say it."

"That's the beauty of the poem," says Mel, smiling. "I don't need him to say it. I feel it, every day, when he wakes me up with breakfast and sits by my side. Every time he reads me this silly poem over and over. It's his love letter to me. And I will treasure it. For as long as it's mine. Until the day it isn't."

Jinx's voice quavers. "You can't die."

"We all die, Jinx." Mel coughs again. She draws a sharp, shuddering breath. "But we do it... on our own terms. As best as we can."

Silco watches from the doorway. He can't breathe. His lungs have filled with icewater.

Mel coughs again. Her voice is barely a whisper. "Jinx. Do you mind... if we stopped talking now? I'm tired."

"Yeah. Okay." Jinx sniffles. "We'll talk more tomorrow, yeah?"

"Tomorrow," agrees Mel. She lays back on her pillows. "Goodnight, Jinx."

"G'night, Mel."

Jinx stands up and walks away. Silco sees the glisten of tears on his child's cheeks. But he cannot go to her, not right now, because Mel is still awake. Jinx has already lost so much. How much more loss can such a fragile girl bear?

He backtracks hastily before Jinx crosses the door, and pretends to have just come in. Jinx throws herself into his arms, and he holds her close. She cries a little, but soon composes herself.

"I have to finish my gift," she tells him. "It's almost done. It'll save her. I just have to figure out a few kinks, and it'll be perfect."

"Of course," says Silco. He's numb, unable to tell her the truth. He can't. "Go on. Work on your project. I'll take over for tonight."

"Thanks, Silly."

Jinx goes on tiptoe to peck his cheek, then races off.

When he returns to Mel's bedroom, he finds her asleep. She looks more peaceful than she has in days. Her favorite book lays facedown beside her, the spine cracked.

He sits down by her bedside, and stirs a fingertip through the book's pages. There's a loose scrap of paper tucked inside, a bookmark. He pulls it out. It's a folded square of parchment. He's seen the handwriting before, all looping lines and arcing flourishes in elegant cursive.

Mel's.

The note is brief.

Beloved,

This morning, I woke with the scent of your cologne on the pillow, and knew that you had come and gone, and left this parting gift: my favorite book, opened to my favorite poem. You always remember, even if I have not the strength to say.

And so, before the strength leaves me, I must leave you with this final gift:

When I am gone, you will have many who will offer their love. Take their love, but never trade on it. Love is not a currency. Love is a gift, and a gift given is a gift given freely.

I cannot give you mine, not any longer. But know that it was real. It was true. And it was yours.

Mel.

Silco reads the note three times.

His chest feels like a blade has cut his black heart in two.

He folds the note and returns it to the book. Then he sits, watching Mel sleep. She's fading fast, the plague ravaging her body, leaving only a ghost behind.

His fingers find hers, and clasp them gently.

"Thank you, Mel," he whispers.

He waits, the night passing slowly, his heart aching with each of her labored breaths.

After that, it happens quickly.

She wakes briefly in the early hours. Her eyes are fever-bright, and her skin is papery. The lesions are stark, deep-violet against her skin. She reaches for him, and he takes her hand. He can feel her, waxing and waning between life and death. Her pulse stutters, and her breaths are short, broken snatches.

She says only one word.

"Silco."

"I'm here," he soothes.

"Mother."

"She's not here. It's only me."

"Silco."

"I'm here. You're safe. Rest."

"Love..." she murmurs. "...love."

"I know," he says. "I know."

Her eyes close, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She's slipping away, her spirit a candle guttering out. And yet, finally, there is a peace on her face that he hasn't seen in weeks. She is dying, yes, but there is a beauty, a lightness, a grace. Like a heavy weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She is treading softly, at last, into her dreams.

Silco leans in. He kisses her brow, her lips. His forehead, cool on hot, touches hers.

"I love you," he tells her. "And I always will."

Her smile is sweet and soft.

Her eyes close, and her breathing evens.

It stays that way, as the night bleeds away, and the sun fills the room.

The next morning, Silco finds Jinx working on her gift, the metal petals unfolding and unfurling. There's a delicate clockwork mechanism, with a single lever. The music box is beautiful, a work of art, a marvel.

"Look!" Jinx cries. "It's almost done! Just a couple more kinks, and then we can wake Mel up with it, and she'll be all better!"

Silco looks at the device. Then he looks at his daughter. She's staring at him with such hope, such joy, her eyes glowing fiercely. Her faith is unshakeable.

She doesn't understand that some bargains are more ironclad than others.

"She's not going to get better, Jinx," he says, quietly. "You have to let her go."

Jinx stares at him, her face crumpling.

"No," she whispers. "You can't say that. She'll get better. She has to. She promised."

Silco shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Jinx. But Mel's not going to make it. Not this time."

"But—"

"Singed and the doctors have tried everything. The Plague has taken hold. It's spreading. She'll only linger in pain."

"I can fix her! I just need a couple more days!"

"She doesn't have a couple more days, Jinx. She's fading. You have to let her go. She's going to die."

Jinx's face is wet.

"No," she whispers. “No no no.”

"Jinx. I'm sorry. She's gone."

"But she said—"

"I know. But it's not something we can fix. No one can. It's out of our hands."

Jinx is silent.

"Go to her," says Silco. "Tell her goodbye."

And Jinx goes.

When she comes back, her eyes are gleaming red. She's clutching her music box, which has finished unfolding into a magnificent metal bloom, the petals unfurling like a rose. But her smile is wobbly, and her hands are shaking.

"Mel liked it," she whispers. "She said it was the best gift she ever got."

Silco holds her tight.

"It's okay, Jinx. We're going to be okay."

"Are we?"

"I'm sure. I promise."

She sniffles.

"Y'know... for a sec... I thought..."

"What?"

Jinx lifts her head, eyes locking with his.

"For a second... when I was lookin' at Mel... I coulda sworn her lesions were smaller. Like... she was getting better."

"You're imagining things, Jinx. You're tired."

"Yeah."

"How about I read you a story? Something nice and easy, to get your mind off things. Would you like that?"

"Uh-huh," says Jinx. She nestles against him. "Read me that poem. I wanna hear the poem."

"What poem?" Silco says, as if he hasn't heard the words a thousand times, in a thousand variations.

"The one Mel talked about. While you were eavesdropping at the door. Peeping Silco."

Silco bites down a bittersweet smile.

"You knew?"

"I saw you duck out. I wasn't born yesterday, y'know. You're lucky I didn't call you out on it."

"You could've."

"And miss out on the juicy gossip? As if. Read me the poem, Silco. Please?"

"All right."

So Silco and Jinx settle together on the pillows of his couch, and Silco recites the poem, the words rolling from his tongue as if they were his own.

"Had I heaven's embroidered cloths/Enwrought with golden and silver light..."

The poem is brief. But it resonates, like a crystal chime, striking at his heart.

"'...Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'"

"I like it," says Jinx, after a quiet minute.

"It's not your thing, though. Poetry."

"Maybe it could be. You think I can write poems? About Zaun and stuff."

"You can do anything, Jinx. If you put your mind to it. You just need practice."

Jinx falls asleep in his arms, and Silco sits in the silence, his fingers idly smoothing her hair.

