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prismaticfaery · 1 year

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Little Bunny

John Price x Fem!Reader

Summary: Never in a million years would Captain Price think that he'd have a chance at a family, but with how dangerous his profession was and his chances of becoming a father becoming a reality, you and him have to learn the hard way that moving on is the best you both can do.

**TW: Pregnancy, vomiting, swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol, labor, childbirth, anxiety, panic, angst, unrequited love. (Forgive me if I miss any!)

Rating: Mature

This is not short, it's 10K words! Also, don't expect too much of a happy ending!

Part Two

A/N: I was debating posting this for so long out of fear it was trash, please be gentle with me! To add, termination is always going to be your choice and it’s okay to consider that option!

Fluorescent lights hung overhead, your eyes poorly adjusting to the harsh lights as you fumbled with a pen nervously between your fingers. You had filled out a small packet of papers on a clipboard, the receptionist telling you that your doctor would see you soon and to make sure every bit of information was filled in. When you had initially told the receptionist that it would only be you when she asked if you were accompanied by a partner for a confirmation of pregnancy ultrasound, she gave you a look, and you knew she was silently judging you for your situation.

“Y/N?” You hear a nurse call out while propping a door open, breaking you out of your trance.

It was two weeks ago when you had realized your period was late, your work schedule and general hecticness in your life made you suspect that it was stress at first but when your period never showed even a week later, and with having a pretty normal cycle, you darted to the commissary on base and bought two boxes of pregnancy tests– two different brands to make sure. Yeah, you had been more tired lately, and you had lost your appetite more than a few times, but you knew that those could also be normal premenstrual symptoms.

With your uniform pants and panties down to your ankles, you held two different pregnancy test in your hands, the trembling in your arms and hands from fear only became worse when the test slowly turned positive. With a harsh breath in, you hold it for a moment, fresh tears stinging your eyes when you finally release your breath. Your body felt frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. Do you tell him now? Do you wait? You were on birth control and never missed a dose, but of course, it’s not always foolproof. You weren’t even with the baby’s father on an exclusivity level, only really depending on each other for comfort and pleasure when you both needed it– not to mention he was your Captain, your superior.

A hiccup leaves your throat, the metaphorical golf ball stuck in your throat nearly choking you as you place your head in your hands, those fresh tears gathering in the corners falling into your hands. You were active duty in the SAS and newly recruited into Task Force 141, though just a Sergeant, and you were living in the barracks, which was not the place to bring a baby up in, nor was it even allowed. You weren’t prepared for a baby to come along, and you knew that your Captain had no intention of having children while he always had a target on himself. You knew he wouldn’t take this news well.

“It looks like you’re reaching nine weeks, strong heartbeat at 168 bpm– see it here?” the doctor pointed to the tiny fluttering heart on the ultrasound monitor.

“I do,” you smile lightly, your eyes never leaving the small floating jelly bean that jerked and wiggled inside of your body.

“Do you have support at home?” The doctor asked, her eyes meeting yours with a certain softness, knowing that you checked your marital status as “single”.

“Well I have my mother, but as for the other half of the child, he won’t be very happy,” you say, sitting up and adjusting the paper blanket draped across your nude bottom half.

“Reach out to your mother, okay? Best of luck with everything,” the doctor takes her leave, giving you the privacy to clean up and put your uniform back on.

You sat for a moment, the silence deafening save for the nurses speaking at their station outside the exam room door. You peek over at the ultrasound monitor, which had been paused on a picture of your tiny baby. Your heart ached, and you found yourself struggling to turn your head away, until a knock at the door sounded.

“Here are your papers, there’s also a script for prenatal vitamins and some brochures,” the nurse smiles, handing you the small stack, “take care of yourself.”

The door closes behind the nurse and you decide that it’s time to finally get dressed. You wipe the ultrasound gel from your abdomen and lower region, and silently slip your clothing back on, your eyes never leaving the monitor until you notice a small black and white photo had been printed and attached to your after appointment papers. Your heart skipped, quickly tearing the photo from off of the stack to hold in your hands, your little baby’s side profile had been captured and you could see the tiny arms and legs scrunched up to its body.

Checking the time on your watch, you pick up speed, remembering that you had a debriefing on a Task Force affair with your Captain soon and you were definitely going to be late arriving at it. You knew he wouldn’t be happy with your lack of punctuality, but you had proof that you were tied up in a last minute affair.

Once arriving back at base, you could see the familiar form of Soap who was also a late arrival to the debriefing, but you knew it was because of his poor time management skills, or he was just waking up from one of his naps. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he spins around in a wild fashion.

“Good grief, ya scared the shite out of me,” Soap held a hand to his chest.

“Sorry, I was just curious if we could walk together to the debrief,” you question, your eyes pleading for him to agree as to save yourself from being individually called out by your Captain.

Soap nods, his longer legs falling into step with yours, “you’re not usually late to these things, something must have had you tied up,” Soap scratches his head, yawning into his unoccupied hand.

“Oh you know, women’s issues,” you shrugged, Soap wincing at your words.

“Ah, I don’t think you need to explain,” he chuckles, knowing damn well that he was treading into territory he was very familiar with, having to be around female soldiers– especially with being around you so much– taught him more than enough.

Opening the door to the small debriefing room, you could see Ghost leaning back in his chair, one leg over the other while his arms crossed against his chest, his usual black balaclava covering his face. Gaz was in the seat adjacent to Ghost, his face blank– an almost bored expression showing.

Price’s body language was showing very clear annoyance as he watched you and Soap enter, the awkwardness in the room causing you to fumble into your seat, the loud scraping of the chair leg against the tile floor made Price audibly sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You two are late, don’t let this happen again or I’ll have you assigned cleaning duty for a week,” Price points his finger first at Soap, then at you, your eyes casting downwards in embarrassment.

As the debriefing went on, you could feel the familiar crystalline blue eyes of your Captain steal glances of you. You make yourself small and scarce in the meeting, your arms folding across your upper body and your body slinking into your chair. You felt strange about having such a huge secret being hidden away from your Captain who was more than deserving to know about it, but you needed time to formulate a plan on how you were going to carry out telling him. It would be better to tell him sooner than later though because you could be deployed at any time and that would be a dangerous situation for you and the life that was growing inside of you.

“Ghost, you and Gaz will be going to Russia for some recon, I need intel– any intel on where they’re moving next,” Price nods his head in Ghost’s direction, handing Gaz a debriefing packet on his and Ghost’s deployment that they’ll go over together at a later time.

You feel your body tense as a very heavy wave of nausea washes over you, Soap noticing your eyes fluttering and your skin becoming ashen and shiny from sweat. Pushing his seat out with the back of his legs, Soap rushes over to the trash bin, knowing all too well you wouldn’t make it yourself. He shoves the bin into your lap where you attempt to shield yourself with your arms as you empty the contents of your stomach. Gaz winces, and Ghost is pretty much unbothered but keeping a watchful eye on you.

“You alright?” Price askes as he makes his way over to your hunched over form.

“No, I really need to go,” you heave a sigh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Leave that, I’ll have someone clean it,” Price nods, motioning for you to leave.

Long having discarded your uniform, you sat on your bed, staring at the white wall across the room. So many thoughts flooded your brain, and you felt like you were losing control of everything in your life all in the span of a few hours. You were young, and still inexperienced in life, halfway to reaching your thirties. The dried yet still sticky feeling of tears coated your cheeks and you felt like your heart would leap out of your chest every time you even thought of mentioning this pregnancy to Price. How the hell was he going to take it?

You knew that it would go two ways most likely– one: he’d walk away and break all contact, or two: he would tell you that he would support you and the baby, but would not be present.

A knock on your door broke you out of your thoughts, your voice cracking as you told the visitor to come inside. Price’s tall body stands in the doorway for a second before stepping inside and closing the door behind him softly. He knew it was risky coming into your room so early in the evening but he was willing to take that chance.

“Everything alright? Soap said you were dealing with something– didn’t know the pain got so bad for you during that time of the month,” Price sits beside you on your bed, his taller form making yours tiny in comparison.

“I’m alright, I just need to rest,” your voice is small with a tinge of exhaustion, playing into Soap’s assumptions of you being on your period.

“You been crying, love?” Price’s large hand caresses your neck, his thumb dancing across your cheek soothingly.

“A little, yeah,” you smile softly, leaning into his touch.

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not really, if that’s okay?” Your breath catches in your throat, you knew damn well you should tell him, but fear froze you in place.

“I understand, hormones and all that lot can be difficult,” Price sighs, the hand that rested on your neck falling back into his lap.

You suck in a breath as his words repeat in your head. Did he already know? Or did he have an inkling of an idea? No, that wasn’t possible.

You feel the familiar burn of bile rising into your throat, your legs making a mad dash for the bathroom across your small barracks room. Heaving what little was left in your stomach, you could feel your Captain’s cool hands gather your loose hair from your sweat covered neck and forehead. As you breath in and out heavily, a soft cry escaping your lips from the horrifying nausea pounding through your body, you feel Price’s free hand rub soothing circles along your back.

“You’re alright, sweet girl, let it out,” the deep gravel in his voice was soothing.

You gag and heave one last time before you begin to feel like the nausea is subsiding, Price’s arm reaching over to flush the toilet and then bring your body back to lay against him as he leaned back against the tub. Your shorter legs are pulled up to your chest as his thick arms engulf you.

“I’m pregnant,” a sob escapes your throat, a trembling hand brought up to your now teary eyes, wiping away any stray tears that escape.

Everything goes silent around the two of you, and you could tell John was formulating his response and keeping himself from reacting in a way he would regret. His arms go slack around you and you begin sobbing even harder at his action.

“Did you not take your pills?” Was all he could muster asking.

“I did, I did-!” you cry, turning your body to face him now.

“Y/N, you know what this could do to us– to me, right?” Price’s voice was dangerously low now, a look of pure anger painted on his face.

You knew all too well what this situation could do to you both. Demotion, dishonorable discharge, enemies who had a target on both of you– but more specifically him, would know that there is something precious and innocent that could be easily taken away.

Price goes quiet, his eyes downcast as he thinks to himself for a moment, “I think you should consider your options.”

“So that’s it? You’re putting all of this on me?” your heart begins to sink into your stomach, knowing damn well that this was his way of telling you that he wanted to cut all contact and act like this situation never happened.

“What will you have me do, Y/N, hm?” He points a finger at himself, the tip poking into his hardened chest.

“At least consider options with me– it takes two-!”

“No, Y/N. No,” Price rises to his feet, leaving you in a puddle of anxiousness on the bathroom floor, your eyes frantically watching his hand swing the bathroom door open.

“Please don’t–,” you reach an arm out to him, but he’s gone so quickly from your sight.

You find out the next day that you were pardoned from work, formation, and PT for a full month, knowing that Price did this to allow you time to think about what to do with the pregnancy. You hardly left your room, and when you did, it was usually just to eat and do laundry. Soap tried to stop you a few times to catch up and ask how you were doing, but you instead offered a smile and a quick, “I’ve gotta go,”. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried out of his mind for you, sad eyes watching you disappear down the hallways. He was often your partner in missions and would offer a helping hand if and when you needed it. Maybe he just needed to wait for you to come to him? He would always wait for you.

You stared at your discharge papers for days, the blanks filled out neatly, and the pen you used sat atop the thin packet. You were sure that this is what you wanted, and this would save John from the possibility of having everything he worked so hard for to be snatched away. No one would know he was the father of the baby, and you weren’t going to make him be something he didn’t want to be. You wouldn’t inform him of the gender, due date, name– anything, if he didn’t want to know, in which you knew he wouldn’t.

You wanted to make this as easy as possible– slowly cutting off your military life, and going back home to make a new life for yourself and for your baby. Your mother was in agreement, telling you to come home and to get yourself back on your feet, that she’d be happy to watch over the baby while you worked. You would have your childhood room back and your mother’s cooking, and that was enough to put a smile on your face even for just a moment through the rough patch. She knew that having support was the most important thing for you.

You gather the papers in your hands, tapping them on the counter to even them out. Taking a moment to think one last time if this was truly what you wanted, you let out a shaky breath, leaving your room and making your way to John’s office, your fingers grasping the papers tight enough to wrinkle them.

You knock three times on Price’s door, waiting for him to call out an answer for you to enter, “come in,” you finally hear him say.

He straightens in his desk chair, the air in the room becoming thick and tense. He looks to be stressed out, his hand soon covering his forehead as he attempts to relax. You sit in one of the two chairs across from his desk, sliding your filled out discharge paperwork over to him. Price’s vascular arm reaches over to grab the papers, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. At first, he thinks that these are adoption papers for the baby, in which he would sign the parts that said “father’s information”, but he soon realizes that’s not what he was given.

“You’re leaving the military?” his eyes darted up to look at you.

“I won’t make this difficult. You don’t need to know a thing if you don’t want to, you won’t need to be present, just sign those papers and we’re gone.”

“The Task Force needs you,” Price’s voice falters, his usual soft tone you were so used to is back.

“I want to raise this baby, John– our baby,” you feel yourself spiraling, your hormones making it difficult to keep your composure.

You could see his eyes flutter closed, his body shaking as he releases a large huff from his lungs, “you’ll be discharged immediately. I don’t want to see a trace of you left in that room.”

“Yes, sir.”

You had very little to pack up in your room, your mother having come from London to help you carry anything heavy. Soap had stopped by your room after hearing the news that you were being discharged. His thoughts soared wildly as he watched your mother pack away your things as you carried out items to her car, thinking of how sick you must have been to have to leave the military immediately. You must have been in need of serious medical treatment to just drop everything and leave. His form standing outside your door caught your mother’s attention, making his entire body tense. Turning on his heel, he prayed to whatever or whomever that your mother hadn’t seen the stray tear fall down his cheek.

Your civilian clothing felt a little tight around your lower abdominal area, your belly poking out slightly, bloating from the pregnancy hormones and constipation since the baby was still very tiny to make an appearance quite yet. You were half tempted to keep your jeans unbuttoned but with it being so hot out, your shirt was cropped right above your belly button. You had to keep cool somehow and you weren’t sacrificing your style for your growing belly. You and your belly bump can be stylish together.

“Is this the last of it, darling?” Your mother questions, placing the last box in the trunk of her sedan.

“Yes,” you answer, looking around one last time before opening the passenger door of the car and slipping inside.

Your eyes caught a glance of Price, who was outside on the training field with a group of soldiers. He was looking right at you, and it sent a flood of different emotions to wash over you. Tears stung your eyes, your throat swelling as you tried your best to keep yourself from falling apart. You were prepared to do this whole parenthood thing alone, but you were hoping that you would at least have him present for the sake of the child– not even for the sake of you because you weren’t what mattered in this situation.

You had fallen madly for him but your job had made it very apparent that feelings for your superior could be a whirlwind of repercussions to pay. You had to play it safe in the shadows. John would have been a liar if he said he hadn’t also felt the same feelings as you, but kept it no more than a hook-up every once in a while. This was the most difficult decision you could ever make– deciding to walk away.

It had taken you weeks to acclimate to civilian life after being in the military for so long. You were freshly 18 and had just graduated secondary school when you joined the Royal Army, just entering your mid 20’s when you passed selection for the SAS, Price was the first to congratulate you, shaking your hand and offering you a warm smile, the creases in the corners of his eyes sending you into a tizzy– goodness he was so handsome. His face was shaved then however. You loved his chops when he started growing them out, your eyes catching his own as he carefully combed through the thick auburn beard hairs with a sandalwood comb in the middle of his debriefings.

You sat at the dining room table of your childhood home, scanning over the words on your laptop screen. You had gotten a new job and you were going to start working remotely from the house, which was perfect because of the baby coming around February. You had since gotten into a new doctor’s office, your mother accompanying you for support. Her face lit up when she saw the baby floating around on the screen, their little arms covering the front of their face. You had cried more than you liked and your nausea had increased dramatically once leaving the base. You thought it may have been from the stress of leaving your old life behind intermingling with the pregnancy hormones.

Your mother was a huge support, telling you that you could take time to yourself before you found a civilian job. You waved her off however, saying that she had no business having to pick up the slack for her adult child. She had already taken to knitting small items for the baby, and your favorite was the small floppy bunny beanie that was a light cream color, the inside of the ears a dusty pink.