Then he goes to check on Mel.

He's braced himself for what he'll find, and yet he is still unprepared for the sight.

Mel isn't gone.

She is sitting up in bed. Her skin is still gray, and the lesions are still present. But her eyes are clear. Her breathing is steady. She looks at him, and smiles.

"Silco."

He is silent.

"Jinx showed me her music box. It's ... extraordinary. I've never seen anything like it."

Silco steps closer.

"How are you feeling?"

"The same. But..." Her smile grows, "...a little better, I think."

Silco frowns. He can't quite trust what he's hearing. Can't believe what he's seeing.

Because Jinx was right. Her lesions are less pronounced. Less angry. Her skin holds a warmer hue. Her breathing is easier.

"I don't understand."

"Nor do I," admits Mel. She pats the sheets, "Sit with me?"

He does.

She reaches for his hand.

He does not give it.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"How are you feeling? Truly?"

"I told you. Better."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Perhaps I'm fighting it off. Or perhaps—"

"Or perhaps what?"

Mel gives him a coy smile. A fleeting flash of her old self.

"Perhaps I've crossed over and returned. I'm not certain. It felt like... a dream. Like the world was made of glass, and I was drifting. But a voice was calling to me. Telling me I was safe. Telling me I could stay, or go to my dreams. The choice was mine. And I chose."

"You chose what?"

"To stay. With you." Again, she reaches for him. This time, he doesn't deny her. "I don't know how. And I don't care. Because the dream wasn't worth it, without you."

Silco's throat is a knot.

He says nothing. He urges her to lie down again, and she does.

"Sleep," he says. "I'll be back later. And we'll talk."

"I love you," she says, with a sleepy sigh.

He doesn't say it back.

He cannot be sure if this is a dream or not.

Instead, he summons Singed. The doctor examines Mel carefully.

"There's a remarkable improvement in her condition," he notes.

"What do you mean?"

"Her vitals are stabilizing. She's regained color. Her breathing is stronger."

"Is she cured?"

"Not yet. But it's possible."

"What does that mean?"

"It means..." Singed hesitates. "She's been granted a reprieve." A beat. "As have you."

Silco scowls.

"There are no reprieves. Only hard bargains."

"It appears your bargain has been struck. Whether you meant it or not. She's made her choice. And she's staying."

Silco turns away, unable to rein in his emotions.

"You think she's safe?"

"With our treatment? It seems so. The Plague has retreated. She's no longer terminal. In a month, maybe two, we may see her through it. She'll have some scarring. But she'll live."

Vertigo nearly overtakes him.

He'd been ready to say goodbye. He'd prepared for her loss. He'd steeled himself against her passing. And now?

He's not prepared to feel his heart beating again.

"Thank you, Doctor," he says with terse formality. "Keep me apprised."

"Of course."

Singed leaves.

Silco is alone, and he is reeling.

Hard bargains. Harder truths. And yet, somehow, by the grace of something he doesn't believe in, Mel is here. And she's going to live.

It's more than he deserves.

But he'll take it.

The next weeks bring more change. The Ash Plague continues its relentless ravage of the city. More are afflicted, and many more die. Zaun is locked down. Shops and factories are shuttered. People hunker in their homes, waiting, praying for the end. But Singed's serum is making inroads. More are recovering, albeit slowly. The disease is not gone, but it's in retreat.

And Mel is regaining strength.

Day by day, her lesions heal. Her color returns. Her energy. Her appetite. By the month's end, she's well enough to rise from bed. Silco has one of the guest rooms in their suite remodeled into a sun-room, where she can spend her afternoons, surrounded by plants and art. The view is the Undercity, and the sky, a bright jeweled dome.

Mel resumes painting. Silco has a small easel set up for her, and brings her supplies: acrylics, charcoals, watercolors. Sometimes, she paints flowers and fruit. Other times, the cityscape, or portraits of Jinx. The girl's gift adorns the table, a magnificent centerpiece. From its copper heart pour the sounds of Zaun, a tinkling aria of notes raised in celebration and defiance.

Silco is a constant visitor. Sometimes, he'll bring one of her preferred philosophical treatises and read aloud. Sometimes, a newspaper, so she can keep abreast of the political landscape in Zaun and Piltover. He'll discuss the articles with her, and they'll brainstorm strategies, and Mel's eyes will grow bright, her tongue sharp, her mind a diamond-faceted brilliance.

Other times, he'll bring her tea, and a new book. They'll read together, a few chapters a day. He'll listen to her talk about the book's themes, its characters, its symbolism. She's an animated analyst, full of incisive ideas, and he's fascinated, and more than a little aroused.

He keeps the desire to himself. Her body is not yet fully recovered. The Plague has left her weakened.

He will wait, until she is strong again.

In the evenings, they have dinner together with Jinx. His daughter has taken up residence in the guest room next door, and often, they'll eat in Mel's bedroom, playing cards and swapping gossip on the chem-barons and Councilors. Jinx's wild tales always make Mel laugh, and, sometimes, the two women double over bubbling with hysterics, while Silco sits in contented silence, taking in the beautiful sight.

After the third month, the Plague is receding. The Fissurefolk bestow thanksgiving to Janna. Theories abound. Perhaps it's the Shimmer compound. Perhaps a quirk of genetics. Or perhaps, says Mel, a miracle.

"Doubtful," says Silco.

"Hey, stranger things have happened!" Jinx insists.

"Like what?"

"Like me and you and Mel," she says. "Bein' a family."

He can't argue with that.

The third month stretches into the fifth.

Mel is well enough to resume correspondence with her colleagues in the Council. Her desk is awash with missives inquiring after her health. There are a dozen invitations to tea, and twice as many invites to dinners and parties. Then there is the intimidating crest of the Medardas on a red-bordered envelope.

Mel is reluctant to answer it. Ambessa's threats have not abated. And Mel has no desire to confront her mother.

"Not yet," she tells Silco, "There is work to be done between our cities."

Silco agrees, and leaves her to it.

Week by week, their disrupted rhythms smooth back into a semblance of normality. The Plague is contained. The chem-barons are slithering out of their strongholds, and Silco is needed to keep them in line. He spends more time in his office, and less time hovering by Mel's side. But they send each other a brisk succession of messages, and he drops in to see her daily.

He's just returning from a meeting when one of his messengers finds him.

"Boss. There's a letter from the Missus."

Silco unfolds it, and skims through it.

Urgent.

You're needed at home.

It's a shock, to read the word.

Home.

Home is his office, and his desk, and the clutter of his plans and maps, and the view of Zaun from his window. But his home has also become Jinx's and Mel's laughter, and the burnished warmth of the sun-room, and the gleam of Jinx's music-box, and the floral lilt of Mel's perfume.

And now, this summons.

His pulse spikes, and he rushes home, his blood thundering in his veins.

Has the Plague come back?

Has Mel relapsed?

But, when he gets to the penthouse, the space is quiet. The lights are dim. He heads to Mel's room, and finds her door ajar.

He enters.

It's dark, the drapes closed. The room smells of hothouse hyacinths.

"Silco."

Her voice comes from the bed. He sees her, lying under the covers, and his heart drops to his toes.