“Have any of your military friends contacted you since leaving?” Your mother asks, peeking up from the cream colored blanket she had started days previous.

“Soap has, but he ended up being deployed before I could answer. He probably thinks I’m dying with having left so suddenly when I was experiencing morning sickness during debrief,” the sigh that left your lips was a sad one, as Soap was someone you had grown quite close to over the years of being in the same barracks and then being on the Task Force together for a short period of time.

“Well hopefully you can remain friends,” the nimble fingers of your mother placed a stitch marker into the blanket.

“One can hope,” you lie.

You were entering your 20th week of pregnancy– halfway to the finish line is what your mother said to you that morning. Her excitement was easy to spot as today was the day you would find the gender of the baby out. Your belly had grown some, but not enough for it to be immediately recognized as a baby bump. Maybe you just ate an entire pizza?

Drinking the last bit of orange juice, to which your mother swore would make the baby more lively in your belly during the ultrasound, you look over the texts in your phone, Soap’s name popping up suddenly. It catches you off guard when you open the text, seeing a picture of Ghost and Price out on the firing range, Price’s hat sitting on top of Ghost’s head as he lay prone on the ground with a sniper rifle. Price had his arms crossed and was seeming to refuse being in the photo, his hand covering his face. Soap hadn’t sent so much as a “hi” in weeks, and you had hoped that he just moved on from the thought of you staying in touch with your old roots. Closing out of the text app, you place your phone face down on the kitchen counter, your heart dropping. You just won’t reply, just like you had been doing before.

Patiently waiting in the exam room at the midwife’s office, you placed a hand on your belly, hoping that soon you would finally be able to feel movement. Your midwife said it’s normal to not have movements until now or even a little later but you were so impatient. Once entering the room, the midwife went over her routine questions, and took your blood pressure.

“Your blood pressure is a bit elevated, are you getting enough water and rest?” The midwife asks, placing herself on the stool next to the ultrasound machine.

“Mum wouldn’t let me live it down if I weren’t,” you answer.

“I believe it,” the midwife chuckles, looking over at your mother who had taken a seat next to you on the exam table, “I would like for you to continue what you’re doing, and if you’re feeling any strange symptoms like dizziness, faintness, seeing stars in your vision, or pains in your chest or ribs, go to the hospital immediately.”

You nod your head, and the midwife starts setting your ultrasound up, helping you lie back on the bed as soon as she’s done. Unbuttoning your jeans, she places a flannel over the top of your jeans to keep the gel from staining them. The lights are then turned off and you begin to relax and clear your mind, ready to see your baby after weeks of waiting. Squeezing a large amount of gel onto your abdomen, the midwife places the transducer of the ultrasound machine onto the mound of gel, rubbing it around to find where the baby is positioned.

“Look at those little puckered lips,” the midwife smiles down at you.

“Oh darling, look at that sweet baby,” your mom was in tears, her emotions always outmatched yours.

As the midwife continues looking at the baby through the monitor, she takes her time going through all of the anatomy of the baby, noting it on the keys of the machine. Your hand was being squeezed so hard by your mother, you thought that your circulation might be cut off after so long. The tiny fingers of the baby were by their mouth, their legs stretching out and scrunching back up.

“What were your bets on the gender, mum?” the midwife asks your mother, the two smiling at each other.

“That’s a little girl in there.”

“Mum is correct,” the midwife points her finger to the wiggling baby, a clear picture of the baby’s gender boldly displayed.

You’re going to have a little girl, Captain.

Squealing with delight with fresh tears coating her cheeks, your mother squeezed your arm and kissed your cheek, “I’m so proud of you. I’m a grandma to a baby girl.”

While there was downtime, Price often grabbed drinks with the Task Force, his usual military uniform shed and his dog tags resting on his bedside table. The black jumper he wore had gotten a little loose, his appetite scarcely there since you told him about your pregnancy. His anxiety made his mind wander more than he liked. How were you doing? Was your belly finally popping out? Did you start purchasing baby items? He would always ground himself after some time, his internal voice telling him that this was for the safety of himself, and the safety of you and the baby. His baby. But not his baby at the same time, he made that clear with you all those weeks ago.

Clutching a rocks glass in his hands at the bar, Price took a quick swig of the amber liquid as Soap sat to his right, scrolling through his social media timeline. Ghost was at the pool table across the bar, talking with Gaz, who had just taken a shot at a cue ball. It had been raining for days straight, the cool air flowing into the bar with each time the door opened. Were you also experiencing this weather? Or had you gone countries away to escape staying in the same country as your former friend with benefits with whom you now had forever ties with?

“You know, Y/N’s social media was deactivated and she never answers my texts. I wonder if she’s okay?” Soap mumbled, unable to put his mind at ease as to where you went or what happened to you.

“She was honorably discharged from the special forces, she’s probably cutting ties with her old life as much as possible,” Price’s voice was grim, however Soap didn’t quite catch on.

“That’s not like her though– she used to post everyday–!” Soap gestured his hand to his phone, his social media app still open.

“I think it’s best to allow her to move on,” Price slammed the rest of his whiskey, placing the glass back down on the bar with a loud clunk, “she’s been shot, wounded, seen death, caused death, stayed in hospital for weeks altogether in her career– she deserves peace.”

“She was ill, Captain,” those baby blue eyes of Soap’s were now filled with worry.

“You said it yourself: she was experiencing her time of the month.”

“You’ve turned cold recently Captain–.”

“Move on, Soap. That’s the best you can do, for her sake and yours.”

Soap’s emotions were crushed, his heart sinking to the very bottom of his belly. Price knew Soap always cared too much, and that’s what set him apart from many people who had grown a bit cold and cynical while in the SAS– like Ghost for example. It was time for everyone to move on, it had been many weeks since your departure, and the only one who seemed to hold on the most was Soap… at times. Price struggled too but he was a Captain, he needed to be a leader and offer guidance to his soldiers, even if it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but needed to hear.

Holding his glass up to signal the barkeep for another pour, Price sighs, watching Soap scroll some more on his social media timeline, hitting the search bar and typing in anything and everything he could think of just to find you. He then sees him type in your mother’s name, his body language picking up in relief when a profile popped up, he just hoped your mother’s timeline wasn’t completely private.

“Shite,” Soap mutters, disbelief flooding his tone, “she’s fuckin’ pregnant?”

The Captain’s heart might as well have stopped beating right then and there when he heard Soap. Looking over at Soap’s phone, Soap adjusted the phone to show Price the screen, a post from two weeks ago exclaiming that you had just found out about the gender, a picture of you attached with a pink cupcake in your hand.

“It’s a girl,” Price stared at the photo of you for way too long, his eyes softening when he saw that pregnancy glow, your cheeks becoming more filled out, and the swell in your lower belly being caressed by your hand.

“Lucky lad, the father is,” Soap locked his phone, placing it face down on the bar, soon cradling his head in his hands. Soap is now trembling, a relieved yet saddened sigh leaving his mouth.

Yeah, a lucky lad he would have been in a different world.

Lying in the bath, the bubbles that had been added to the water thick and covering most of your body, your hands rested on your belly, rubbing the soft and stretched skin gently. Twenty two weeks along and you still hadn’t felt movements, and it was starting to worry you. Most people felt movement already. Sinking lower into the warm bath water, you feel the tension in your shoulders release after having worked all day. Come to think of it, your desk was still in a disarray with papers and pens and you had no energy to clean it up at the moment.

Stilling yourself in the water and staring ahead at the faucet, you notice your stomach twitch, thinking that at first it was just a reflex, until it happened a few more times. You place the tips of your fingers where the twitches were happening, flinching when you could feel little taps.

“Is that you in there, trying for your mummy’s attention?” You whisper, and another tap could be felt.

Tears escape your eyes, quickly rolling down your cheeks when you think about how John is missing out on these moments. He would never be able to feel his little girl’s first movements. You wanted to imagine him being right there after you called out his name, his large hand reaching down into the tub, brushing softly against your swollen belly. He would wait patiently, at first discouraged that he missed those little kicks. Until finally, those little taps started up again, his baby blue eyes lighting up as he felt the tiniest movements against his palm.

Wiping your tears away with the butts of your palms, you let out a shaky breath, attempting to ground yourself as much as you can in this moment, knowing that tears and sadness were not going to help get yourself through this. But it did feel good to cleanse your soul with a few tears after they built up for so long.

When John had gotten to his room back at the barracks after downing three glasses of whiskey, he could feel his body give out from under him as soon as he shut the door behind him. His back slides down the door, his bottom meeting the cold tile, hands cradling his face as he chewed his bottom lip raw, the dull sting of the open wound radiating on his mouth. Hot torrents of anxiety begin to course through his body, tears stinging his eyes as he feels like he might crawl out of his skin. Clawing at his jumper collar, he feels like he’s suffocating, his breaths uneven and raspy.

He missed you– missed those nights where he crawled into bed with you, your limbs entwining in a warm and comforting embrace after a hard day of work. His hands would search for the feeling of your soft skin in the darkness, only to feel an empty coldness on the sheets where your body should have been. You weren’t even his and vice versa but his attachment to you was obviously present from the beginning. His eyes always sought you out in the room, always scanning the battlefields to make sure you were safe. He should have pulled out all those times, knowing damn well that no birth control was 100% effective, other than abstinence or sterilization. He had gotten too comfortable with you, too lost in the warmth, the comfort you brought him. The smiles and the joking, the playful smacks you would give him, the wrestling and tickling matches that very often turned into that hot and heavy sex that left you both breathless and in a heavy daze.

John knew he needed to move on, and to allow you the opportunity to live a happy and safe life with the baby, away from the military, the SAS, and the Task Force, but he was stuck on the idea that things could have been so different. If his duties weren’t so important– ridding the world of everything ugly and scary, meaning that his daughter wouldn’t have to one day live in fear, he would do it a million times over. No matter how much it hurt– no, how much it killed him, or how difficult it was to go day after day not knowing who or what she might be when she finally came into the world. How he’d never be able to see you become the mother you talked about being one day, holding a brand new baby while coming down off of the adrenaline, sweat still clinging to your forehead and cheeks. How he wanted so badly to witness that ecstatic yet exhausted “I did it,” come from your mouth, your tired eyes peering up at him. Being your support system while you struggled to nurse, changing the baby’s first nappy, letting you rest while he gently rocked and soothed the fragile bundle, whispering how much he loved her already.

“Fuck–!” Price shouted, throwing his car keys across the room.

At 32 weeks, your baby shower took place, friends that had kept in contact with you over the years came, as well as family members that you hadn’t seen in some time. You were in a comfortable maxi dress as your belly had gotten too big and it felt like the skin on your belly was always itchy so the soft fabric of the dress played a part in keeping that feeling away. There was a mountain of gifts that sat around the recliner in the den and you were overwhelmed with how much people cared to spoil the baby this much.

As you sit in the recliner unwrapping the gifts, you smile for the pictures your mom begged to take so she could show you off, holding up each and every item you received. Blankets, nappies, outfits, baby gear, necessities, and even postpartum kits sat in a corner neatly. You were crying, feeling so undeserving of the kindness, but as your family and friends saw you, they all offered their comfort in the form of words of affirmation and bone crushing hugs. That you were loved and supported in this particularly difficult and confusing time. Your friends and family would have loved John.

Your mother brings in another gift out of nowhere, her arms barely able to wrap around it, let alone carrying it over to you. Confused, you make her drop it, your body lifting from the recliner to help her set it down, her hand waving you off to not help her with something so heavy in your condition. She gives you a look and shrugs, saying there was no name on the gift. Tearing the wrapping paper off, you see a beautiful bassinet pictured on the large box. No one had fessed up to getting the gift for you, so you sat confused for longer than you would have liked as everyone else mingled.

It had taken days for Price to figure out what he wanted to do for your upcoming baby shower. Your mother had posted an event, not realizing it was a public post, and fortunately for John, he knew your address from your paperwork and files. He found the sweetest bassinet, a cream color with a lacey pink border. It had a little storage area at the bottom so that you could keep any baby items at arm’s reach. Once he had put his payment and your address in, he hit the confirm button. He just hoped it would arrive on time.

Sitting back in his desk chair, he listened to the busy hallways in which soldiers congregated and conversed while on their down time. His mind wandered to the most recent pictures your mother had posted, and your belly had grown bigger and you smiled so large. He imagined lying in bed, shirt removed, sweatpants on, your warm body next to his in a night dress that had become too short on you with your bump, his hand caressing the bottom of your abdomen, whispering sweet words. You were pressing your lips to his own, lingering for a moment and breathing in each other’s breath.

“God, I hope you’re doing alright,” Price’s voice came out in a near whisper.

Work has become a distraction of sorts, the meeting on your screen with several of your coworkers becoming something like a white noise as your mind wanders, your pen hanging loosely between your fingers as you stare into the void. A plate of biscuits and a cup of tea had been placed on your desk almost an hour ago by your mother, but they hadn’t been so much as even touched. You had a pretty significant headache that had gnawed away at the back of your head for the past few days that not even a paracetamol here and there helped. Thinking that the hormones had everything to do with it, you brushed it off without a second thought.

“Y/N, what do you think about this?” Your coworker asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“I think it’s a great idea,” you answer, nodding and smiling into your webcam.

Catching the fully set up bassinet that had been put in the other corner of the room in your video feed, you smile, placing your hands on your now nearly full term belly– 36 weeks to be exact. Your coworkers dismissed the meeting after agreeing to start the new project that had been outlined for a few weeks now, the small details and start date finally figured out.

You stand from your desk chair, a hand placed on the underside of your belly to keep your center of gravity balanced and to keep your pelvis from hurting from the weight of your belly. The dress you wore swayed as you waddled over to the corner of the room where all of the baby’s things had been set up. Grunting as your knees bend to the floor, you drag the hospital bag you had been slowly putting together over the past few days. There were folded onesies, and knitted cardigans that you still had yet to pack away, as well as a small bag of toiletries. John would have chewed you out for being so carefree on such important things such as the hospital bags. He would have had his bag packed for weeks and sitting at the front door.

Wincing from a twinge of pain in your chest, you stop what you’re doing for a moment to wait for it to subside. It could have been a trapped gas bubble– pregnancy and all of its little quirks. When the pain doesn't subside, you attempt to get onto your feet, but cry out when the pain worsens.

“Mum–!” You cry out, bracing your hand on the bassinet and clutching your chest.

Hearing your mother stomp up the stairs quickly, she barges into the room, rushing to your side and helping you up, “what happened, sweetheart?” she questions, eyes wide.

“I’m having really bad pains in my chest,” you begin to cry, hot tears pooling in your eyes, scared out of your mind for the baby.

After little to no convincing, your mother packed you and the bags into the car. It felt like the longest drive to the hospital ever, the diaper bag sitting in your lap and your own hospital bag at your feet, the baby kicking the wind out of your lungs, so you thought that she was hopefully doing just fine with all of her movements. There was a fresh sheet of snow on the ground and icicles formed on the trees, the freezing January air nipping at your skin.

A nurse brought your mother and yourself over to triage, hooking you up to a non-stress test, the nodes placed cozily around your stomach, and wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your upper arm that was inflating and squeezing the life out of you. You knew that 140/90 was not where a pregnant person’s blood pressure should be, and you were certain the nurse was going to have you pee in a cup to check for proteins.

Sure enough, you had to pee in a cup, handing it over to the nurse when you were finished and it was a hard enough feat to reach under your belly. Thankfully though, the non-stress test wasn’t alarming, the baby’s heart rate staying in a normal range even with the issues you were facing.

“I think it’s safe to induce you right now, I’m not liking the looks of your blood pressure and labs,” the midwife sits in a stool across from your bed.

Everything started off manageable– the pains, you were able to breathe through. Your mother stood by your side the whole time, clutching your hand when you needed it. You sat cross-legged in a hospital gown, the bed placed at the highest position, and an IV placed in the crease of your elbow. It was five hours later when the pitocin had started causing the most excruciating pains you had ever felt, and you had been shot many times in the SAS.