"Are you all right?" he demands.

"Better than all right."

Her voice is low. Musical.

Aroused.

"What's wrong? Why the summons?"

"Come here."

He does.

She's reclined on the pillows.

The bedcovers are pulled to her breastbone, revealing only the tantalizing slope of her neck and shoulders. Her face, in the dark cloud of her unbound hair, holds an alluring glow.

She looks...

"You've been ill," he begins, cautiously.

"No longer. I'm well."

"But—"

"Silco," she whispers.

And her voice is a siren song, her lips a dark temptation. He's leaning in, and she's rising to meet him, and then their mouths find each other, the kiss slow, deep, drugging. He feels her arms loop around his neck. Her fingers curl through his hair. And then she is drawing him down, tugging at his clothes, pulling him closer, until he is braced above her.

"We shouldn't," he gasps one final time. "Not until you're—"

"Stronger? I am."

"But—"

"Shhh," she murmurs. "No more talk. Only us."

She's naked beneath the covers, he discovers, as his hand slips into the sheets. Her skin is deliciously hot, and the seam between her thighs is slick as melted butter. Her eyes hold a heavy-lidded radiance, and he is caught, a fish on a hook, a drowning man, powerless against the pull of the tide.

"Mel," he groans.

"Shh."

He lets her drag him under. He's already lost, his thoughts unraveling, his will dissolving. And she is exquisitely sensitive, arching and curling beneath his questing hands, his teasing fingertips, his ravenous mouth. He savors the way her breath catches as he parts her, caressing her with his thumb. She moans, a melting croon, and he dips his head and tastes her, his tongue teasing the silky nub of her clit. Her fingers claw into his scalp, holding him there, and he delves into her, drinking the sweetness of her need, the music from her throat, the symphony of her joy.

When he rises over her, she's trembling, her skin sheened, her eyes molten.

"Yes," she breathes.

He sinks into her, inch by inch.

She sighs, her body stretching to welcome him, and the hot, liquid squeeze makes him groan. He pauses, gathering his self-control.

"Don't stop," she says. "More."

And then he is moving, the rhythm a languid glide, his body making itself heavy on hers, her palms starfishing his spine. They've done this before, numberless times. But this is different. So different it's almost a dream. A fantasy. When he kisses her breasts, she arches her neck, and he laves her nipples, suckling gently, until she is keening.

"Silco..."

He's going slow. Slow, because he doesn't want to hurt her. Slow, because he wants to remember every detail. How her eyes are liquid gold, her mouth a swollen bruise, her body a sleek mold to his own. She flows with him, skin-to-skin, a river with a hundred secrets, and he wants to know them all, to learn her inside out, to drown in the dark velvet of her: heat and honey and salt.

Her breath is catching.

"More," she begs. "Please."

"No," he rasps. "Slow. Don't rush it."

"I can't—I can't—"

"Slow."

But he's not much better, the fulcrum of his control teetering. His muscles are coiling, his mind sluicing down black headwaters. She's so tight, the grip of her a sweet torment. He can feel the gathering tension in her body, the fluttering spasms that presage her completion, the way her nails are scoring his skin, her breaths sawing frantically.

The heat of her is a burning sun.

Mine, he thinks, with a surge of sudden fierce elation. Mine.

They've changed rhythm somehow, and he isn't sure if it's hers or his, only that they're grinding against each other, the pressure an unbearable sweetness, the friction sparking a fire through his nerves. Mel's breaths come wet and shaky. One broken sound, a gasp that is nearly a sob, escapes her. She is crying, tears streaking her skin, delirium reducing her words to a single whisper.

"Please," she begs. "Please."

Silco doesn't speak. He can't.

So he gives her what she needs.

He rocks harder, faster, driving her deeper into the sheets, her body a pliant curve, her legs locked around his waist. The headboard is rattling against the wall, a dirtysweet percussion. And the room is full of their cries, a ragged duet spiking into crescendo and then softening, softening, softening into a single, shuddering gasp.

Afterward, they lay entwined.

Mel’s body, dewy with sweat, is fused to his. Her hips stir lazily. He's still half-hard, but for the moment he's sated, the blissed-out aftermath resonating through his bones. He kisses her forehead, and she nuzzles his jaw.

"Well," she murmurs, "that was..."

"Good," he says, and she laughs, a breathy, satisfied purl. Stretching beneath him, she winds her legs round his, tracing his back with her palms. He's a canvas of old scars. Always has been. But now a few cicatrices linger on Mel's own skin: on her left cheek, below her collarbone, upon her right breast. Silco kisses each one, like a benediction.

"My warrior queen," he murmurs, tracing the mark on her breast. "The scars are badges of your valor. You won the battle."

"Did I?"

"You survived. That's more than I could ask. More than I deserve."

"Sssh." She lays her finger against his lips. "I'd never have, if you hadn't taken my hand."

He kisses her: slow, savoring sips.

She breathes, "I heard, you know."

"Heard what?"

"That night. When I was... fading. You said you loved me. That you'd always love me."

His pulse trips.

"Did..." Her lashes dip. "Did you mean it?"

He can't lie to her. Not anymore.

"Of course I did."

"And now?"

His eyes lock with hers.

"Always," he says.

"Then it wasn't a dream. You called me back." She smiles. "The poem took care of the rest."

"Poems don't save lives, Mel. Only progress can."

"Poetry opens the doors of possibility," she insists. "And sometimes, the best poetry is the poem that you live."

He has no answer to that.

So he kisses her, a hot, deep, hungry kiss.

Her eyes flutter shut, and she sighs.

"We have much to do," he says, a husked warning.

"Mmm. I know. My mother’s missives..."

"I meant us." The kiss deepens: a promise. "The missives can wait for another day."

Her answering smile is a thing of beauty: a bright golden blossom that unfurls like Jinx's gift.

"Tread softly," she teases, "because you tread on my dreams."

Silco only kisses her again, their bodies folding together in the dark.

He doesn’t need to tread far.

His dream is already here.

#asks #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #forward but never forget/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #arcane mel #mel medarda #silco x mel #melco

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whump-cravings · 20 days

Text

Tortured Prince - Transaction

Tortured Prince AU Masterlist - TR3 Masterlist

755 words | Original Work: Tortured Prince (AU of TR3). Set a few weeks into Baltar's captivity; the first time he goes to Venja instead of the other way around. Set four days after Be Good Content: whumpee initiates (future, currently offscreen) dub/noncon taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps @nicolepascaline @i-can-even-burn-salad @melennui @thecyrulik

If there was one thing about Venja that Baltar understood, it was that he treated their relationship as transactional. "Good behavior" was rewarded (what Venja considered a "reward" was always suspect, but that was besides the point), and obstinate, defiant, or otherwise displeasing behavior was punished—though Baltar couldn't always predict what would set Venja off.

As a royal prisoner, Baltar ought to have been afforded some comforts and amenities—if he were imprisoned in any civilized sense. However, his warden clearly didn't care to conceptualize what Baltar's life looked like while he was away, judging from how Baltar had had to ask for basic necessities in the first week, which had come with a price of their own.

With two older siblings to potentially inherit the throne before him, he had been training to be a diplomat all his life. An ambassador, a negotiator. He was good at knowing what people wanted, and good at getting what he needed in exchange.

To get something more out of Venja, Baltar would have to make some kind of effort. A show of goodwill, as one might call it. An overture. A sacrifice.

The thought of it twisted like a sour pit in his stomach. But he was far from home, and days had turned into weeks, which, gods forbid, might eventually turn to months. He wouldn't survive if he kept on like this, fighting Venja as much as not.

So he would bury his pride, his dignity.

That was why, when Venja returned after four days, Baltar met him in the common area without being called. The man looked up in surprise and suspicion, scanning him over quickly, perhaps checking for weapons or nefarious intent.

Baltar held his hands loosely at his side. He hadn't much time to prepare his appearance, as Venja's schedule was unpredictable, but had done his best to artfully offset his tunic and pulled his freshly-washed, gently tousled hair over his over shoulder. The excess length of the chain was draped about him, mimicking a shawl. He put a little sway into his hips as he approached the man, stepping up as close as possible between open legs, despite the way such proximity made his skin crawl.

Venja had to tilt his head back to see Baltar's face. Baltar placed his hands on Venja's chest, feeling the strong beat of the man's heart. He banished a burgeoning thought of his hands traveling a bit upward and squeezing. It would be impossible to gain Venja's trust if he acted violently now.

"What's this, Prince?" Venja wondered with his hands settling on Baltar's hips, wary but obviously intrigued.

"I h-have a proposal," Baltar murmured, attempting to sound sultry. He mostly just felt awkward, his face hot, and voice a bit scratchy. His heart was beating much too fast for him to feel calm and collected, gut too tight. Nervously, he played with some loose threads near the collar of the man's shirt while he cleared his throat. "If y-you're willing to listen."

Eyes narrowing but lips pulling up, Venja said, "Go on."

"There are some items I'd like," he said, self-consciously tucking his hair behind an ear. "A j-journal and writing utensils. Books. Cards. Embroidery hoops, needles, and thread." He watched Venja carefully. "Th-Things to pass the time."

"Sure," Venja said, eyes glittering as he waited for Baltar to continue.

"In return, I-I'll," Baltar said, and had to swallow. "I'll s-suck y-you off." He stared down at Venja's shoulder, trying to keep his breathing steady.

Schooling his expression despite the smile tugging at his mouth, Venja said, "With how big a step this is for you, Prince, I'll let you choose two of those four things."

Baltar felt relief and frustration in almost equal measure. "A journal and something to read would be my foremost requests, then." He licked his lips, glancing up with what he hoped was a doe-eyed look. "But perhaps I could convince you to include the cards, i-if I... p-perform particularly well?"

Venja shifted, mulling over the idea. "Very well. Impress me, and I'll throw in a set of cards on top of a journal and a book."

"Thank you," the prince said. He glanced downward. "M-May I...?" He would lose his nerve if he didn't follow through immediately. Disregarding Venja's previous violent use of his face, he'd taken partners in his mouth plenty of times before. This was no different. He just had to keep telling himself that.

Venja leaned back. "By all means."

Baltar sank gracefully to his knees.

#tortured prince #royalty whump #whump writing #it's not quite nsfwhump but teetering on the edge #if you ask me anyways #I don't know if he got his cards or not

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xdemonicheartx · 6 months

Text

Ive been struggling a lot with my self image to the point I’m having breakdowns in the mirror. I need help from anyone who can.

I’m AFAB agender/non binary and ive got some gripes about me I want help in altering in any way if I could get help finding resources or workouts or anything that would help me achieve a more masculine silhouette I would kiss you on the mouth (with your consent of course )

I am 24 years old, 5’7”/170.18cm, 195lbs/88.5kg, type one diabetic, neurodivergent (diagnosed ADHD, high suspicion of comorbid Autism though i cannot get an official diagnosis because the waitlist closest to home is a 2 year wait as of 2022) fibromyalgia is also present for anyone who needs any context regarding health concerns surrounding medical procedures they might recommend or suggest

Below are the things I need help in changing as a list with some details surrounding my anatomical structure

My goal is to be completely unsure if I’m a male or female with a look alone but with androgyny that can be a pretty broad area. I know if I gain upper body musculature that can help but I cannot afford a gym membership yet

vvv More below vvv

I have an exceptionally voluptuous butt. Its almost comical to me, I would say I’m slim-thick or pear shaped. Its the type of back end that a lot of cis femme women would covet, its mostly muscle tissue due to years of athletics but theres also scar tissue from years of insulin injections

My hips are VERY wide. Like I said I’m pear shaped, I hate the curvy figure I have and its rounded edges, I have small pockets of fat resting on my hips that only add to the figure

I have a very stubborn hormonal fat deposit on my stomach I want to stop oral birth control which is the most likely culprit but I currently cannot until I can get a hysterectomy

I have a muffin top and artificial hip dips due to fat deposits that I am looking to tame

Chest dysphoria, I don’t have large boobs, they’re a perky B/C cup. I would consider top surgery but I don’t know how to bring that up with my partner. I do use a fytist binder and I love how my chest looks flat/with nice pectoral muscle (even if its smushed boob). My partner loves the way I am shaped overall but I do not. (He/him/they/them bisexual)

Facial features are so rounded and I cant contour to save my life. I know losing weight will be seen in the face first but what else can I do?

Speaking of face I have loose skin under my chin thats not a double chin but any type of glance downward makes a pseudo double chin and I’m incredibly insecure about it. I have a relatively feminine jaw line and I have a jaw exerciser/silicone bite that I need to use more. Are neck tucks something available for me?

I have hooded eyes, they make me look so tired. I know eye lid lifts are a procedure but thats something I would need to save up for and plan for, I am unsure if losing weight would change this

The triceps of my arms feel like they’re on the road to bingo wings/bat wings, I know the tricep is supposed to hang freely when relaxed and not in use but when my arm hands at my side there is a bit of pudge above my elbow that says “body fat” and not soft muscle

I understand weight loss can help with a small handful of these and muscle building can too but there are additional features and traits that cannot be worked for aside from medical intervention and cosmetic electives. I’m looking for workouts, medical procedures and price ranges, shapewear, makeup tutorials, diets that help in weight loss or muscle gain, and literally anything else that might help me feel like this is my body. Its becoming a large hinderance on my mental wellbeing

I really cannot keep dwelling on how my body is wrong when its something I am stuck with for life so all I can do is work to alter it and care for it. However I know these alterations are possible. Ive seen incredible transformations and transitions within the trans community and NB communities and I’m really hoping some of your experiences can be passed onto me so that I can live as myself too

I appreciate those that have taken the time to read this far. Thank you

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slightly-ludic · 6 days

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Who is the Jungle Adventure Team???

I have noticed that as Ben progresses through the challenge, his friends become more complex and detailed. This is a reflection of how much Ben has changed as well. He has gained new traits and developed three different lifestyles (which I will share at the end of round 5). I wanted to provide some context on the crew he is working with.

If you haven't played Jungle Adventure, it is, surprisingly, very fun! I've enjoyed a lot of exploration of the world and have taken a good amount of time playing with these four sims, in tandem with Ben.