Crying out and grasping the handles of the bed, your breathing became ragged and your mouth dried out and you were so happy when your mother applied lip balm to your mouth to keep them from cracking. Each time your progress was checked, the pain worsened, the labor pains feeling like a searing hot knife was dragging across your lower abdomen. You wanted so badly for John to be here, sitting across from you on the bed, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders while you groaned through your pains, but it was your mother who stood in his place, her tender touches breaking you out of your swimming mind.

Hours later, your water had broken on its own, and now you were in the home stretch and the anxiousness began to flow throughout your body, knowing that your little girl was to make an appearance by the beginning of the next day.

John’s body was wired, sleep not taking him this evening, his hand resting on his bare stomach as he splayed out on his bed, the blanket barely covering his waist. He scrolled mindlessly for hours on his phone when he finally decided to browse your mother’s social media, hoping that she had updated with anything that had to do with you. He shot up from his pillow when he saw a photo of you sitting up in a hospital bed, and IV and wires hooked up all over your body.

“Posted three hours ago,” he mutters to himself, tapping your photo and zooming in on your face– you looked so angelic.

His baby would be here so soon and it made his heart skip beats, anxiety flowing through his veins. He could be there right now in place of your mother, whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear, rocking with you and helping you breathe through the pain. Even when on the battlefield while injured, he knew you were terrible at controlling your breathing, often passing out and waking back up with him chewing your head off.

“Make sure to breathe, sweet girl, you’ve got this,” he spoke almost silently– a whisper off his lips.

Lying back down, he knew immediately that he was not going to sleep until he knew you had delivered safely and that the baby was okay. Knowing how much your mother posted updates about you, it was surefire that she’d post a picture of that sweet baby as soon as she arrived. What were you going to name her? Would you give her your surname? Of course you would, he doesn’t have that badge of honor– of his kid taking his name, when he wasn’t present. What would his daughter look like? Hopefully like you because you were the most beautiful creature on God’s green Earth.

The smallest hand was wrapped around your finger, swaddled in the cream colored blanket your mother knitted just for her. The baby came out kicking and screaming after almost two hours of pushing. You cried out for John, wanting him by your side more than anything. To hold your hand, to kiss you so deeply when the baby came and was placed on your chest. Your mother knew how much you missed John, your forlorn looks never fooling her, and so she felt great sympathy hearing you scream out for your past lover.

“Look at you, Bunny,” you whisper, stroking the soft cheek of your little girl ever-so-softly.

“Oh, you did such a good job, my love,” a kiss was placed on your cheek by your mother, her hand resting on the back of the baby’s bunny hat covered head.

You would go through the pain of carrying her and bringing her forth a million times over, your heart swelling so much it might have exploded when your eyes caught the looks of her face. She was so perfect, so tiny. The moment she was placed on your chest, her eyes peered right into yours– those same crystal blue eyes she shared with her father.

It was late morning the next day. John hadn’t slept a wink, his eyes heavy and Soap was late to debriefing– like that was a new thing though. He decided to sit at the table instead of the podium at the front of the room where the projector screen hung behind it, too exhausted to stand for more than needed. Gaz was away on deployment, leaving Ghost and Soap to sit in the seats to the right and left of him. Ghost’s eyes peered at his newest deployment papers, flipping through the pages pretty quickly as he was a fast reader. Soap had his head down, phone hidden under the table while there was a moment of silence– a break of sorts, in John’s meeting.

“She had the baby, bonnie lass she is,” Soap says out loud, Ghost looking up from his papers with a quiet hum.

John frantically dug his phone out of his pocket, searching your mother’s name on social media. There you were, holding the tiniest bundle in your arms, swaddled inside a knitted blanket with her hands tucked under her chin. He had to leave, he needed a moment. The chair screeches when he stands, Soap’s attention snapping to his Captain, who started rushing out the door.

Sharing a confused look with Ghost, Soap stood from his seat and left the room. Why did he leave in such a hurry? Why did he react like that in general? Soap was searching his brain for the possible answer. Come to think of it, Soap never noticed a gentleman by your side during your pregnancy and your mother had mentioned in posts how you were so strong and she was lucky to be by your side during this new adventure. Was John that baby’s father? Why was he not there with you? But then it all began to make sense the longer Soap thought– the SAS and Task Force were always keeping themselves hot on the tails of dangerous people, and those dangerous people would stop at nothing to take everything away from them. Maybe this was a mutual decision– and exactly why you left the military.

John’s breathing was heavy as he shut the door to his room behind him. He felt unstable on his feet, nearly tripping on his way to sit on his bed. Your photo was zoomed in on his phone, your hair was disheveled, your hospital gown hanging from your shoulders– he was guessing you’d already attempted to feed the baby with how lazily it had been tied back up. John’s eyes focus on the baby, his heart skipping a beat when he looks at her sweet button nose and wispy little hairs poking out from her knitted bunny hat. Oh how beautiful his girls looked after all of their hard work. Pride swells in his chest, he knew this must have been so difficult, but you did it and looked even more beautiful than before as a new mother.

The nights were long, the days melted together, and you found yourself lost. Though your mother lent a hand when she was available, you had taken on so much so quickly and had no adjustment time, as having a baby would do. Between nursing the baby and running on less sleep than you had gotten on some of your deployments, you were ingesting more caffeine than you liked, and you often found yourself nodding off at random times. But that little girl had been the easiest to please so far. As long as she got milk, had a clean nappy, warm clothes, and cuddles, she was content.

John would have been the one to wake up at the first signs of movement in the bassinet– he was an incredibly light sleeper and would often rise earlier than most of his team. He’d say how much of a waste it was to sleep the morning away when you could be productive and get more important things done before the day actually needed to start. You weren’t much of a morning person and would often tell John to let you sleep in until the last possible minute if you stayed in his room for the night, but you always managed to slip out of his room before anyone came into the halls.

Your mind wandered more during your maternity leave, often you questioned what John was doing, if he knew his daughter had arrived safely and if he knew how beautiful she was. Did he have any deployments in the time you were discharged to now? You were sure he was busy, as he always had been.

A few weeks passed and John was on leave for three weeks, visiting home and executing plans he made with Soap for the day, who was taking a leave around the same time as John for a wedding. While walking the streets of London, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Soap to his side, the two talked about quick bite options nearby. John had a cafe in mind, mentioning that they had great coffee and sandwiches.

The late winter air nipped John’s nose, the tip dusted a light pink. He had a black beanie placed atop his head and a black peacoat over his jumper. Soap’s outfit resembled the outfit John wore, save the beanie, but add a scarf. Soap had attempted to reach out to you on multiple occasions since having the baby, but of course, you didn’t answer. Soap knew that he shouldn’t keep trying to pry and answer out of you, but he also knew that you needed the support of a friend, even though he wanted to be more than a friend.

Price felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, telling Soap to go on ahead and order for them both– Price wasn’t picky. Opening the door to the cafe, Soap felt an immediate warmth wash over him and the heavy smell of coffee filling his nose. Taking a spot in the short line, he stared at the menu above, until he became distracted by the woman in front of him, kissing a very small baby on the head, cooing and rocking her body as her hands caressed the sling that held the baby to her chest. He knew your voice anywhere.

“Y/N?” He places his large hand on your shoulder, spinning you to face him.

Your eyes were wide, a scared look on your face until you noticed Soap’s familiar face. Barely able to string words together, Soap took you by the arm and dragged you to the side, his arms engulfing you in an embrace, careful as to not smoosh the baby’s head between your two chests.

“Why didn’t you answer my messages?” Soap’s low voice vibrates the side of your face as your arms wrap around him.

“I didn’t want my old life to follow me because of her,” your voice trembles.

“But you didn’t have to face this alone.”

“I do though,” you pull away, looking at Soap with watery eyes.

Feeling his heart sink, knowing that what you said was true, he didn’t want it to be. He wanted to be the one to hold you– support you, and keep you safe. Even though what Price was doing was carrying out the same purpose.

“She’s a beauty,” Soap nods to the sleeping baby covered almost entirely inside your sling, her little face settled against your chest, lips puckering as she stirs to get more comfortable.

“Thank you Johnny,” you smile, stroking her cheek softly, then adjusting the knitted bunny hat to sit closer to her eyebrows.

Johnny– he hadn’t heard you say his real name in so long, it was like a treat hearing it leave your soft lips.

“Reach out to me from time to time, just so I know you’re doing okay?” Soap pleads, his hands resting on your shoulders, squeezing them lightly to get his words through to you.

Nodding with a soft smile, you could hear your name being called by the barista. Grabbing your coffee, you turn to exit the cafe, offering Soap a soft “bye,” as you pass him. You wrap your thick shawl around the baby tight, holding onto her with one hand while you balance your coffee in the other. You were only minutes from your mother’s house, and the fresh air was something you needed after being cooped up in the house for so long.

Then you see him– John. He was ending a call on his phone, placing it back in his coat pocket before setting off on his walk to the cafe to meet back up with Soap. Your heart was pounding, and almost as if the baby senses your unease, she begins to stir and whimper. You walk closer and closer to where John’s position is by a lamp post. His eyes spot you and his body freezes in place. You keep walking, shushing the baby softly, your hand placed on her back to let her know her mother was right here.

“You’re alright, Little Bunny,” you say into her hat, softly kissing the crown of her head as you pass John.

His daughter was right there, cozily pressed against your body in the chilly climate. The baby wore a cream knitted bunny ear hat, one ear flopping over the side of the sling. She looked so much like the both of you, it almost scared him. He wanted to hold her— hold you. It ate away at his insides, turning his guts to liquid as he watched your eyelashes flutter down to the ground, watching your feet.

Tears were falling like mad down your face as you passed him without a word, John watching you in disbelief– he didn’t think he would be able to rest his eyes upon you again, not after going this long without contact. But it was for the best, you both knew this.

His eyes followed you until you were no longer in sight, making sure you were absolutely safe with the baby. Life could be different, he could run after you and grovel on his knees for forgiveness. To beg you to forget he was ever cold to you and to start fresh. But he couldn’t, especially not after how things ended and with knowing he’d jeopardize yours and the baby’s safety.

It was days later that you had run into Soap and John while out in London. You hadn’t slept right in days and it was a mixture of having a newborn who needed your attention and the anxiousness of seeing your old lover and not being able to think about a thing other than him.

Your mother’s footsteps can be heard ascending the stairs and she soon appears in the doorway with a small parcel. Handing it to you and planting herself on your bed next to you, she waits for you to open it. As you tear into the parcel, peeling the tape and opening the box, you look inside and see a knitted bunny, the yarn pink and soft. Pulling the bunny out, you notice a note attached to it, neatly folded and taped shut. As you carefully open the note, your eyes scan over the words written on it. You knew that handwriting— John’s handwriting.

“For Little Bunny.”

#cod mwii #cod fanfic #cod imagine #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mwii #call of duty imagine #call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you

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alexeishostakoff · 10 months

Text

Before there’s Gideon the First, there’s a man called G--. G-- has this best friend, has had him since they were both broke brown boys trying to make it out of the deadends they were drowning in, has been had by him since the very first day. G-- has this best friend, and he loves him, and his friend asks him to take a suitcase nuke to Melbourne, and G-- doesn’t say Anything for you, John, G-- just does it.

G-- is atomized and Gideon is resurrected. John rebuilds him from memory and an arm he cut off of G-- before he left, not that Gideon knows that. This body is the only one Gideon’s ever known, so it shouldn’t feel so wrong, but it. Does. A stretched out thing of muscle mass, at times too bulky or too frail, bits soldered together in a clunky mess. Gideon’s soul is awkwardly shoved into his skin, and he hones the whole of it into the finest weapon this galaxy’s ever seen, and it hurts every time he swallows for ten thousand years.

Gideon’s lips are not his own. His cavalier - no, he’s hers, before she’s his. Her necromancer, her Gideon. They say John and Pyrrha are the only two people Gideon listens to, the only two people to get him to do something he wouldn’t do himself. Augustine and Mercymorn ascended hours before, and Pyrrha hands Gideon his spear with one untrembling motion, and tells him to kiss her before he plunges it into her chest. He does, and it leaves his mouth bloody and numb, and he sits there for hours until she is cold in him, and they call him the Saint of Duty.

The thing is that. Sometimes, Gideon forgets. He wakes in a room with no memory of walking there. Cassiopeia references a conversation he doesn’t remember having. When he blinks once, Cyrus’ funeral passes him by. He finds himself terrified to sleep lest he miss another moment, and he knows then that he is insane. He cannot trust his mind, and so he hands over every last scrap of his faith to John instead, and it is from him that he takes all direction.

This body is a horror show. It is a constant cave in. He is not invulnerable; he breaks and he mends again. Flesh knits together, bones clatter into place, neck twists one hundred and eighty degrees to right itself. It is detached. It is not himself, but he is not himself, there is something else rattling around in this husk of him, and he does not know what it is. He puts his faith in John. He puts his faith in John. Salvation, to fight and die for him. He fucks him once, bruisegrip on his hips in John’s flagship, and he does not kiss him.

This, then, is to be Gideon: a string of orders, a constant motion. A love, an utter terror. He believed in something once, he did. He’s never been a fool, though he’s always been a landmine, always waiting for the right time to detonate. Hard way to live. Good way to die.

He finds a little moon once, a solid place to farm, twist his everunbroken fingers around a plow instead of a spear. He thinks about it whenever he comes to, cold and unsure of how he got there. He wonders if this thing inside him knows about it too. Wonders if one day, he’ll just wake up there, knuckle deep in the soil, and if he’d ever walk away for anything else.

He doesn’t know that he could. He doesn’t know that he wants to. They die like this: CyrusUlyssesCassiopeiaCytherea, and he hopes John’ll forgive him if he’s next on the list.

#tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the first #g1deon #g1deon x john #g1deon x pyrrha #gideon x john #gideon x pyrrha #john gaius #textpost #eliza writes #johngideon

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twistedbloodstain · 11 months

Note

could you please write a marquis fanfic where the reader is Akira’s sister and Vincent kidnaps her in hopes to lure John wick but he ends up just falling in love with her 😭

vincent de gramont x reader: i’d live and die for moments that we stole | words and wind.

plot: the one where you entered his estate in chains but left his home with his heart.

warning: lots of threats from mr. gramont here, one sided love, unrequited love, forced proximity but the force is him, akira’s sister!reader, dutiful reader, vincent winning the idgaf war a little too much here

masterlist

part two

a stroke of pain slowly goes through your temples, you wince. remembering how you accidentally hit your head on the floor when one of the guards had scampered on you when you tried to flee him, that’s when you realized that the marquis had no intention of negotiating with you.

it’s not often that you end up with situations like these, especially with how generous and thoughtful your terms had been with the marquis. you’ve gone through worse terms and even worser odds of successful negotiations, you just hadn’t realized what a fucking animal he was. for this to happen is surely a jab on your pride.

a metal clink rings through the room, a heavy and thick chain bound to your ankle. it was starting to cramp your leg with how large the chain was, you had half a mind to saw it out of your body because you feared that it might’ve lost function with how numb it was starting to feel.

the door opens and you look up. you don’t see anything or anyone right away with how dark it was. you had little to no source of light due to the current state of the night. it was pitch black and the only source of light you had was through the small window so far up the wall during the day.

but you don’t need to see to know who came through the door. it was the marquis, ever since your capture he had visited you in random times of the night to “negotiate.” which fueled your hatred for him due to him disturbing your sleep.

luckily, you’ve been expecting him.

a light bulb suddenly turns on which weakly illuminates the room, the luminescence was patchy but it was a welcoming sight to you. finally, you could see your prison.

you look up to him, still sat on the floor. it takes all your strength to not to lurch at him in anger even with the fact that his guards could easily deflect your attack and lead you somewhere worse.

the room you found yourself in was thankfully, clean. it was the size of a prison cell though, they did give you sufficient enough food but sometimes you had refused them out of lividness.

the small room seemed even smaller with the current person occupying it, the marquis’ height was staggering to behold and you had to admit it was intimidating at first.

all his aggressive and intimidation seemed nothing to your fury and determination as of now. it had all melted the moment he locked you in a cell which you assumed meant to drive you to compliance or insanity. he had another thing coming if he thought that one of shimazu’s children would bend to his fucking will.