Dr. Carlos Javier: Dr. Javier is actually based on Charles Xavier from the X-Men. He's also the leader of the crew. His traits include being a genius, good, and family-oriented. I can definitely see him taking Ben under his wing. In my mind, he is from Selvadorada, so his knowledge of the culture is maxed out. He has the Archaeology Aspiration that comes with the game pack, so I make sure he does a lot of the archaeology stuff whenever the crew comes back with new relics. A new development is that Dr. Javier and Lori are actually engaged! They were head over heels for each other once they got plopped on the campsite together. C'est la vie!

Lori Croft : If it isn't already obvious, Lori is based off of Tomb Raider's, Lara Croft. Her traits include being ambitious, active, and she loves the outdoors. She is a no-nonsense kind of lady, but under that hard exterior, she's actually really chill. In fact, I'd say she gets a kick out of Ben's potty jokes the most. Lori's specialty in the group is probably weaponry. I'd imagine she'd be in charge of any defense if it got real crazy.

Montana Jones: So, Montana was a sim I had already made, that I had planned to play Jungle Adventure with solo. However, once I started getting into the Globetrotter Challenge, I decided to save him for this round. Montana is based on Indiana Jones. (And if they ever made an Indiana Jones spin-off series they should definitely cast John Boyega as MC, just saying). Montana's traits include Active, Self Assured, and Adventurous. He also has a very high logic skill and the 2nd highest knowledge of Selvadoradian culture. Even though he is very much into combat, I see Montana more as a liaison and likely an interpreter to locals whenever Dr. J is unable to be present. I'd also see Montana being the guy to negotiate pricing on relics whenever they're sold to museums. Montana is also very close to Dru. In game they'll autonomously hang out by the fireside for a chat or play a round of cards together, they both love sparring too. I want to say they've achieved Best Friend status but don't quote me on that.

Dru Nance: Believe it or not Dru is loosely based off of Nancy Drew. For those of you who don't know, Nancy Drew is a teen detective from a 1950s YA fictional series. Dru's traits include Genius, Goofball, and Loves the outdoors. Next to Dr. Javier, Dru has a maxed-out skill level in Archaeology. They also have a maxed skill level in wellness. I'd like to think that Dru is the team "peacemaker" but because they also specialize in archaeology, Dru comes in clutch for Dr. J whenever there are too many artifacts to be authenticated! In my mind, Dru also has a photographic memory, so that would explain why they never get upset when Ben gets the team lost. They'll always remember how to get back!

That's it, that's the crew! What should their organization be called though? Like, Selvadorada Archaeological Studies Society?

Or SASS for short.

Hope you have a nice day!

#slightly ludic rambles #my ocs #sims 4 gameplay #round five

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goldenmagnolias · 6 months

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lost in the labyrinth of my mind

pairing: OC High Lord of Dusk x Archeron!Sister

summary: Reverie Archeron has always been different. Different in a good or bad way depends on who you asked. Now a High Fae, and with another war approaching she tries to be as helpful as she can around Velaris and with her baby nephew, but at a High Lord meeting, the countless dreams she has as a child and the feelings that are not quite hers suddenly make sense and things become something that she never could have seen coming.

a/n: Hi everyone, sorry for the time it took for me to post this chapter. I did kinda loose half of this chapter once I had it all set and done, and then I was trying to live up to what I had lost. But I finally am quite content with it. Hope you guys like it.

masterlist / ao3

CHAPTER XI: PLANING, CHATTING AND CONTEMPLATING

It took a total of 12 minutes for her oldest sister to be glaring away at her mate.

“Nesta,” Reverie calls, “Feyre is a Daemati and can Winnow, Cassian can fly, Lucien and Azriel can winnow, you guys can visit me.”

“We don’t know where it is or how Dusk works.” Nesta says, as she moves to look back at her. Feyre had gone to talk with Vivianne and Elain was with Lucien, Azriel and Gwyn, talking quietly not far from where they were.

“You’re helping a lot with my nerves,” Reverie says in a slightly sarcastic tone, before she raises her mug to take a sip, because bless Vivianne, she had hot chocolate on the table that held beverages.

“Sorry,” Nesta said and actually winced, visibly so. “I just… worry.”

“I know.” Reverie says softly, moving and squeezing her sister’s hand with her free one.

“Congratulations Little Sister,” Cassian says, a grin on his lips, as he moves, draping one of his arms around her sister, kissing her temple. “Or should I call you High Lady of Dusk now?”

“You will not do such thing.” Reverie says softly, shaking her head. “Don’t even dare, besides I’m not anything yet we just met.”

“Not by Dusk Customs from what Kallias was telling Rhysand.” Cassian hums, “you are The High Lady of Dusk. They have a more… progressive approach. Kallias words not mine.”

“They just gained points with me on that aspect.” Nesta hums.

“I figured they would,” Cassian says and winks at Reverie making the youngest Archeron give him a grateful smile.

Because the Lord of Bloodshed knew his mate well, and he probably came to offer some peace of mind and comfort to her and to Reverie with the few words he said, with the information he was made aware.

“So you’re going back to Velaris with us or…”

“Apparently not,” Nesta says looking at her sister.

“I already promised you, if anything changes I will send for one of you.”

“You shall not blame me for my trepidation on letting you go with a stranger.” Nesta says, “and I know you did.”

She feels him getting near without even turning around and the hardening of Nesta’s features are telling, she moves turning around finding Ophiuchus a few steps away from where she stands.

He’s approaching with a blank look on his face but his lips twitch when he looks at her.

“My Lady,” He greets her.

Reverie gives him a small smile, “you’ve met my oldest sister… this is her mate, and the Night’s General, Cassian.”

Ophiuchus dips his head in greeting. “Lord Rhysand mentioned you both integrating Illyrian Females on your rankings and bringing back the Valkyrie’s, my libraries hold some tomes from the Valkyrie’s legions. If they’re are of interest, I could arrange some copies to be delivered to you.”

Reverie blinks in surprise, and her eyes dart to Nesta, seeing the curiosity in them, before they move to her mate.

“At what price?” Nesta asks, raising a eyebrows

“Things here’s still seem a bit ancient on terms of equality with all respect and honesty.” Ophiuchus shrugs. “And in technicality, you’re family.”

Reverie gives Nesta a pointed look, despite her flaming cheeks at the last part, See?

“When are you leaving?” Nesta asks.

“Whenever your sister feels like she’s okay with it, ideally before nightfall.” Ophiuchus replies with another casual shrug. One that should not look as refined as it does.

“-but anyways I will card through those books and try to find it.” One of the females from Dusk, says approaching with Elain and Vassa by her side.

“What are you plotting now Elia?”

“Me? Nothing. I’m just saying that we have a lot of books that they might not.” Elia replies, turning to a male who looks like the genderbent version of herself, “do you know any relating to that?”

“Not out of the top of my head, but there’s probably something.” He says before he bows his head, “my apologies for my twin. I’m Silas, that menace is my twin sister Elia, the blonde beside her is Daphne, the one who looks like he’s carding through his brain is Taran, and this one is Darius,” he says indicating to each as he says their names, “And well you’ve already met Ayla.”

Reverie gives them a small smile in greeting, “it’s nice to meet all of you.”

“They’re my court, the only ones missing are Solana, Blake and Sirius.” Ophiuchus says to her. “they stayed behind at Dusk.”

Reverie finds herself nodding while trying to remember all the names.

“The books are regarding Vassa’s curse.” Elain says towards Reverie.

“We are dealing with him and well Gwyn has a theory.” Vassa adds looking to the Valkyrie.

“We find the basis of his powers, we find a loophole to Vassa’s curse and doing so…”

“We find a way to kill him.” Feyre completes. “Death God or not.”

“No one truly controls death.” Reverie says mindlessly.

All the heads in the room turn to her.

“Your sister is literally called Lady Death.” Eris comments.

“She’s acquainted with it. Not it’s master.” Reverie mumbles, her cheeks flushing at the attention, “am I wrong?”

“No. No you’re not.” Nesta says, looking at her sister with analytical eyes, “it doesn’t do my bidding without a price and clearly not by my every whim.”

“And it was given to you by the Calderon…” Feyre comments with a frown, but realization slowly falls into her face.

“Which means we need to find if his abilities including the one to inflict the curse that has befallen Vassa something Kochei was born with or if it was gifted to him by something or someone.” Reverie says, smoothing the skirts of her dress.

“Why isn’t she a scholar again?” Helion asks looking at the youngest Archeron.

“For the answer, you need to ask her that question.” Rhysand says amused, to which Reverie rolls her eyes.

They have had that conversation countless times, specially when things intuitively spill out of her mouth out of nowhere just as they did. Amren, freaking Amren of all people, had stoped and looked at her surprised once a few months ago, and Rhys hadn’t let that go, not completely.

Why should he? at least you could make yourself useful for a change , a voice that sounds oddly like her mother’s seem to echo in her mind.

I help with Nyx, and unlike you, him and Feyre respect my choices. They let me breathe and process everything that happened at my pace, She thinks back.

‘Ria,’ Feyre’s voice cuts through her spiraling.

Reverie blinks and finds everyone staring at her, her eyes move to her feet, “I apologize, got too lost in my head. Please continue.”

“We focus on Kochei’s power and it’s possible weaknesses while assessing the Beron situation.” Vivianne says and seems like the conversation moved seemingly through both topics as she stayed stagnant in her mind. “We report back in a month or sooner if we have any drastic developments?”

“I believe that’s a good time frame.” Reverie hears her sister reply.

“Good, we will set aside some of the scholars.” Helion says, “specially those who work with codifying curses and old tales.”

“We planning doing the same,” Rhysand says, “the priestess have been working with some theories for sometime.”

Gwyn nods, and Reverie remembers her mentioning things here and that about her research.

Emotions echoed through the room and those present. Dread and hope walking side by side towards things that were uncertain and things that could be found out.

….

Most end up leaving by the next hour or so, the High Lords and Feyre arranging the details of the next meeting which is to take place in Velaris.

She is cradling her second mug of hot chocolate looking out to the view of winter from the balcony.

“Wait till you have a taste of our mulled wine. I have a feeling you will quite like it.” A voice speaks and she turns around coming to face Taran.

“Lord Taran,” she greets with a small smile, “well I look forward to it.”

“Just Taran.”

“Then call me Reverie, please.”

Taran nods, before quietly saying, “you’re worried.”

“Oh that tend to be my default emotion, I’m afraid.”

“About our court I mean.”

“Oh… that.” She sighs. “is it that apparent?”

“No. But I’m not a Spymaster for no reason.”

Reverie hums, “good to know the court is on good hands. You’re very elusive, and yet I wouldn’t have guessed you.”

“Silas?” Taran guesses

“Yeah,” Reverie says, “I apologize if I offended you.”

“Oh no, it’s a long time trick. He could be too but he is very much political minded.”

“He seems such. So I assume Elias is the general, Ayla his second?”

“Correct.” The male nods, eyes raking through the view.

“Ophiuchus mentioned ideally we are leaving before night, so that would be anytime now?”

Taran hums, “I assume he said so, so that he can show you a bit of Euryphaessa on daylight. I might be biased but it’s a sigh to be taken with.”

“Euryphaessa,” Reverie echoed, the name feeling so familiar on her mouth, “does that mean anything specific.”

"Something along the lines of ‘wide-shining,’” Taran replies.

“That’s pretty.”

“The city certainly fits its name,” Daphne’s voice makes itself present just as the female approaches them.

“They’re still politicking.”

“Oh, but of course.” Daphne hums, “they have new points of views of course they’re using it. They can be at it for hours, My Lady.”

“Reverie,” The youngest Archeron corrects softly.

“Daphne then,” Daphne says with a smile, “good to know you’re not stuck to titles, not many in our court are.”

“Titles are just words in the end.”

“Oh, you and I will get along very well.”

Reverie smiles, she certainly hopes so, possibly friends to call her own, who are not her friends because they’re her sisters, it is nice.

…..

a/n: Taran, Daphne and Ria finally interacted 🤗 my little trio. We are closer and very soon to getting to Dusk and I couldn’t be more excited and happy. The amount of moodboards I have for it has reached a worrying level lol. Thoughts, comments, theories?

taglist: @imma-too-many-fandoms @shadowcrowsworld

#acotar #acotar fanfic #dusk court #archeron sisters #fic: lost in the labyrinth of my mind

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sheviolentlyher · 10 days

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i hate him, i will hate him forever. he broke the chain. he betrayed our connection. he is a fucking coward. i have given him something so sacred and he has used it for your average everyday things.

i curse my naivety. when you’re an animal who has survived a trap, nothing is ever the same.

i am loosing hope in human connection, everyone wants to fuck but no one wants to feel. And that’s a shame, i am convinced people choose one or the other— fuck with no feelings and disrespect the sacred exchange— or fuck with feelings and gain a deeper connection to the unmet parts of you.

sure- is it painful? Yes, when it’s over and they throw you away like a cum rag. Like you were just an inanimate object the entire time. And do you know what that does to soft core woman? devastation, a rumbling hate fills you and you can’t stop hating until you stop hurting.

I hate him so much that it helps with the hurting. I have wasted enough time and feminine power on him, please stop fucking talking about him! He was nothing but a husk of a man.

rage and tenderness existing simultaneously in the same body- a body only built for tenderness—

a delicacy. he will pay the price every day he wakes up- suffering the loss will never get easier, his spirit never reaching its full potential, weighed down by the absence of light. He will never be able to look at another woman and not think of me.

ew. Fuck this- I don’t want to talk about him anymore, I don’t want my thoughts keeping him alive.

time to release this feeling from my muscles. time to become the woman I have always wanted to be.

I love me, deeply.

-x

#okay rant over #feels #fucking mood #girl interrupted #diary #tumblr diary #diaryposting #personal diary #poetic #writeblr #writing #writers and poets #poetry #poetry blog

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alj4890 · 1 year

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The Green-Eyed Monster

(Ethan Ramsey x OC* Sophie Triano) in a Choices Open Heart drabble

Thirty Kisses in Thirty Days Challenge: with the prompt: a kiss shared to make someone else jealous.