“this is unacceptable and cruel, mademoiselle. i have recently received this unfavorable news from the tokyo continental. i found it important to share this with you immediately.” he speaks up then pauses. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this as you look into his eyes in disbelief.

he’s playing a new game with you again. a futile attempt for compliance but you’re not sure he knows it. did he think you were stupid and naive?

“after the recent assumptions of your capture, i had informed him of the new terms we agreed to…for a certain excommunicated individual, yet my informants say he has refused to comply even with the threat of his beloved daughter..being killed.” he continues when he notices that you had rolled your eyes at that. “he claims that you would’ve never agreed to it, we disagree with that don’t we, mademoiselle?” he mockingly asks.

you hadn’t agreed, which is precisely why you’re locked up in a cemented cage in the middle of nowhere. you had expected him to be courteous and polite as a representative of the table but you should’ve also expected that he wouldn’t be lenient with you.

“what kind of father abandons his daughter to die? not a good one, i suppose.” he taunts, “i have no idea how you must feel, anger probably. even under that facade you have-“

“lies have always come easy to you. does it?” you interrupt him.

this makes a corner of his lips tug, a smirk almost forming in the process.

“i have something for you.” he announces, you see a small box in his hand as he makes his way to you. you carefully eye him in hesitation as he kneels in front of you.

“anger too, you don’t seem the type to forgive and forget, everyone but me seems to know that.” you continue.

“in this world we live in, forgiveness should have no place in our hearts and forgetting is simply ignorance with different letters.” he replies as he sets the box down next to you.

“but concern, care and innocence…you’re not very good at that are you?” you finish in false pondering.

he chuckles at your words before replying to your statement, “you don’t seem to be alright. perhaps we can speak again when you are feeling much better?”

“we both know you did this, you are at fault for this and it amuses you to play with the lie that my father has forsaken me but i bet that he doesn’t even know about these terms you’ve offered, tell me what exactly were you trying to achieve?”

“i know that question is rhetorical but i will answer that for your enlightenment. accept the terms and you can finally go home. invite him to the continental under the guise of safe conduct and kill him, your father is acquainted with him, he will have his guard down.” he states matter of factly, you scoff at this.

“yes, i would finally go home. only to lead my family to fucking die, we both know what you’re asking from us. even if my father’s sentiments were put aside, we cannot kill him.” you urge him, “the moment he realizes our folly, my family is as good as buried.”

“my men will be present the moment he enters the establishment, you have nothing to fear. get your father to comply so we may finally get rid of him.”

“and how many men are you willing to offer?”

“sixty, but ten should be able to suffice. they’re quite proficient in their craft.”

“ten men or sixty, it matters little. they’ll be dead.” you scoff.

“your father won’t be the only old friend he’ll be seeing. i assume, you know caine?”

you quiet as you take that information in, you realized how desperate the high table must be to have john wick dead and how your family will be the one to pay the price for his death, which will surely be another insignificant number of dead people for them.

“having second thoughts, mademoiselle?” he eagerly inquires.

“with all due respect, i have to refuse you. accepting your terms puts a target on my family, i cannot risk that.” you disclose.

the marquis frowns, his eyes full of disappointment and displeasure from your answer. you presume that he must be on his way to leave you again, only to return in the middle of the night with another set of flowery words and false pretenses of remorse.

he suddenly yanks the chain strapped on your ankle and you yelp in pain, the skin wrapped around your bones is definitely sore and bruising. you’re pulled closer to him, you feel fear and fury fighting for control with the situation you’re facing.

“i have been too kind to you, mademoiselle. i hoped that my kindness to you would help you find common cause with me, it has failed and it will never work i finally see. i have a new proposal to make.” he grits out as he keeps his eyes on you, “get your father to follow the high table’s orders or they die. your father and sister, both. if you refuse to, rest assured i will send their heads to you.” he threatens.

he gets back up on his feet as he watches you take the information in while he slips his hand into his pocket, you hold back the cry that was boiling under your throat and your tears that were trying to escape the corner of your eyes. you look away from him, knowing that he noticed your current state of emotions but you can’t afford to feel weak and see his reaction out of it at the same time.

you wince inside with how pathetic you feel right now.

“perhaps that will give you a new answer to offer to me.” he taunts again, you promise to yourself that once you got out of here, he was fucking dead. one way or another he would be lifeless on the ground and it would be because of you.

“get out.” you whisper.

“finally, have you found your voice?”

“i said get out, you hateful bitch!” you scream at him, hurling the wooden box at him.

pieces of paper and stationery explode on the floor and you clench your jaw in anger at his statement.

“call out when you finally have an answer. hopefully, it is a letter to your father about your acquiescence.” he mutters as he makes his way to the door.

you lean back and sigh, finally letting a stray tear fall down your cheek.

you carefully watch the doctor inspect your ankle, you’re currently reclined on a soft loveseat placed in the middle of the elegantly furnished room. the marquis has taste you had to admit, though his home looked more like a palace than somewhere you’d relax.

you sigh to yourself, still annoyed that you were still in your prison. a lovelier one compared to the previous room but still a prison. you had given in to his demands, sooner or later john wick was entering the territory of the tokyo continental as expected. you had reluctantly written to your father about your agreement to the marquis’ orders, you desperately wanted to write the truth. in your days of isolation, it had only been you and your anger, leaving you to doubt certain aspects of your family.

you expected that your father might’ve been wary about your lengthy absence in france that he might at least send some of his men to come and fetch you yet you had heard nothing of the sort. this led you to doubt your family’s love for you but all these speculations turned to dust the moment the marquis entered the room.

it’s all his doing, you tell yourself.

he must be making it look like the negotiation was going smoothly and that you definitely weren’t locked up in a prison cell somewhere.

all your uncertainties were replaced with plans of malice the moment you had yourself free from the marquis. your long days spending time with yourself helped you formulate a plan to take him down simply because he had detained you.

and threatened to murder your family. it’s not really that petty.

he said it himself, forgiving and forgetting doesn’t exist in this world you both live in. it’s only fair.

of course, he wouldn’t die directly by your hand.

but you know someone that could.

you smile to yourself at the thought of him dead on the floor.

the doors fling open and the devil himself walks in.

you look back to see him, once again dressed impeccably and sophisticated. the marquis gestures his hand and you look back to the doctor who nods when he sees the movement of his hand then leaves.

he really has everyone with the flick of his hand.

he makes his way on the couch across you, embellished with silk and golden patterns dancing around the fabric. the couch creases as he sets himself down on the comfy material.

“i hope everything is to your liking, mademoiselle?” he starts as he leans back into the couch.

“it is, thank you.” you hesitantly thank him.

“no need, the high table rewards obedience and loyalty. sure, you have lost yourself in the earlier stages but it matters little. you have made the right choice.” he smirks at you, you fake a smile at him at his words.

“right.”

“how is your ankle?” he gestures at your limb propped on a footstool.

“better i think.” you speculate.

“that’s lovely to hear, you will need your strength soon. the earlier it heals the better.” he states.

you don’t make a reply out to him, choosing to stay silent. you knew his courtesies were empty as you learned the hard way plus what was there to say to him? you had questions for him but you weren’t sure he was eager to answer them or he reveled in leaving you in the dark, literally or figuratively.

not to mention, you still carried a heavy baggage of anger for him. there was no space for any sort of genuine amenity between the both of you, he had threatened to murder your father and sister, although you knew it was an effort to coerce you to follow his demands but you couldn’t help but feel that they weren’t empty threats.

you knew caine, he was an old friend of john’s and you also knew that the marquis was free to command him where to go and who to kill under the threat of murdering his daughter. you wince at this, as much as you knew that bloodshed often led to messier circumstances, you knew that as long as the marquis lived he could pull that card on you to make you obey.

who knows how much more you would have to sacrifice just to obey his whim? his words left a heavy impact on you, it had plagued you day and night which you anticipate was what the marquis wanted. you had written the letter to your father out of fear for their lives. your fear and fury was balanced, the more fear you felt the more fuel for your fury towards him.

that’s good, you’ll need all of that to get rid of him.

“does that mean i’ll stop being your prisoner?” you raise your eyebrow at him.

“prisoner? you speak of delusions, you are sitting on one of my chairs and staying in my home. you are no prisoner.” he scoffs.

you roll your eyes at him, the first lie always wins but the truth can easily cleanse that out, he can tell people whatever he likes but as long as they know of his nature your story is much more persuasive than his.

“then that means i can go home?” you ponder even if you already know the answer.

“what kind of host lets his guest leave their house injured and alone? certainly not someone like me, i insist you heal and rest.”

“the sooner i go home the sooner we can prepare for john wick’s arrival.” you firmly state.

he always liked to start conversations like this, pleasant courtesies and empty greetings, basically playing dumb.

“your father can prepare on his own, he has another daughter to help him. i wouldn’t worry too much.”

that can’t happen. you planned on seeking john wick yourself as soon as you left, you presumed that your letter might’ve brought you to the good graces of the marquis but you were clearly mistaken. you groan to yourself, your days of captivity had left you out of touch with reality and more opportunistic than before.

“are you serious?”

“i’m afraid i am.”

you want to scream at him again, you know that he’s not keeping you because of how much a gracious host he was. he was keeping you here so your father remains obedient and loyal to the high table. you were leverage, to make your father comply so that he doesn’t turn against them at the last second.

“are you so uncertain of your control that you need to make everyone bend at your will? you have forced me to my knees, what else do you want?” you ridicule him, the marquis frowns at this and rebuts.

“it is merely a precaution, mademoiselle. we must be careful with how we deal with situations like these, as you have learned.”

“my father will need me.” you state.

“you are an emissary, it is not befitting your station.”

“earlier you had this envoy shackled by chains and locked in a cell, you’ll have to be more specific to what is befitting my station.”

“the answer is no.”

you can feel anger bubbling under your skin again, although you did plan to enact your plan of revenge on him. you can’t help but feel rage at his stubbornness. once you finally sought john wick, you planned to help him challenge the marquis in a duel. something the marquis surely can’t refuse, his pride will definitely make him think that he has the upper hand on this but with the history of the excommunicated assassin there is little to no chance he’d be making it out alive.

he’ll probably pull a few unexpected obstacles and tricks to deter john wick but it should be a little nuisance for him, he already came this far. he wouldn’t lose by now.

“you will need all the help you can get when taking him down. it’s specifically why you have enlisted our help.” you convince him. hopefully, that should make him listen. he doesn’t like helping anyone other than himself.

“you sound too eager don’t you?” the marquis questions in suspicion.

“the earlier this is finished the sooner we can get back with our lives.” you smile.

you can shorten your time, all you would need was a few minutes with john to tell him what to do. you could make your way to winston to also help john in taking the marquis down out of vengeance for his recently departed friend and demolished hotel.

all you need to do is leave the marquis’ estate.

he quiets from your statement and sighs in resolve, “fine. i will let you go, i see no reason to refuse your request but you will arrive there with caine the moment john wick is sighted within the tokyo continental, is that understood?”

you grin in victory.

the first piece of his downfall begins.

“but rest assured mademoiselle, if i hear a whisper that you’ve turned against me the tokyo continental will be turned to ashes like the new york’s, with you and your family inside it.” he warns, with mockery and amusement on his lips.

your stomach churns in dread.

taglist: @blsmbr

author’s note: this is supposed to be a one part fic only but tumblr won’t let me copy and paste the entire thing soo…here is part 1 will post again tomorrow. :) i’m currently working on other requests so this should be quick, like and reblog also feel free to request!

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lvlyghost · 1 year

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Call of Duty Headcanons: Vol I✨

How they’d react to their civilian s/o getting hurt

Pairings: John Price x Fem!Civilian!Reader

Tw: mentions of blood, angst(?, knife wound, price is sad. Laswell makes an appearance. Brief mention of Ghost bc 🥰. There’s probably more but I’m bad at this🧍🏻‍♀️

A/N: Heyyyy. So this is my first time writing something and posting it 👉🏻👈🏻 please bear with me and consider english is not my first language 🥹 corrections are appreciated ✨💃🏻I’ll be posting the rest in the upcoming days💕🌼 Enjoy!

Vol II✨ Vol III✨ Vol IV✨

The moment he had stepped in he knew something was wrong. The living room in complete darkness safe from the dim light coming from the lamp in your room. Door ajar.

He almost trembled at the utter sound of nothing.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the dead of the night, making his way to the bedroom you too shared.

Pushing the door open with more strength than he intended to, he saw you laying on the beige carpet, now stained with a deep red color tracing a path towards your body. As if someone had cut themselves by accident and left traces of blood behind.

“No, no, no, no, no.” His face contorted in pain.

Price had seen a fair amount of atrocities in his line of work. Bullet wounds, soldiers losing their limbs due to grenades. Lost brothers in every mission some of them dying on his watch. In his arms.

He crouched down, the absolute gruesome scene imprinted in his memory for the rest of his life. It wasn’t looking good yet he forced himself to breathe caressing your left cheek, trying to feel you. But your once warm body had gone pale and cold. His heart aches, like having his own soul being torn apart.

“Come on now, love. I’m here now.” John raked his eyes through your body until he found the wound. A few centimeters above your belly button. He froze for a second too long. A knife wound. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. It was inhumane. The amount of blood coming out from you. He placed one of his big hands to try to stop you from bleeding out. He had done it more times than he can remember. But never you. Just not you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were good. Too good to be true. Too good for him. You were supposed to be safe from any bloody harm. He swore a silent oath that he’d look after his girl, he’d protect you even if it meant risking his own meaningless life. Tears began to prickle in the corner of his eyes. Jaw tightening. He has to be strong. But how? You’re his life force and now… why, why… why you.

“John.”

More blood comes spluttering from your mouth as you try to speak, say something to him. Tell him to not worry, that you’d be fine. It wasn’t that bad, was it? Your eyes were starting to close, your body losing life.

“Shh, love. Save your energy. Just… just, don’t close your eyes… keep ‘em on me okay? I’m getting you out of here now.

“Remember that trip to Florida we said we’d take when I got back? 1 hotel south beach?” A slow hum came from your red stained lips. “I got the tickets yesterday night. But I need you to be strong, eh?” He swallowed, hard. He was choking with his own emotions. There was a fire burning in his throat. She nodded, even through her watery eyes, even through the fear, she dared to believe. She believed that he would save her. And that was enough.

He’d call Laswell right away. Whatever this is, it wasn’t a random attack. His Captain instincts were screaming at him. John felt the presence of the person he trusted the most aside from Ghost, coming to stand by him. His eyes never once left your fragile body on the hospital bed. Looking vulnerable, small. Yet a fighter.

That’s my girl.

Price dreaded that if he left your side for a second you’d slip through his fingers. You’d be gone someplace he simply cannot follow.

“Made some calls.” Kate told him. John didn’t look at her, at first, he simply nodded ever so slightly. “We have reasons to believe this was a warning. A way to to get to you. To get your attention.”

“Well they bloody have it now, Kate.” He said, through gritted teeth. Clenching and unclenching his hands, finally turning his gaze to her. “Call my fucking team.”

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llovelyclouds · 9 months

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notes on pyrrha dve

heres all the relevant info i took note of on pyrrha during my tlt reread, in one place!

(you can find all the other posts from this project here!)