Rating: PG for some language and heated fluff

A/N thanks @hopelessromantic1352 for choosing the couple for this kiss prompt 😂 It let me delve more into exploring how these two would react when jealous.

@hopelessromantic1352 @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @choicesficwriterscreations @choices-readerandlover @annfg8 @jerzwriter @trappedinfanfiction

Masterlist

The windows of Leland Bloom's mansion sparkled in the darkness. Lights all along the bottom floor glowed, beckoning one to join in on the festivities currently underway. Couples mingled outside as they slowly made their way into the stately home.

Sophie was more than looking forward to attending the event. It was the first time she was going as Ethan's date. She'd met some of the doctors he worked with at Donahue's, but tonight marked the point where she was being officially shown off as his significant other.

Ethan wasn't particularly looking forward to going, even with the pleasure of Sophie's company. He barely tolerated Leland Bloom and to be stuck for evening in the man's home was too much to contemplate.

Sophie squeezed his arm as they ascended the front steps.

He glanced down at her in question.

"I'm excited." She whispered.

"Over what?"

"Everything!" She smiled up at him. "Being with you, this party, seeing how billionaires spend their money."

Ethan snorted. "I don't know about the last two, but it is nice to spend an evening with you."

She beamed at him. "We've been working so many late nights lately." She rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I've missed you."

Ethan slipped his arm around her, drawing her close. "I'm willing to take you back to my place and make up for all the absences."

Sophie's smile turned sultry. "I'm going to hold you to that."

Her eyes traveled down his body. "But first, I'm ready to see what an Edenbrook party is like."

Ethan rolled his eyes as he followed her inside. "Trust me. It isn't anything special."

"I'll be the judge of that." She teased.

Her eyes darted here and there, taking in everything.

"Should we go to the bar or the buffet first?" He asked.

Sophie snorted softly at the sound of resignation in his voice.

"The bar. Something tells me you're going to need something to help you get through the next few hours."

Ethan's lips curved.

"You know me so well."

Sophie tugged him into a quick kiss.

Ethan's hands lingered on her waist.

"Any chance you're willing to leave now and continue to do that?" He asked.

"At least give me a minute to check out his desserts. I'm curious to see who he got to cater this event." She looped her arms loosely around his neck. "Plus you deserve a drink or two."

"Three." Ethan groaned when he caught sight of their host.

"Ah, Dr. Ramsey." Leland greeted, while looking solely upon Sophie. "Glad you could make it."

"Leland." Ethan managed to keep his tone even.

"And who is this?"

"This is Sophie Triano." Ethan kept his arm around her waist, letting the man see she wasn't just some mere date.

She smiled warmly at the elderly man and held her hand out while complimenting his home.

Leland's own smile twinkled as he shook it. "I shouldn't be as delighted to meet you as I am after your refusal."

Sophie's eyebrow raised in question.

"My Caroline was hoping for your desserts to grace our tables, but your manager denied us such a pleasure, no matter how much money I offered."

"It's spring." Sophie explained. "The wedding season is starting earlier than usual. I couldn't drop those orders to cater your party at the last minute."

"If you'd been told the price I offered, you would have." Leland needled. "Think of the business you would have gained doing so."

Sophie shook her head with a smile. She was determined not to be intimidated.

"Mr. Bloom, as a business man, you know that the one way to lose money is by alienating your clients by breaking your word. I'm not about to anger the clientele I am cultivating for a quick cash grab nor ruin the reputation Veronica and I have in the pastry business. People know that when they order anything from us that they will not only get it on time but will also be given the best of what we can do."

Ethan couldn't have been more pleased with Sophie's ability to fluster the old man.

"You would have gained even more business tonight." Leland argued, waving about the room. "My guests are the type who wish to wow people at parties and your desserts would have been part of that."

Sophie shrugged. "Then that's a loss I'll have to deal with. For now though, I'm going to enjoy being one of the guests you intend to wow."

Leland reluctantly smiled at her. "Then I insist on you giving your opinion later about the pastry chef I had to settle on after your refusal."

He glanced at Ethan. "Enjoy yourselves. I see some other guests I must greet."

Sophie sagged against Ethan once Leland left them alone.

"I've never wished for Terry's intimidating presence more so than just then." She said of her bakery manager. "This is why I stay in the back room working on cakes."

Ethan tilted her chin up. The back of his fingers caressed her cheek. He was about to say how impressed he was with her standing up to Leland, only to be interrupted by someone else.

"Ethan!" Harper exclaimed. "I thought you weren't coming tonight."

Her eyes narrowed slightly on the couple before her.

"Sophie insisted." Ethan chuckled when she nudged him with her elbow.

"Really?" Harper's eyebrows raised. "I'm impressed. I don't know too many people who can change his mind."

"It wasn't easy." Sophie teased, smiling up at him.

"True, but you knew how to end my argument by walking out in that dress." He squeezed her waist.

Harper managed to keep smiling. "That was the only way I ever got him to go along with my plans."

Sophie stiffened somewhat. She was unaware of Ethan's past with this particular doctor.

"Remember our first year at the medical conference in Miami?" Harper's smile turned flirty. "You refused to go out until I wore that little red dress."

Ethan shook his head with a smile. "That wasn't why I went. It was either you or staying and listening to Fawkes go on and on about that new bladder procedure he'd heard about."

Harper winked at him. "I think we both know my red dress made that night better."

Sophie was livid as the two reminisced some more. No one would have known though by the pleasant expression on her face.

"I'm so glad you're here. There is someone I want you to meet that I think could use our help. I can't find Chris and Tobias, but I believe this woman's son needs to be seen by our team." Harper refocused on Sophie. "You don't mind my stealing Ethan away for a little while, do you?"

Sophie shook her head. She didn't trust her voice to give an answer.

Ethan promised to find her soon as Harper slipped her arm in the bend of his.

Determined not to stand there sulking, Sophie walked over to the buffet tables. Grabbing a plate, she dropped various treats upon it.

"Easy there." A familiar voice teased. "If anyone should know that presentation is part of enjoying what you eat, then it should be the top graduate of our class."

Sophie whirled around. "Blake!"

"Sophie!" He responded with a smile.

"You're the caterer for this party?"

"I am." He added a few more desserts to her plate for her to try. "If I'd have known you would be here I would have gone above and beyond with my menu."

She chuckled, relieved to see a friendly face. "Trust me, I know how excellent your skills are."

The two fell into a conversation about what they'd been doing the last few years.

"So how did you get invited to this?" Blake teased. "I thought our kind only worked these types of parties."

"I'm dating one of the doctors at Leland Bloom's hospital." Sophie pointed Ethan out.

A slight frown firmed on her lips to still see Harper's hand tucked within the bend of Ethan's arm.

"Speaking of dates," Blake nodded to the other side of the room, "Vince is here."

Sophie's head jerked around to see one of her exes.

"Of course he'd be here." She grumbled.

Her night couldn't get any worse.

"I have to get back to work." Blake patted her shoulder. "I'll see you when I'm released from the kitchens."

"Have fun." She called out when he hurried off.

********************

As Ethan listened to the various symptoms the woman noticed her teenage son having, his attention drifted over to Sophie. He'd seen her smile and talk with another chef. The two apparently knew one another well.

He'd also noticed she did not seem as happy as she'd been when they first arrived. He had a feeling he knew the reason why, but there was little he could do about it now.

He wasn't certain why Harper enjoyed bringing up their past as much as she did. He was used to Chris and Tobias's eye rolls whenever his ex brought up memories of their time together. Chris even pointed out one day when they were alone that she thought Harper might do this in an attempt to make him want to get back together with her.

He eased his arm out from Harper's hand as he realized that the lingering touch might give everyone the wrong idea.

There was only one woman he was here with and Harper wasn't her.

His attention drifted once more to check on Sophie. He felt his body stiffen at the sight of a ridiculously handsome man standing before her. The stranger took Sophie's plate out of her hand, set it down, and grasped her hand in his as he led her into another room.

Ethan had to lean somewhat away from the group he was standing with to see into the next room. A band had been set up there for couples to dance to. In the crowd, he noticed Chris and Tobias lost in each other and swaying to a slow song.

He frowned at the sight of them. If they hadn't decided to spend this party dancing, they could have been found by Harper and dealt with this while he was able to be with Sophie.

He then saw the strange man pull Sophie into his arms for a dance. Ethan could feel the sexual tension between them from here. His eyes narrowed upon the man's fingers moving along Sophie's back. The two were talking, with Sophie turning and pointing towards Ethan.

The two men locked eyes, each not bothering to hide their instant dislike of the other.

"What do you think?" Harper touched Ethan's arm again to get his attention.

"What?" Ethan snapped his eyes back towards her and the very concerned mother. "I think you should bring your son to our office first thing in the morning so we can do a full examination. We should be able to pinpoint what is causing these erratic symptoms."

He excused himself, telling Harper to make the plans. With his long legged strides, he made his way into the next room.

*****************

Sophie knew it was foolish to agree to anything Vince suggested. After all, she had been the one to end things with him. But seeing Ethan and Harper together made her want a little revenge of her own. She hadn't realized how deep her feelings towards the doctor ran until she saw him with what was clearly an ex girlfriend of his.

After Vince bragged on his robotics skills being the one to make the cute little robots at Edenbrook, he'd convinced her to dance with him.

"If the man you're with can't take the time to dance with you," he'd argued, "then he'll have to deal with the consequences of someone else taking his place."

She knew though that Ethan had not left her to simply be with other people. He was genuinely trying to help someone. She couldn't stay angry over that.

But I can over Harper, she reminded herself.

"You're really into this doctor, aren't you?" Vince pressed her closer.

"I am." Sophie replied, pulling back a respectable distance.

"Even though he has been standing over there with some other woman hanging not only on his every word, but also onto his arm?"

Sophie stiffened. "Yes."

"You're not the same woman I knew." Vince observed. "There is no way you'd have let me get away with that type of behavior."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "That's because you liked having other women hanging onto you and your every word."

"So this Evan--"

"Ethan." She corrected.

"Ethan isn't the same? There isn't a man here who doesn't like his ego stroked." Vince argued.

"Ethan doesn't need his ego stroked." She snapped. "He's a man who is confident in all he does. He doesn't need validation from anyone."

"Doesn't he?" Vince noticed the angry doctor storming into the room.

Ethan certainly looked like a man who needed his confidence in Sophie returned.

Finding the pair on the dance floor, Ethan made his way over to cut in.

He was having a difficult time squeezing through the couples.

Vince decided to try a little experiment. After all, Sophie couldn't have been dating him long if her jealous reaction was anything to go by. He wondered if Ethan felt just as strongly.

Before Sophie could react, he captured her lips in a tender kiss.

She shoved him away from her in angry shock.

"What the hell Vince?!" Her chest heaved in an attempt to calm down.

He held his hands up to both ward her off and in surrender.

"I couldn't let this moment pass us by, Soph." He admitted. "You know I want you back. I have for years now."

"I don't want you." She bit out.

Vince smiled sadly at her. "Then that's my cue to leave and plan for another chance."

"There isn't going to be another chance." She huffed, folding her arms and looking away from him.

"There's always a chance." Vince directed that towards the man standing directly behind her. "Just remember that."

He left, grinning over what he'd noticed.

Ethan Ramsey was beyond livid and also terrified.

*******************

Ethan prided himself on many things. One was that he was a man who rarely overreacted in relationships. Another was that he learned from his mistakes.

Given how much he went through with Chris Valentine, he learned to never waste a moment if he were to ever fall in love with someone else. It was why he'd been upfront and as transparent as he could be with Sophie.

Yet seeing her with this Vince had shaken him beyond what he believed he should have felt at this stage of their relationship. They'd only been together a few months and here he was, completely angry over the thought of someone stealing her away from him.

He'd already endured something similar in watching Chris fall in love with Tobias. He'd be damned if he was going to watch it happen with Sophie.

Ethan intended on cutting in on her dance with Vince. All his plans crashed around him the moment the man kissed her. He felt his world shift at the sight. He'd become immobile, unable to comprehend that this could possibly be the end of him and Sophie.

Then Sophie's almost violent reaction to Vince gave Ethan the flicker of hope he needed.

The moment Vince walked off, Sophie took a step back, intending to leave the dance floor and find a place to calm down.

She encountered a familiar hard surface.

She turned to find Ethan directly behind her.

With muscle spasming in his jaw, he grasped her hand and took her through a set of glass double doors that led outside.

The cool Boston air had a slight bite to it, helping them both deal quietly with their heated emotions.

Sophie's shivers caused Ethan to pull her within his arms.

She snuggled closer for both his warmth and to remind herself that he was hers.

"Ethan?" She said softly.

"Yes?"

"You and Harper were more than coworkers, weren't you?"

"We were." He closed his eyes, dropping his cheek against her head. "It was a long time ago."

"I see." Sophie mumbled.

"There's nothing there." He added. "No feelings at all other than respect and friendship."

"On your side, perhaps." Sophie grumbled.

Ethan tightened his arms around her. "That's all it will ever be between me and Harper."

His eyes narrowed when he caught another glimpse of Vince through the windows.

"You and Vince?"

"He's an ex of mine." Sophie explained. "We broke up years ago."

"And that kiss?" Ethan bit out.

Sophie raised her head to look up at him.

"Didn't mean anything to me." She responded.

Ethan slammed his mouth against hers. He was shocked with the need he had to prove that what she said was right. He also felt the need to make this kiss mean something to her.

Knowing he should ease up, he was unable to make his body do so. His lips and tongue were determined to draw moans from her and wouldn't stop until they did so.

Sophie wallowed in the passion of his response to seeing someone else want her. She threaded her fingers in his hair and gave back as good as she got. It both eased her heart and thrilled her that he reacted the same way she did when thinking about him with Harper.

"Ethan." She moaned as his mouth moved along her bare shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

His lips captured hers once more in a long, deep kiss.

"Please." She whispered, eyes meeting his in the soft light of a nearby sconce. "Take me home and make love to me."

He moaned her name with one more kiss. Ethan then kept his arm around her as they quickly made their exit.

#thirty kisses in thirty days #choices open heart #oh ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x oc #ethan x sophie #choices open heart fan fic #choices fic writers creations

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