PYRRHA DVE

titles:

Gideon’s cavalier, first gen, founded the second

greek mythological orgin of the name pyrrha

also, pyrrhic victory

notes from gideon the ninth:

G1deon & Pyrrha's room in Canaan house includes a drawing of a chimaera that Gideon describes as "familiar" and a picture on the wall of John and his pals (presumably) with everyone's faces scribbled out with a thick black marker. Also guns (gtn. pg. 205)

notes from harrow the ninth:

presumably lead the development of her and G1dieon's trial at Canaan house, as Mercy refers to it as "Pyrrha's trial" (htn. pg. 97)

The reason G1deon is named the Saint of Duty (htn. pg. 177)

Asked Wake to kill G1deon quickly (htn. pg. 205)

Was most likely the one conscious in G1dieon’s body when Harrow caught her fucking Wake in Cytherea’s body????? (htn. pg. 216)

"I will remember the first time you kissed me- you apologised- you said, I am sorry, destroy me as I am, but I want to kiss you before I am killed, and I said to you why, and you said, because I have only once met someone so utterly willing to burn for what they believed in, and I loved him on sight, and the first time I died I asked of him what I now ask of you / I kissed you and later I would kiss him too before I understood what you were, and all three of us lived to regret it- but when I am in heaven I will remember your mouth, and when you roast down in hell I think you will remember mine" -Wake's note (htn. pg. 252)

All the lyctors and John loved her (and also thought she was super hot) (htn. pg. 274)

Augustine developed his smoking habit to impress her (htn. pg. 275)

Was ten years older than Augustine (htn. Pg. 278)

G1deon & Pyrrha liked Alecto despite the fact that the other lyctors (at least Mercy and Augustine) didn't (htn. pg. 479)

Mattaius Nonius fought G1deon, and seems to owe Pyrrha a debt (htn. pg. 455)

"We compartmentalised from the Eightfold Word, just like you and your girl- though I'm an accident, and he took more from me than got taken from you. I was able to go underground, even from him."- Pyrrha (htn. pg. 494)

notes from nona the ninth:

Used to be a cop, made detective, knew Gideon from "way back" (ntn. pg. 74)

"'You should be draining and replacing her fucking brain fluid,' said Pyrrha. 'When Gideon and I designed that trial, I used to crack his skull and sieve it myself, just as a control variable. It's aggregative. I doubt you're testing her white blood cell count either. The only other people I put through that damn trial were Mercy and Cris, because only Cris didn't mind being trepanned on the regular. Fucking around with souls is the problem, Sextus… you can't ever get data on souls.'" - Pyrrha, discussing when Cam & Pal "overlap" (ntn. pg. 84)

"I visited her hometown back before Anastasia got settled, and it was grim as fuck then. Just spooky caves all the way down…" -Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 86)

"'Do they still do gravid carry where you come from?' 'On the Sixth, only for research,' said Palamedes. 'I helped at a birth once. Theres a lot of noise and run-up before the real thing happens.'" -Pyrrha and Palamedes (ntn. pg. 121)

"P- was great, but like, Ministry ties or no Ministry ties, a big part of her career was going around to the local high schools and telling the drugs kids that they shouldn't be doing drugs. She'd won medals for competition shooting back north in Hamilton, but we're not talking Jesse James. We're talking Hamilton."- john (ntn. pg. 191)

"She chose us that day, not her career. I always loved her for that. She'd adored being a cop." -john (ntn. pg. 191)

"and it was P- of all people who said, First things first. If they're going to let us fix the world, you've got to make them take us seriously. Get some leverage. If they want to make you into a bad wizard, be a bad wizard. We can write the history books to say you were a good wizard. Or at least an okay wizard. They're not going to listen because we talk nicely, they're going to listen because we scare the shit out of them. He said, Which goes to show you that only getting to NCEA Level 2 isnt going to stop you making waves in life, right." (ntn. pg. 271)

"Nona had thrown exactly two tantrums in her entire life. She couldn't remember anything about the first one, but Pyrrha had told her about it. Pyrrha had been laughing with her mouth, but not with her eyes: her eyes had been very brown and distant and uneasy, as though this tantrum had reminded Pyrrha of something her brain didn't want to bring back." (ntn. pg. 275)

She mentions disco?? how does she know what disco is??? (ntn. pg. 362)

"Gideon… G-, you died for nothing." -Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 390)

“I remember P- behind a barricade… not dead yet… telling me, John, run.” (ntn. pg. 406)

Died pretty immediately after Mercy and Augustine, but before G1deon (ntn. Pg. 407)

“Who are you, foreigner, that you know the mysteries of the Anastasian?” “I was here before it was the Anastasian,” said Pyrrha absently. “Painted a nursery. Mint green.” (ntn. pg. 453)

“Cass and Mercy and I worked on cell thanergy- we need thanergy, fresh thanergy, to activate…” - Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 471)

“And Alecto said, Pyrrha, he laid me down as an appeasement to them; he fed you to them as an appeasement to them; but he has never appeased me, and now all he has done was teach me how to die.“ (ntn. Pg. 476)

#junos silly little locked tomb thoughts #tlt #the locked tomb #tlt meta #tlt analysis #gtn #htn #ntn #atn #ntn spoilers #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #alecto the ninth #pyrrha #pyrrha dve

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paradlselost · 1 month

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CRIMSON.

JOHN SEED X FEMALE DEPUTY

Sort of a dump, I was really debating on just publishing this as a WIP but I was halfway through the smut and decided to just finish it. Not my best, but I tried to go for a more canon accurate John, which means he’s a major freak in this sorry :/

I mentioned it in the fic but didn’t go too deep, I kinda love toying with the idea of a more selfish deputy - humanizing them. If I were to ever write a longer fic with more of an oc-ized version of the deputy would anyone read? Let me know.

I probably won’t post about John Seed or FC5 for a little while after this. I have ideas for a Black Noir (my bbg) fic and then a Father Paul Hill one from Midnight Mass cause I love religious trauma as y’all can tell. I do also like indoctrinated!deputy so maybe maybe eventually I write about that.

2.7k words

content warnings: mentions of cutting into flesh. smut — dubcon, choking, blood play (John being a freak sorry), dryhumping, oral (m receiving), fingering, debauchery in a house of God.

She should’ve known from the start, when the crackle of her radio sounded, interjecting her music with his voice; that this request was nothing but trouble. But rage had blinded her, wrath seeped into every pore in her body, selfishness.

It was never the Deputy’s plan to become the symbol for the resistance, even after the blades of the helicopter stopped, and smoke and fire billowed out from the engine. Even after Dutch saved her and enlisted her help, and despite the stories from countless other resistance members, she only really had one prerogative; save her friends.

Hudson, Pratt, Whitehorse. Trapped in the claws of the cult, it was her duty to get them back, and despite the help she had been giving to the resistance, those were the only three people she cared about.

He knew this, stalking her like a cat preparing to pounce, he watched every facet of her life from the moment she ventured into Holland Valley that he could. A selfish little thing, ripe for his obsession.

John Seed was a proud man, bold and brave as he had so eloquently begged Jacob to put in his song. His pedestal as a Herald inflated his ego, the knowledge that without him Eden’s Gate wouldn’t have prospered nearly as much fueled his narcissism, which is why he surrounded himself with only the peggies who would do anything for him.

He isn’t sure whether new members are supposed to pledge their lives to him and the cult, but it sounds so sweet when the floor pools with the blood of their atonement and he coaxes those little words from his new followers' lips. His tongue is coated in silver, he loves this new power, and she threatens to take that from him.

He knew she wouldn’t be as proactive if he crooned to her that he had a resistance member or two, and she would swing in guns blazing if he claimed to have Hudson right beside him. So, instead he played on her curiosity, that little nudge in the back of her mind that forced her to seek him out whenever he called. Like a moth to a flame.

“Fuck you, Seed!” Voice so filled with venom it might’ve burned a hole in the floor, he tilted his head at her profanity, a sadistic grin playing on his face.

Hope County was filled with little white churches, chapels with steeples that attempted to reach to the heavens above. She assumed they were much more lively before, now most were barren except on Sundays, when the peggies who could not fit onto Joseph’s compound would listen to him under random roofs of God.

This. He chose to be under the white ceiling specifically, to call her into the thing she had been fighting against. To hear her screams echo against the chipped painting that decorated the walls, for her blood to be stained on the old wooden floorboards.

Curiosity killed the cat. She was stupid enough to venture into his trap, falling to the ground when hit hard enough over the head, and now she was stupid enough to attempt to fight off the peggies that held either arm.

“Such profanity. You’re in a house of God, Deputy, mind your tongue.” He scolded her as if she was a misbehaving child, as if everything she had ever done could be chalked up to that. A spoiled rotten brat.

His fingers danced over the tools he had brought with him, his trusty tattoo gun being at the top, but an assortment of knives he also deemed fit for this occasion. Oh, the blood she would spill for him, he became giddy at the thought.

“Get off of me-! Woah woah woah- hey stop!” Yelping, she still attempted to fight off the peggies that held her arms, she shied away when he advanced toward her, tattoo gun in his hands. He had tried this before, she knew what he was doing.

“No one here to help you now, Wrath. Don’t try and fight, your atonement will hurt much less if you cooperate.” He was too calm for this situation, a practiced art he had been through hundreds of times. It was a skill, making people spill their most intimate secrets, a skill he had perfected.

The Deputy was a fighter, through and through, though John could understand Jacobs words. She was weak without her companions, without pastor Jerome stealing her from her atonement, or Nick Rye strafing his armed convoy, she was nothing now - and it was almost endearing to him.

With her hands bound, she resorted to spitting that same venom that she held in her words, marking his perfect face with her saliva. He grimaced, wiping it off his cheek before it trailed down to his beard, pretty blue eyes flashing with that same bloodlust that dictated his every waking moment.

It was shocking to even the peggies that held her when he grabbed her by her throat, pinning her to the ground and straddling her hips. His hands shook with anger - the same wrath that he deemed consumed her now making an appearance in himself. Two sides of the same coin, two heads of a snake.

Her head ached now, body feeling as though it was echoing. A second blow to the back of her head that surely would’ve knocked her out if the pain of his tattoo gun wasn’t keeping her grounded. She didn’t know how fast he had ripped her shirt, or how long it would take for him to carve her skin, but she was reduced to pained whines and pleas for him to stop.

And he relished in the noises she made. The blood that covered his hands and trickled down her chest wasn’t an unusual sight for the herald - but her being the one under him made it all the more exciting. His Deputy, his wrath, his perfect rival. The peggies that stood above him now didn’t matter, and what are they to him anyways? Expendable followers he could use, the Deputy was everything.

“Yes yes, c’mon, keep pleading…” How could he help it? Her eyes half lidded as she looked up at him, hands no longer bound by the peggies now loosely grabbing the wrist that held the tattoo gun in an attempt to stop him. She looked so pathetic under him, so why shouldn’t he grind himself against her when his pants were so uncomfortably tight?

Her words didn’t quite reach his ears, not as he waved his followers out - who hurriedly scrambled in embarrassment. The old church was silent, save for her soft sobs and his intense breathing. His hand still placed over her neck made her choke on her words, which only fueled his desire. He could crush her windpipe, her life rested in his hands, and maybe he would’ve if the nagging reminder that she was the only way he was getting into New Eden wasn’t playing in the back of his head.

His ticket, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with her.

He removed his hand from her neck as he finished carving into her pretty skin. WRATH, her own personal scarlet letters. He hummed, looking down at her with lustful eyes, fluttering between hers and the blood that pooled on her chest and trickled down her body to the wooden floor below.

She hated the feeling that bubbled in her chest as the pain subsided, now only a dull ache danced with the look he gave her, how he rubbed the tent made in his pants against her. No doubt, a mark had been left on her neck - his handprint, a reminder. The world felt silent at this moment, when she should've pushed him off.

Selfishness. Prioritizing that small ache he gave her over what she should be doing. Finding anything to act as a weapon against him.

But she didn’t, not as his head lowered and she was greeted with his perfectly slicked back hair, shaking hands reaching to play with a strand. A soft grumble came from his throat, tongue lapping at the blood that trickled down the valley of her chest, tasting what he had drawn out of her.

“What are you doing-?” Her voice was soft, he barely heard it over the ringing in his ears. Too long had he been subjected to resorting to his hand when he thought about her, or messing up his silk pillowcases with his pretty ropes when she teased him over the radio. He had her under him, he wasn’t going to let her go now.

“Shh.” His voice was more scolding then he meant it to be, his tongue traveling from the blood he lapped at down to her budding nipple. He wasn’t gentle, and why should he be? After everything she had messed up for him, he felt it justified to bite down on her pretty flesh, pulling at the bud as much as he wanted.

He relished in the pretty, pained moans that fell from her lips, how her back arched into it. Two sides of the same coin, both reveling in whatever pain was brought to them.

The Deputy’s head tilted back, allowing him a chance to latch onto her neck as a vampire would, smearing the blood on his lips all over her pretty skin. He bit, marking her with his teeth over the forming bruises from his handprint. His hands, decorated in the crimson from his hold on the tattoo gun traveled down her body, painting her in her own red.

He slipped his hand below the rough fabric of her jeans, being met with a contrast, soft and delicate and slightly damp. A soft grumble left his lips at the feeling; which were still pressed against her pretty neck. He felt the way her breath hitched as he ran digits over her most delicate areas. Being so close to her neck, he felt how her muscles tightened and how her breath hitched in her throat.

Lifting her hips to meet his tattooed fingers, a small admission of need. She bit her bottom lip to suppress the noises that tempted to fall from her lips - not wanting to give him the satisfaction. They were still enemies, still rivals, at least to her.

John on the other hand seemed to be on cloud nine, relishing in how she moved against his hand, grinding herself through the fabric of her underwear. He bit down once more, slipping her out of her jeans and grabbing her hips, sitting up and pressing his pelvis against hers.

“John- John cmon…” Head thrown back, panting as she grabbed at the blue silk of his top. He tilted his head down at her, a sadistic smirk playing on his features.

He always took what he wanted, no matter who it was, and the Deputy was no exception to this. To him, it was God's Grace that placed them both here, that gave him the opportunity to rut his hips against hers.

The bulge in his covered jeans met her underwear, fucking himself against her covered cunt. He leaned down overtop of her, panting against her ear. Hot breath on her neck, the sounds of his soft moans mixing with his heavy breaths, and of course his restricted cock grazing just over her clit every couple of thrusts, it was enough to make any girl's eyes roll back.

He stopped, only for a moment, but long enough for her to let out a needy whine, lifting her head to see what he was doing. Tattooed fingers worked the EG belt off, letting his pants pool at his ankles. He wasted no time once they were off, underwear meeting underwear as the outline of his dick was much more pronounced.

“Fuck fuck, put your head back. Fucking-… good girl.” He groaned out, one hand leaving her hips and grabbing at her pretty hair, pulling her head back against the cold wooden floor of the church. She ached, head pounding and echoing from the injuries earlier - but the feeling of him fucking himself against her needy cunt kept her grounded.

In this moment, she needed him, needed this feeling to not pass out.

He tilted his own head back, sweat casting a slick sheen over his skin. A hand dipped against the drying blood on her chest, gathering what he could over his fingertips before bringing them to his lips, sucking on the bloodied digits. He groaned around his fingers, muffling the moans that threatened to fall.

The head of his cock strained against the blue fabric of his boxers, hips thrusting sloppily against her as his hand tightened on her hips, leaving pretty marks in his wake. One thrust, another thrust, and finally another before white pooled at the head, spurting out of the tiny holes in his underwear.

Panting, he finally moved his fingers out of his mouth, cleaned off the blood and tilted his head down at her almost mockingly; he got to finish, the cum that leaked from his underwear dripping down onto hers, and she didn’t get to. He relished in that, that power he had over her.

“H-hey! Not fair!”

“Oh, Deputy. Come here, maybe I’ll let you get off.”

He grinned as he stood up, fixing himself before moving back onto one of the pews, watching her scramble over to him. He had her eating out of the palm of his hand as she kneeled in front of him. Her head pounded harder, eyes a little woozy.

“Poor baby, rest your head, sweetheart.” He teased, a sadistic grin on his face as she nodded and rested against his thigh, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He couldn’t help himself, not if she looked so pretty right there in his grasp.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, watching her confused expression as he moved the blue fabric off of his legs, dick springing up as it was freed from the confinement of his underwear. Guiding her head over it, watching her part her pretty lips to suck on his leaking tip.

Milking his cock, swallowing the spurts of salty seed that spilled onto her tongue. She drained him for all he’s worth, looking up at him as he ran his fingers through her hair. He was soft and gentle in this moment, noises falling from his lips that told her how good she was doing. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be sucking off John Seed of all people.

He grinned as he watched her, once he was satisfied with the way she suckled on him, he grabbed her chin and pulled her off of him. Guiding her up to her feet, he let her loom over him. She wasn’t intimidating like this, he didn’t know if it was because he had just fucked her over their clothes or because she was relying on him for an orgasm, but she seemed almost adorable.

His lips found her neck once more as she leaned against him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. He forced her to stand, to spread her legs to allow his fingers to feel the now wet fabric of her panties. He hummed in satisfaction, moving them aside and tracing a finger over her slick folds.

A soft gasp left her lips, grabbing onto his shoulder and attempting to move back to look him in the eye. He grumbled, forcing her in that same position as he bit down on her neck, pushing a finger inside of her at the same time. He loved the moans that fell from her lips as he pumped a digit deeper inside of her.

Another finger stretched her out, deep enough to hit those nerves that made her legs tremble. She whined, shaking against him and propping herself up as he continued to pump in and out of her. He pulled away from her neck for only a moment, watching the way she buried her face against him and laughing softly.

He added one more finger before her legs fully began to tremble, grabbing onto his shoulder. Pumping more, fully reaching those nerves, which caused her to spasm around him, her orgasm flooding around his fingers. She rocked against him once or twice, chasing her high.

“Look at you, Deputy, needing me. Did I make you feel good? Use your words.”

#far cry 5 #john seed x deputy #john seed x female deputy #smut #john seed #</3 #fc5

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madstronaut · 2 months

Text

prepareth thineselves for another doozy of a ramblecommentating

obligatory alphalist link:

the pining. THE MOTHERFUCKING PINING IN THIS STORY is enough to power a standard size nuclear plant imo and madstronaut is here to do her civic duty as a staunch supporter of the environment and fighting fossil fuels, yes, truly the main reason i read smutty/yearny fic-

Reading: Christian Woman by @kneelingshadowsalome

“You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city.”

this is basically reverse tinder iykyk

“You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe.”

this very aptly desscribes how this story makes me feel. i cried the first time i read it through fully; just made me feel so many emotions 🥹🥹🥹

Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

i hope everyone experiences the happy accident of a spontaneous deep conversation with a stranger - feels like God/the universe just gifting you a random act of kindness

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.” girl you about to do a lot more than that very soon

You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue.

*when God sings with his creations, will not König's ass be part of the choir*

You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little.

just speaking personally quite a heady experience to have someone attempt to better themselves for you but way too easy for this dynamic go from sexy/flattering to emotionally off-kilter - how does the phrase go? with great pus-power comes great responsibility

Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet.

🥰🥺🥰🥺

He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over. fucking LOVE THIS LINE

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his.

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking.

this is such a great description of how a good ole crush feels - “you feel both safe and in danger with him”

It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

total sidenote but since I was just recently there - you wanna talk bright bubbly cafe next to dim cellar cafe - bedford cheese shop next to irving farm coffeeshop on irving place off union square in nyc fits these descriptions exactly lol

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way.

why did the following description make me think of john cena peacemaker, who does indeed own a fleshlight in the show 😂😂😂

And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve. a whole moooooood

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

we all need a friend like this 😂

If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else.

omg it me????

You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him.

recalling all those worship songs nicknamed “Jesus is my boyfriend” songs in youth group growing up😂😂😂😂

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

I want to banghang out with this Jesus tbh amigoingtohellfortypingthatmaybesavemeJesus😉

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are.

i knew she was a goner when she started talking about his hands

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. like i said WE ALL NEED A FRIEND LIKE THIS 😂

There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends.

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.

WHY NOT BOTH?

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

i appreciate how fleshed out our nun reader is <3 i found myself in a weird limbo of wanting her to remain true to herself while still navigating her faith (as someone also on a post(idk tbh?)-faith journey i find her spiritual self-wrestling very relatable and familiar)

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

probs goin to hell for this (but im on tumblr so im already here??? lmao) but S i r if u invented the whole concept u can at least watch and give me pointers/tips

And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

truly the absolute dirtiest sluttiest thing you can do fr fr let me say it once again with my whole chest 👏HOLDING👏HANDS👏IS👏FOR👏 SLUTSSSSSS👏 (it's me, the slut, im the slut)

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.

i remember my first innocent hand holdings/cheek kisses and they felt EXACTLY like this, reading this felt like salome went digging into my brainfolds and pulled the sensations out and put them in writing 🤯

The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake. omg nun reader your innocence is adorable all the better when watching it break

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. holy self-sabotage, batman - NUNREADER DONT DO THISSSSS

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…” excuse me while i mop myself off the floor; melted right off my chair

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

nun reader can i interest you in an alternate, similarly unpaid career trajectory of…*drumroll* SMUTTY FIC WRITING???? pls i will send u an ao3 invite and comment on every 5th syllable of your stories and be your 2nd-biggest personal hypebae (first one being her own bff who would be over the moon ofc)

The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers.

im deeefinitely picturing nun!aubrey plaza from the little hours below

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. spit my fuckin tea out at this, fucking hilarious

the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it. 🥺🥺🥺reminds me of old crushes/lovers who broke my heart. did u know how much you held when you had a piece of it? steadfastly not thinking of the ones i broke too🤪

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone.

i have often heard it said both in a spiritual and practical context that when your peace leaves a place, you should pay attention and leave with it and it’s still a very relevant and wise piece of advice imho

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

tw for churchish talk so pls skip if its not your cup of tea but without getting into all the fucked up stuff that is the monstrosity of evangelical churchianity, personally speaking one of the earliest places (and most constant sources) i learned about self-worth and compassion and love and extending it to myself and others was through people of faith (i know this might be ironic/offensive to some because believe me i have also been there in being traumatized/antagonized by ppl of faith as well but trying my best to hold all our different experiences and perspectives in hand to be able to see listen and understand the good the bad and grey and everything in between in a nuanced way, anyway story of my life); i wish i could offer similar encouragement i heard to nunreader - omg, can we instead focus on the verses/stuff in bible like Christ coming to set us free, not keep us chained to laws, God is love, loving God and others are apparently the two most important things in the faith and everything else rests on these two, also there is a shitttttton of smut in the bible coughsong of songs, the book no one ever preaches aboutcough and also i dont think the supposed inventor of sex hates sex, anyway ending my shittylittle fauxsermon/rant here but end of tw, back to the fic~

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. i know reader is deep in the cups of churchthought but this is honestly one of the most beautiful things ive read; i want to (and imho i do) ‘see God’ - see something divine, beautiful wondrous heavenly full of love and joy and peace and gentleness and kindness and all that other stuff from that galatians bit i dont recall now- in the people I love too

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. cough once again trawling through some old memories resurfacing from my churchish days but apparently one of the meanings of the original hebrew word for to know in the bible also meant to have sex with, i am 1000% serious👀👀👀

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over.

recalling an old convo with a guyfriend when we were discussing/joking about modesty and clothing and i joked that the ultimate level was a nun habit/outfit - in complete seriousness though he turned to me and said to a man in lust/love, the right woman has nothing she could wear that wouldn’t tempt him - including a nun outfit - and ive never forgotten what he said lol. I joked about ankles sticking out and then of course we dove into a deep discussion on the existential nature of feet fetishes. in hindsight, apologies to anyone nearby we may have traumatized/offended that june afternoon in washington square park

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home.

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

peak yearning right here. also i think salome captures thoughtprocess of nunreader so well in her eventually assauging her Intense Catholic Guilt™️ by basically equating König to Jesus/God, the only man nuns are allowed to simp for (if anyone is offended by the near-constant blasphemous shit in this post - tbh my whole blog - pls say a prayer for me lol)

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.” my SISTER in CHRIST, you just gave away your whole escape plan LMAO

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

nunreader i am cheering you on with little party hats and confetti bombs in spirit-

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

very into how nunreader is feeling herself here. yes my queen get ready to fucking get ittttttt

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

i am restraining the urge to dive into the screen into this story with my makeup kit to Give Reader A Mini-Makeover (i fucking LOVE those scenes in stories/shows/movies and also for me makeup is art and the canvas is my face/body and i enjoy perfecting my art on the daily- totally forget over the pandemic how much i enjoyed putting on makeup before going to work)

“Here, kitty, kitty…” why is this extremely goofy and sexy at the same time? peak König vibes tbh

Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

why not both, my sister, why not both? something something love is a many splendored thing - shakespeare probably

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. this is the cutest fucking thing ive ever read so far i am biting my pillow to shreds~ also König handfeeding strawberries to sis at the restaurant?? someone call 911 for public indecency???? hot damn and you were worried bout HOLDING HANDS???

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you. every girls dream 🥰🥰🥰

instantly getting hard from a first kiss does feel very könig-coded, do not @ me

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. not me also joining in-

The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain. not me getting together a petition.org straight to Jesus to cut our sister some slack-

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

on this note i remember being briefly fascinated by nuns/priests as a young madstronaut - mostly fascinated by these women living sans men in such a male-dominated world/space and foregoing sex/marriage (anyway little did i know of religious patriarchy and such then) but knowing what i know now, that under all the collars and habits and wimples are still regular people/human beings - i wonder how many IRL Christian Women fics are being lived out right now somewhere 👀coughBEFREEMYSISTERScough

He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one.

smellsandbells are my bread butter and jam! research has also shown the sense of smell is strongly linked with memory too and i can attest to this

The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves.

do not resist dear sister, no one can when COD men deck themselves out in full gear, its simply not physically spiritually mentally emotionally chemically possible, cold scientific fact, biblical gospel, incontrovertible truth, in this annotated research paper i will-

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. okay König fucking would say something like this lmao READ THE ROOM SIR but also sister has it d o w n b a d if shes able to recognize him just by the way he moves and “hear him smiling” iykyk

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place. sir i see right through your schemes and i am giving my 100% certified stamp of approval tbh i wouldn’t have even put it past him in this fic if he stabbed himself in a nonlethal area so sister can see some skin without ICG in teh way (Intense Catholic Guilt™️)

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

you and me both sister, you and me both

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “ pay no mind? my brother in christ you are giving free handouts (trying not to let my brain rot away thinking of double entendres here)

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.” sir sir if i can guess at the contents of some (most?) of these letters…may I ALSO interest you in an alternate albeit unpaid career trajectory of smutty fic writing-

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart.

damn this is peak writing right here. this rivals published writing ive read, all my standing ovations, slow claps, and hats off to you salome~ i go through tons and tons of fic in hopes to read sentences like these and stories like yours ❤️❤️❤️honestly their whole exchange with sis kneeling by him as he falls asleep is peak yearning/tenderness

also nunreader’s “why exactly does König like me so much, is it because of any other possible reason other than myself” is peak relatability - once again restraining myself from grabbing reader through the screen and giving them white-board scrawled peptalks breaking down why they are amazing and worthy

He must be getting better if he’s behaving like this... The man’s insufferable enough when he’s uninjured, but now that he’s getting pampered, he’s somehow even worse. 😂😂😂 sis finally gettin the memo

Your only summer dress resides at your parent’s house as a relic from the past, a token from your life before sisterhood. this is true, i recall reading that once someone enters the convent/monastery they basically get given one nun/priest outfit and like maybe a backup one when the main one gets washed? my new yorker fashionloving ass could never

“No, I’m not. I’m just some woman you bumped into in the street.”

“That’s exactly what an angel would say.”

😂😂😂

You sigh: it’s useless with König, hopeless, like trying to wrestle with God. No matter what you say or do, he always turns it against you in the sweetest possible way. as someone with the near-useless superpower of getting weird inside baseball bible/sunday school/youth group jokes/references however vague in modern lit/culture when they appear i appreciate the “wrestle with God” reference, peak research vibes

also the last line here really smacks of the nicer interpretation of what the abbess told sis: “God doesn’t test us, he loves us” <3

There’s nothing sexual about it, so why not?

she says “aint nothin sexual bout lyin in a bed, the primary location where people usually have sex, with an almost nude man who is horny/erect 95% of the time he is around you, alone, in what i can only describe as a an ideal small town honeymoon suite while it is moodily raining outside” my sister in christ, do you recall lying (yes even to yourself) is a s i n

also i have never been catholic but hot damn i was also blushing and did think König is fucking s h a m e l e s s reading about him feeling up sis STILL IN HER HABIT 😂

He’s ever so grateful for his saving angel, who he gets to cuddle “as a reward”. You don’t quite know if it's a reward for you or him.

once again my sister in christ w h y n o t b o t h (also im deliriously pleased i can use sister in christ with multi-layered meanings here)

“Perhaps we’ll stay there... Forget all this,” he chatters lazily, clearly in the same sweet bubble as you. ive always found it so sweet and vulnerable and tender hearing bfs/guys muse and daydream about a future together 🥰🥰 just hits different when boys do it, and openly too

the last of your armour, your pride and shame and vows, drift away like they were made of nothing but simple steam.

But there’s nothing to hold on to but him, so you anchor yourself in the dark hunger of his eyes.

That’s all the reply you get: a pleased, filthy stare of someone who’s about to wreck you up.

“Come here,” he says while you’re already locked in an inseparable embrace.

*chefs kiss* these lines are perfection

You start to cry in full, not even knowing why. You just know you’ve wanted this for ages. This connection, this ecstasy, this mutual presence and fulfilment, this sense of belonging to someone.

*nodding along sagely* yes cathartic cries are the best cries

your pussy wakes up after recovering from the initial shock… For some reason, it is vital for you not to let the old receptionist know that a humble sister of Christ is getting licked to ruin in his establishment.

HAHAHA SALOME OMFG ABSOLUTELY SCREECHED READING THIS

You’re going through several stages of ego death and bliss; you’re going through a crisis of faith and multiple rebirths while König is having a field day with your pussy. Honestly completely normal reaction imho

All thoughts of What if he doesn’t enjoy it evaporate when you see the demanding erection between his legs, pointing at you so viciously that you feel pity for the fabric of his pants.

fics that have genital personification have a special place in my heart. also i did not expect to write such a sentence today or in my life but here i am, thank you tumblr

You’re not wearing any bra; you stopped wearing them years ago as useless and immoral. ok hold up one moment why are bras immoral lol girl unless you are small enough to join the free the nip movement without penalities a good support system is vital!!!

“You naughty girl…” he says thickly.

tbh in context of entire fic König calling sis a naughty girl is probably the hottest thing he’s said…sir where did u get all this rizz

“Want to see what I got?”

…forget what I said about the rizz, this is the fucking goofiest follow-up he could say 😂😂😂 salome has König vibes down pat

You’re mesmerized to see him already tensing from the chest up, the tendons on his neck becoming visible as he grits his teeth together. 🥰🥰🥰 an absolute vision

It's riddled with chants of Put it in and Forget about the bloody plastic because even with your zero experience you know it wouldn't feel as good as skin *me, reading, also joining in the chant*

The room must be smelling like a sex cave by now. protip: make sure the smell is gone if you have guests coming over

It makes you smile; him being so happy with simple things such as good food and some kinky sex, a nice cuddle and a nap to top it off. giggling at nunreader thinking humping is kinky UGH WHY ARE YOU SO SWEET AND ADORABLE i just want to take you on a shopping and makeup spree and introduce you to things like bubble tea, dry shampoo, glossier merch, weekend farmer's markets at union square, the hot barista/server at veselka's-

“This is what I call liking someone so much it hurts.” 🥺🥺🥺 couldnt seduce a woman if he tried my ass

König learns your body language; he knows it like a native speaker by the end of the week. EAT YOUR HEART OUT DUOLINGO (please dont kill me i'll fix my streak i promise)

König only smiles on the bed while you treat him; it’s like his master plan finally worked. I FUCKIN CALLED IT

“I would never hurt you….and no one ever will.” their whole conversation here is one of my favorite scenes in the whole story.

Without mentioning König or what you’ve been up to lately, you simply tell her you’ve decided to move on with your life. yes, i am one of those plebs who clap when the plane lands, but for dramatic turning points in fanfic

You receive lots of well wishes, hugs, even tears when you tell others you’re leaving. Embarrassed that you almost got rid of your robes and sneaked out to another secret lover’s meeting without even saying farewell, you meet everyone with full presence until you find yourself crying too.

i love a fic that has lore and a bit of worldbuilding so well-built that you want to look around corners and peek into windows and doorways about what else there is - i found myself wondering about sister’s relationships here with the other nuns - but also loved that last phrase of reader finally feeling whole, “meeting everyone with full presence” after feeling so fractured and divided the first half of the story 👏👏👏we love a good full circle fic 👏👏👏

No wonder men die younger – you’d have to tie this specimen to a sturdy lamp post if you wanted him to stay put... i too think this everytime i see some dumb bullshit, mostly on @drunkpeopledoingthings

“Well, you’ve seen me,” you extend your hands to your sides, knowing you’ve already lost. “You can go back now.” there's something just very delicious watching someone fight a losing battle

desire pools, brims, until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore. loooooooove this phrasing

This must be one of the craziest things you’ve done in your life says reader, of having sex for the first time, a near universal experience

To you, he’s all men in one, the sheer mass of him making your thighs tremble from want. 🥰🥰🥰reader in love is so poetic <3

also yes squeaky beds are my kink, ty for including salome 🥰🥰🥰

also sis describing her pussy “hugging” dick has got to be the fluffiest smut ive ever read🥰🥰🥰

Ten times more powerful than the most blissful experiences with your God, you want to come here for worship again and again, to have his body entangled with yours. ah yes to know König is to know God indeed 😏😏😏😏😏

When done, he sinks half his weight on you, thoroughly spent, and you feel fulfilled, some deep-seated joy taking hold of everything that once was hollow. Curiously, all shame is absent. 🥹🥹🥹 i love this line so much. i hope everyone is able to experience this, especially if you like me have had some religious purity culture trauma in your life - there is no shame in love <3

The happiness, the pure joy in his eyes, is heartbreaking. At that moment, you know that all his silly jokes, follies, and babbles about taking you to the mountains and whisking you away have been real. They have been true, honest wishes... There is no lie in him, no jest, no fakeness. Just pure, simple joy from hearing that you finally chose him, too. 🥹🥹🥹

The old man doesn’t even care to look surprised when he sees you clothed in jeans and a simple shirt this time, smiling as you rush upstairs, hand in hand with König. okay but shoutout to this dude, you a real one for being the best unintentional wingman this side of europe

You can’t wait to sleep with him tonight: simply sleep with him, finally, curl up together in safety, do the most basic thing all lovers do. You can’t wait to wake up to a fresh dawn together, lovely, curious, and new. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

You take new vows: promising to yourself to live each day fully and bravely, and never again shut your heart.

The only thing left of you on your old bed is your black and white robe, and on it, a crucifix and a rose, and a note that says:

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love… But the greatest of these is love.

screaming crying i cant even explain how this fic made me feel, some mixture of joy and heartbreak and catharsis and healing all wrapped up in one as i found so many parallels both with reader and König at times and isn’t that just some of the best things about great stories, when it helps us see and feel and know and love ourselves and others in new ways we couldn’t before?

i wanted to do this absolutely lovely fic justice so ive literally been sprinkling comments on this during re-reads for months; i will close with a fitting - and catholic - quote that i love:

“There is a twilight zone in our hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves-our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and our drives-large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness. This is a very good thing. We will always remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility, but to a deep trust in those who love us. It is the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born.” - quote by Henri Nouwen, catholic priest

#madstrothought #FaFiCoWriMo #fanfiction #call of duty #König #Christian Woman (fic title - to avoid this going into the general tag lol)#kneelingshadowsalome #DanceofTheSevenVeils #König x reader #nun au #forbidden love

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bronx-bomber87 · 7 months

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Happy Saturday Fandom :) Zero Chenford in this one but good separate SL’s for them both. Really good growth for Tim though which at this point you all know I love. Let’s dive on in.

3x12 Brave heart.

Tim is paired with Nyla today since Nolan is otherwise occupied. They visit the hospital since Harper wants to check in on John and his son. Tim is annoyed cause they’re gonna get roped into something just being there. He takes a phone call while Harper checks in. It's the venue he booked for Angela's bachelorette party. They're calling him to say they're canceling and keeping his deposit. Tim was already grumpy being here and this is not helping.

Harper rejoins him and he asks her opinion on venues and she's got nothing for him haha They're about to leave then Lo and behold they spot guys with concealed carry’s. Tim mutters how it’s been less than 5 minutes since they arrived. Grumpy Tim has arrived and isn't leaving anytime soon. I do love how he walks up to them. Hand on his duty belt as they approach. Me likey. This man makes me a puddle just walking. My god. How does he do this? The man tries to charm them both. Saying how they must be recruiting from modeling schools now.

It's not working in the least. He then adds on between Tim and Nyla he can’t tell which one is prettier. Harper cuts him off and says clearly her HA! Tim looks so offended. His reaction is the best part. He low key knows how handsome he is. Except when women announce it then he’s shy af. He looks like he took it so personally. LOL

No Lucy around to help him lick his wounds. It's ok Tim I think you're the prettier one hehe They quickly find out it’s La Fiera’s body guards. Their cop spidey senses immediately going into overdrive. Tim groans because now they’re gonna be here all day. Harper asks him what he thinks she’s doing here? Tim says 'Nothing good'… We know that’s right.

Lucy and Jackson are also at the hospital. Their rolling stop turned into more. She took off and destroyed city property. She injured herself in the process and cut her arm. They’re now stuck there until she is patched up. Jackson says he’s gonna grab breakfast since he didn’t this morning. Lucy questions him skipping a meal. He replies he didn’t have a choice Tamara is eating them out of house and home.

Lucy apologies for thrusting her upon their living situation. Jackson is trying to be sweet about it says it’s ok… but wondering when she’s going to be leaving? Lucy says it’s so hard to get ahold of the housing program. They have crazy long wait times to check on her application. Jackson mentions using right now to check since they’re stuck anyways. Lucy lights up says that’s a good point. She gets very excited only 3 callers in line. She is so adorable I can not.

Jackson makes his way back to Lucy. She mocks him for his terrible breakfast choice. I mean it's not a great one ha Everything seems like it’s lining up for them. Their suspect is all patched up so they are ready to go. Their suspects runs just as Lucy’s phone call is answered. Poor Lucy that's some bad luck. Lucy hangs up losing her place in line. They chase her all the way to the parking lot where she passes out….They find out she’s a drug mule and that’s why she collapsed. They’re gonna be at at hospital even longer now especially waiting for a Narcotics detective to show up.

Angela is made aware of La Fiera’s presence at the hospital. Walks away from her OB appointment leaving Wesley hanging. She finds out she’s here "Just for her son." Angela doesn’t believe that for a minute. Wesley comes and finds them all angry she missed her appointment. Tries to ask Tim if this was work related? He makes sure to stay out of their spat LOL Tim is beyond adorable as the scene continues. He lost Angela’s venue of choice earlier. So he tries to make it up with a sports bar LMAO

Oh Timothy, Look at that gorgeous smile of his when he tells her his plan. Tim is so damn proud of himself and is shot down quickly after. Angela's face has me cracking up so very much. Tim gets nervous and says he was joking… He would never....The way he backtracks has me rolling. Watching Tim quake in front of strong women always gets me. What makes him such a sucker for Lucy. Also she is not around to negate his terrible idea's atm and it shows haha

Harper rolls up with security footage of La Fiera clearly not at the hospital "Just for her son." They spot Mack Daniels as one of the guards…Tim’s face is everything when he sees this. Clearly hasn’t changed his ways at all working for a Narco boss. SMH.

They roll up and Mack looks high as a kite. He lies about knowing who his client is. All he tells them is it’s not La Fiera. Tim tries to get him to cooperate. Saying he doesn’t need anymore trouble i’m sure. Mack cracks and says he’s work for Tomas Madrigal. All three of them groan. He’s the kingpin of drugs in Southern California. Multiple investigations going on for him. No way Mack doesn't know that.

He then starts the pity party about why he had to take this job. How it’s all Tim’s fault. He comes at Tim SO hard. Tells them he can’t be picky about the money he makes. Up to his eyes in debt. Tim tells him working for the enemy isn’t the answer. Mack goes on that his client is dying cancer. He’s only there to make sure no one interrupts his final moments. Mmmhmm sure…

Angela calls him out about La Fiera coming by. Mack tells her she only came by to pay her respects. Ok sure Mack… and I don’t find Tim attractive. We’re both telling lies today aren’t we? Clearly she is here to make a play for his business before he dies. They get interrupted by Tomas’s son telling Mack to get back to work. He sends more daggers Tim's way before disengaging with them.

I adore Nyla checking in on Tim. Asking if he's alright? His body language is stiff as a board. Poor love having to reface that decision he made back in 3x06. It was the right call but doesn’t make facing Mack’s wrath any easier. Also seeing how much Mack has fallen from grace since he last saw him. Taking jobs like this. Too bad Lucy isn’t there to help him. Since she’s not he shakes it off and pretends he is fine. When we all know he very much is not. But once again his girl is not there so he will clam right up.

I do love this trio working together. Only thing missing is Lucy. I hope in s6 we see Lucy make detective. Then these three BAMF women and Tim with metro can all work together on a case like this. Be amazing it would. Sigh. A girl can dream can’t she? Anyways Nyla says she certified for wire tapping and they have their next move.

We return to Lucy and Jackson waiting out their suspect. She now has to pass the drugs before they are able to leave. Plus they need someone from narcotics to show which they haven’t. Lucy tries her hand again at the phone call. She’s told she's 46th in line….Jackson says he’ll check on narcotics to see if they’re coming anytime soon.

After he’s told no update he pulls out his phone. Looking back at Lucy like he’s doing something wrong. I mean he is....lol. Lucy notices right away he’s looking at something. She comes over and asks what he’s doing? He lies and says Tiktok Lucy is incensed when she see that is NOT what it is. It’s clearly him watching Tamara. She just doesn't know why. This isn't Jackson's best moment I'll say that.

Lucy is instantly in protective mama mode over Tamara. She's so mad at him. As she should be honestly. I would be pissed too Lucy. WTF Jackson. He tries to cover it up by saying he’s testing their system. Then she pulls a line from Tim’s playbook. Calling Jackson a lying liar who lies baha Also she can break Tim Bradford when he's lying you are not going to fair much better my man ha I’m so offended for Tamara tbh and for Lucy. How Jackson assumes she took his Baby Yoda figurine. Just because of her background.

Jackson decides to step it in more with his next set of words. (Stop you fool....) That she shouldn’t trust Tamara cause she lived on the streets. How he wants her to trust Tamara. But she probably had to do a lot to survive on the street. Lucy is so upset he didn’t tell her how he really felt. Also the way he's coming after Tamara. He continues his witch hunt saying baby yoda is missing. Lucy snaps and says he isn’t. That she broke him. Didn’t think he would notice like he did. She was gonna replace it soon. Then does a Mic drop of a line leaving Jackson stunned. Rightfully so IMO. Not your best moment good sir....

The SL with La Fiera’s son is tragic af. It's all her fault (not that she is going to see it that way.... ) She brought him into the line of fire. Using him as cover to make her dealings. He gets caught in the middle and killed because of it. Tomas's son comes after her and Diego is the collateral damage. Wrong time wrong place for that kid. Its pretty damn sad.

Angela was there talking to her when her son is shot to death. So she blames Angela for the death of her son. He was away from her when the shooting began. (Couldn’t have been the deal she made of course…) This sets up the finale and 4x01 and why LA Fiera comes at Angela like she does. Even though Angela saves her life Diego was in the crosshairs and dies.

Angel gets pinned down and calls for backup. Luckily Nyla and Tim are still in the building. This little moment between them is too cute above. I love their rivalry with one another. Tim saying he’ll take two leaving the third for Harper. She has to over compensate and say she’s got the big guy. Tim’s reply ‘Not that big’ LOL It is sexy af to watch him in action not gonna lie. Dispatches his two pretty quickly.

We return to Jackson and Lucy waiting for their suspect to get out of surgery. Lucy is still on the phone waiting for a call. They finally answer her and she finds out Tamara is in. That she’ll get an email by weeks end. Her little dance of excitement is so damn cute. I swear that is just Melissa coming out and I friggin love it. Jackson takes this opportunity to apologize for being a suspicious jerk. Good man.

Super proud of him for doing this. I love that he wanted to make it right. But grateful Lucy had the foresight to stop him. It would break her heart and Tamara wouldn’t feel ok staying there. Be the worst idea ever to tell her he felt that way. Love Lucy looking out for her in that way. ❤️ His heart is in the right place but it would crush Tamara.

This final scene with Mack gets me right in the feels. Tim waits for him to leave the hospital. Wants to try and get through to him one more time. Mack giving him every excuse in the book why he can’t go to rehab. Tim battles back with more logic. The same kind of logic Lucy would throw at him in a situation like this. Like 3x07 where she destroyed his every point. Asking how many times have they seen junkies act like this? Say the same things? How many actually got out of the hole without going to rehab?

This is such a good scene for Tim. We once again get to see his good heart come out. Watching what’s become of Mack is eating away at him. Tim had to try one more time to help him. To save him from himself. He does a damn good job with his speech. Gah it’s so good. Eric crushes it per usual. Pre-tears in his eyes as he passionately pleas with his friend. Killing me softly.

Look how far Tim has come. I can not. This scene is proof of that growth. Also the good heart he had before it was beat up by Isabel and all that trauma he endured. He's confronting Mack even though he knows he's going to bite his head off. Because it's the right thing to do. Even tells him to use his hate for him. Especially if that's going to be his drive to get better. To get clean and go to rehab finally. That he refuses to give up on him.*heart clutch* You can see Tim slowly getting through to Mack with his unwavering support.

it really hits home when Tim tells him to be a better example for his kids. The way Eric delivers that line. Gets me good. To take his lumps and cowboy up. The beautiful mixture he has now of logic and empathy. It gets through to Mack and he pulls him in for a sweet hug. This hug is the best part. This gets me right in the feels. Lucy would be floored by him in this moment. For Tim to even think to reach out like this. To be there for Mack in this way. My damn heart.

Letting that empathy and good heart of his to see the light of day again. It was always there but it got buried in his trauma. I saw a quote the other day made me think of Tim. Also of the impact Lucy has had on him. ‘I think the most beautiful thing in the world, is watching the light come on in someone’s eyes after they’ve been in the dark so long.’

If that isn’t Lucy and Tim and the impact she’s had on him idk what is. She’s re-awakened this part of him he thought was long gone. The light in his eyes is back. I mean for Tim to even think to reach out like this. His growth always blows me away. He couldn’t stand the thought of his friend drowning. Especially after his hand in it. Needed to be apart of helping him heal. So he took a chance and it worked.

Even when they’re apart Lucy’s impact on him shines through. This scene is absolute beautiful proof of that. This man is wonderful and refuses to let his friend suffer. To go through this alone. So he makes sure he knows he has his back. The scene ends on a sweet note though. Tim asking if he knows any venues for bachelorette parties? Mack giving him same answer he already tried LOL So Cute. I can not.

Lucy and Jackson make it home. This is the cutest part of the episode for them. Tamara has made dinner for them both. it’s a very sweet thing for her to do. Tamara tells Jackson she has something for him. Saying she knows Lucy broke his Yoda thing LOL Then panics and makes sure he knows. Lucy confirms before she continues. This scene is too funny. Tamara got him a cute plushy to replace it. He is floored by her kindness. The fact that she felt the need to replace it at all. Even when she didn't break it.

She says it’s to thank him for letting her stay. It’s the first time she’s felt safe in forever. You watch the guilt wash over Jackson. How much he regrets ever thinking badly of her. He wants to tell her but Lucy stops him. I love the way Lucy gently puts her hand on his arm. Like 'No she doesn’t need to know this.' He course corrects and says she can stay as long she needs to. The smile on Tamara’s face says everything. It’s so sweet.

Jackson geeks out and ask if she’s seen The Mandalorian? She says it’s based on a movie right? Jackson tries to keep his geek in check and says he has a lot to teach her haha it’s very cute way to end the episode for this trio.

This ep although apart was super good for them SL wise anyways. What I love about them. They stand up so well as characters separately. I always prefer them together but I’m not miserable with their SL's apart every once in awhile.

Side notes-non chenford in this case this whole ep was this ha

I do continuously love how soft Nyla has become for Nolan. She drags Tim to hospital to check on him cause Henry collapsed.

It’s cool that Bones is Henry’s mom LOL

Thank you as always to those who support these review’s through likes, comments and reblogs. I love them so much I shall see you all in 3x13 crazy 2 eps away from being done with s3.

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readingismyhappyplacee · 1 year

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JJ Put that Gun Away.

Summary: Summertime is full of fishing, fooling around and Keggers. NOT guns and stealing. What could go wrong? (Fanfic for OBX S1: Ep.1).

JJ Maybank x Reader Fanfic

Warnings: Use and mention of guns, swearing, mentions of drowning.

ALL RIGHTS to Josh and Jonas Pate and Shannon Burke for characters, plot and dialogue, etc. In some cases, scenes and dialouge altered to fit my own ideas.

Y/N could hear the hooting and hollering of her friends from a mile away. The familiar brown Volkswagen van deemed “The Twinkie” howling along with the sound of their voices could be heard as it rounded the corner at the end of the street. Y/N smiled as she could see JJ’s head poking out of the side door, looking right at her.

“You’re going to have to jump in while it’s moving M’Lady! This vessel stops for no one!” JJ yelled at the girl in a funny voice. “Just bend your knees!”

“Uhh, actually JJ, this is our next stop. Did you forget she brought the drinks?” John B’s voice could be heard as the van screeched to a halt in front of her.

“Right.”

JJ and John B hopped out to grab the cooler full of drinks and food Y/N so kindly put together for todays venture. They loaded it into the already stuffed van. Y/N hopped in afterwards.

Soon enough the trio arrived at John B’s place. Unfortunately about nine months ago, John B’s father was lost at sea looking for a shipwreck and presumed dead shortly after. His mother and uncle are in other states, not even close to coming to the Cut. He’s been living by himself ever since and refuses to believe his father is dead until he finds his body. So now, the Château, as it’s called, is the base of operations. Free reign to do whatever a Pogue wants, whenever they want.

JJ on the other hand, doesn’t have much luck either. The blonde has an abusive dad and no other family to support him. He’s finding it hard to get by with a minimum wage job and daddy issues. It’s amazing how tough he is, but Y/N understands that he has to be to get through day by day. The girl helps out when she can by offering her cleaning services, picking up the many beer cans and cigarettes in the house when Jake isn’t there and offering as much food to the boys as she can without her parents finding out. Luckily though, they all have each other and that’s the best thing they could ask for.

Down at the dock, the boys load the cooler onto the boat and JJ offers Y/N a hand stepping in.

“M’Lady.” He bows, taking off his hat and putting it back on again.

A blush dances across her face, though it is unbeknownst to JJ, so she laughs to hide the truth of her feelings towards the boy. It was a rule the group had. No Pogue on Pogue macking. No matter how strong the feelings were. If it was true love or even soulmates, it was strictly forbidden. And even if it wasn’t a rule, she had no chance. JJ was hooking up with a new girl at every party and Kegger hosted lately. It was like he couldn’t get enough. So when he was flirty like that, there was no genuine meaning behind it. It was just JJ being JJ.

Hurricane Agatha had just blown over the Outer Banks, rocking the south side to shambles. As the three friends set off, more and more damage could be seen along the shoreline. Boats, docks, houses, fences - you name it. Every hurricane made the Cut look better yesterday.

The boat approached the marina which was jostling with people on clean-up duty. At least it was bright and sunny today to put people in better moods than before.

“Hi, Miss Amy, you guys make it through?” John B waves at a woman and her husband.

“We’re still here!” She replied back.

JJ wiggled his eyebrows and smirked.

“She totally looked at me,” He said.

“Pfft. As if JJ. She wouldn’t even touch you with a 10 foot pole.” Y/N scoffed. JJ feigned hurt.

“Ouch! Watch yourself Y/N, or I’m pushing you in!”

The mess Agatha made was unimaginable. As if reading her thoughts JJ whistled out loud, “Agatha what did you do?”

Pope, another member of the group could be seen filling a bucket with water at the end of his dock. He got stuck with clean-up too. Pope was the smartest of them all. The kid had a full ride scholarship to one of the state’s most prestigious schools. It was unknown why he chose to hang out with such a group of troubled teenagers. He was always so cautious and tense, like his dad was watching. I mean, Heyward was always watching.

“Well, look who we have here.” John B mimics a radio. “We have a mandatory safety meeting, over.”

Pope stops what he’s doing, looking annoyed. John B slows the boat down.

“I can’t. My pop’s got me on lockdown.”

“You’re dad’s a pussy, over.” That time it was JJ.

“Oh, I heard that one you little bastard!”

Heyward. Pope’s father. Not the most approving of his son’s friends but he does his best to understand. Thankfully, Y/N’s parents are good friends with his family. “Hey Y/N, keeping these idiots in line?”

“I try to. It only works if they listen.” She smiles.

“We need your son.” John B interrupts.

“Yeah. And island rules: Day after a hurricane is a free day.” JJ adds.

“Now who in the hell made that up, son?”

“Uhhh… The pentagon I think? We have security clearance. I have a card.”

“Do you really think I’m stupid. Do they think i’m stupid?” Heyward looks at his son.

“I’ll do it tomorrow dad, I promise. I’ll help clean tomorrow.” Pope and his dad bicker back and forth and he slowly creeps towards the boat. Once Pope’s feet hit the deck John B accelerates forward.

“I promise i’ll do it tomorrow!”

“We’ll bring him back in one piece!” Y/N yells back.

All that could be heard is the cursing of Heyward and the gentle splash of the water against the boat towards the neck stop, Kiara. Kiara was Y/N’s best friend. Though she was born a Kook, she was a Pogue more than anything. Rich parents, fancy house and all the nicest clothes. She had all the best things. If she wasn’t with the friend group, she was out saving turtles or promoting some paper-straw activist type things online. Y/N was jealous that she seemed to always catch the attention of boys her age. Maybe she was prettier? More outgoing and funnier? Y/N thought she was enough to fit in, but sometimes it felt like Kie was always in the spotlight, for every boy. She didn’t dare tell her this of course, nothing good would come out of it. They are supposed to be best friends.

Kiara walked down the ramp. JJ greeted her in an Irish accent. He also held her hand as she got in. Y/N tried her best to conceal her face so she looked into her lap.

“Hey, Y/N,” Kiara greeted, forcing Y/N to look up.

“Hey, Kie, how you holding up?”

“Oh ya know, hurricane lockdown things.” They both laughed. That was another reason she couldn’t hate her. She always greeted her first and made her feel included in every conversation. She couldn’t hate her even if she tried.

John B picked up the speed of the boat as they headed out into the marsh. They cracked open some beer and for what seemed like the thousandth time, JJ tried out his “party trick.”

“JJ, you know it never works.”

“Ah! You’re getting beer in my hair!”

Suddenly the boat came to a halt, sending JJ flying off the bow and into the water. Kiara and John B are sent to the deck from their seats.Y/N is halfway off the bow clinging for dear life after just standing up to get JJ to come down. Pope’s abdomen slams against the steering wheel. Groans from each teen are let out respectively.

“Jesus Pope.” Kiara blurts out what everyone is thinking.

JJ resurfaces with a loud gasp for air.

“I think my heels touched my head.” He moaned.

Y/N groans again sitting up and clutching her chest.

“Aw man that’s definitely gonna bruise.”

“I hit a sandbar. The channel changed. Sorry guys.” Pope felt bad. He steps up onto the bow to get a better look at where to navigate. His expression turns to shock.

“Guys! I think there’s a boat down there.”

“Yeah right!”

“No, no. For real, I’m not kidding.”

JJ swims over to get a better look while the rest of the gang almost tip the boat, looking in the direction of where Pope was pointing.

“Shit let’s go!”

Y/N peels off her jean shorts and tank top before diving into the water to join JJ. The rest follow suit. With one huge breath, Y/N submerged herself underwater with the rest of her friends. Even in the murkiness of the water, an unmistakable outline of a Grady White is seen. Whoever’s boat this was they are probably looking for it, that is, if they’re even still alive. Y/N swims inside, a powerful swimmer and certified diver, she looks for any signs of who this boat belongs to. Nothing.

The friends resurface. Gasping for air but in obvious excitement about the discovery.

“That’s a Grady White!” JJ exclaims. “A new one of those is like five hundred grand. Easy.”

They all laugh, climbing back onto the boat.

“That’s the boat I saw when I surfed the surge!”

John B suddenly remembers.

“You surfed the surge?” Y/N and Kiara ask together. “Jinx.”

“That’s my boy! Pogue style!” JJ high fives his best friend.

“Seriously John B that’s dangerous! “ Y/N exclaims. “What the heck!”

“Wait, guys, do we know whose boat that is?”

“I tried to get a good look, but it’s too deep.” Y/N said. “Give me the anchor.”

John B rummages through a compartment in the deck, handing Y/N the anchor.

“Payback !” JJ screams, pushing the girl into the water.

She shrieks as she plummets into the water.

“JJ that wasn’t nice!” Kiara scolds.

“Hey, she asked for it earlier.” He shrugs it off.

Y/N swims the path towards the boat, attempting to get a better look at anything more than she already saw. She spots a key dangling from a pole near the steering wheel, but struggles to get it unhooked.

Meanwhile, the four friends stand worried. “She’s been down there a while man, should I go get her? JJ asks.

“Nah she’s got this. Believe in her.”

JJ frowned, worry evident on his face. Pope noticed.

“You like her!”

“What- no! I don’t like anyone, especially not her! Remember rule number one?”

“Liar!”

“I’ve been waiting for someone to bring that up! Finally!” Kiara chimed.

“We’re just friends okay guys? Nothing more. Now shut up.”

“Jeez JJ you’re blushing so hard it looks like you have a sunburn!” John B teased.

“I said shut up!”

JJ couldn’t be more thankful Y/N was underwater right now, even if she may be drowning. It’s true he may have a bit of a crush on her, but he knew the rules. Instead, he uses other girls as distractions from the fact.

The sound of the topic-of-conversation girl breaking the surface brought JJ back to real life.

“I found a key!” She managed to say between breaths.

JJ and his friends breath sighs of relief. No CPR was needed. He went to the edge of the boat, effortlessly pulling her up towards him. She lost her balance slightly but he grabbed her waist to steady her. The action did not go unnoticed by the rest. JJ quickly jumped backwards like he stepped in a fire. Y/N shot him a puzzled glance but said nothing.

“I think it’s a motel key.” She said, drying herself off with a towel.

“Great. A damn key. “ JJ scowled. He was hoping for anything worth some cash.

“Guys I think we should report this to the coast guard, maybe get a finders fee?” Kiara pointed out.

“Yeah, then we don’t have to work all summer.”

The crew headed back into town to go report the wreck. The sun was beginning to set ever so slowly and the warm glow illuminated Y/N’s face as she stared off into the horizon.

“What’s on your mind, sunshine?” JJ sat next to her for the first time after his awkward moment.

Y/N was surprised he called her a nickname she’s never heard of.

“I haven’t heard that one before.”

“I think it suits you.”

“Thanks JJ.”

The girl avoided the question, not wanting to tell him he was the one on her mind all of the time. She waited in the HMS Pogue while the others attempted to talk to someone about finding the sunken boat. With the recent hurricane and the damage it created, many people were lined up with complaints. Her friends came back quickly with another plan.

“The motel? Are you crazy?” Pope said.

“I call lookout.” Y/N said.

“Me and JJ will check it out.” John B suggested.

When the group arrived at the motel, it appeared very run down, and not just by the hurricane.

“This isn’t exactly 5 stars.”

“Yeah, it looks like a place someone with a Grady White would get killed.” Pope shuddered.

JJ and John B jumped to shore. Not wanting to draw attention to the rest do the group, the trio left pretended to be hanging out and talking.

“Be careful.” Kiara spoke softly to John B.

Last Y/N heard was something about a mattress.

“Be sooooooo careful John B.” JJ teased as they searched for the matching room number.

“Ever since she heard you were on exile she’s told you to be careful. Oh, give me that John D already. Why don’t you hop on that man?”

John B scoffed.

“You know the rules. No Pogue on Pogue macking. And don’t get me started on you and Y/N.”

“I don’t like her I told you this already.”

“Like hell you don’t dude. You’re always looking at her.”

JJ glared at his best friend. He licked his lips.

“Okay, c’mon man of course I’m looking at her, she’s hot. Can we forget about the rules?”

John B stopped in front of room 229 and stayed silent, fumbling with the keys.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You need help. Like, serious help.”

“Still a yes! Housekeeping!” JJ said in a high-pitched voice. With no response, the boys entered the room.

Down below, the trio on the boat were having a similar conversation.

“Do you have a thing for John B?” Y/N asked her best friend.

Pope looked away from the motel to look at Kiara’s facial expression, amused by Y/N’s blunt question. Kiara rolled her eyes and stood up.

“I don’t. I’m just worried about him. The whole foster thing must really suck.”

“And you’re not just worried about him in a different way?” Y/N suggested, grinning.

“Oh my god stop it! I don’t! And how about JJ, everyone knows-“

“Guys, cops! Cops!” Pope interrupted.

In the small parking lot full of debris, the sheriff’s pickup truck could be seen pulling in and stopping. Y/N groaned.

“Why does my dad have to ruin everything!”

Deputy Shoupe and Deputy Plumb exit the car and talk with a man nearby. They start pointing to the second level of the motel, exactly where JJ and John B were.

“We have to warn them.” Kiara said. She jumps off the boat and books it to the side of the motel. Pope and Y/N exchange glances before following, trying not to be seen by Y/N’s police officer father. Staring up at the window, the stress begins to set in.

“Okay stand back.” Pope said, picking up a rock. He looked up at the window and threw it. The rock barely made it halfway up before gravity brought it back down again.

“Didn’t you ever play baseball?” Kiara pegged.

Y/N laughed.

“I was on the math team!” He whisper-yelled back.

Kiara also tried to throw a rock but missed. She tried it again and it made a loud ‘tink’ sound against the glass. Y/N picked up one and it did the same. JJ and John B’s faces could be seen through the blinds almost instantly.

“Cops! There’s Cops! Cops!” The friends on the ground simultaneously whispered and pointed at the entrance to the room. The boys could be seen scrambling in the room. The three friends sprinted to the boat, ready to leave at any second.

“Should we peel?” Kiara asked.

“No! Never leave a Pogue behind.” Pope said.

“Guys look! They’re on the awning!” Y/N pointed.

JJ and John B were in fact on the small ledge of the awning on either sides of the window. Their positions looking very uncomfortable. JJ laughed silently while John B used his pointer finger to tell the rest of the group to be quiet.

The boys were up there for a while until suddenly something fell out of JJ’s pocket, hit the awning and fell to the ground a few feet down. John B visibly cringed. The blinds to the window retracted and Shoupe’s figure looked outside. Pope, Y/N and Kiara quickly attempted to look away and act like they weren’t involved.

“This is gonna be tough to explain later.” Y/N sighed.

Theslamming of a door caught their attention as the officers began to leave. Shoupe handed a duffel bag to the other officer. Before leaving, Shoupe came towards the boat. Y/N glanced at her friends’ position at the window, then back at her dad before he noticed her staring.

“Hey, sweet pea, what are y’all doing here?” He looked between the three of them.

“Uhhh.. Hey Dad I didn’t see you here!”

“My aunt was visiting and staying here. We just came to check on her. We were just about to leave.” Pope interjected.

“Yeah, Dad. We wanted to make sure she was okay. What are you doing here?”

“Ah, someone reported missing. Just like after every hurricane. Doing my part to make sure there’s no dead bodies around.” He chuckled like what he said was normal. It was obvious where Y/N’s bluntness came from. Y/N awkwardly laughed, hoping to speed this conversation up.

“Did you find anything?”

“Nah. Just an empty motel room.”

“Cool.”

“I have to go. See you later honey. Stay out of trouble kids!” Shoupe saluted and walked back to the truck. JJ and John B made their way down after a few minutes to make sure the coast was clear.

“Holy shit, man. That was crazy!” JJ exclaimed., jumping into the boat with John B on his tail. Pope pulled away from shore and back out towards the exit.

“Why did he lie about taken things from the room?” Y/N asked. No one was sure.

“Did you guys find anything?” Pope asked the boys, changing the subject.

“Did we find anything?” JJ repeated. He pulled out a stack of money and a gun. The biggest grin was on his face. Y/N moved away from him.

“Are you insane?” She yelled.

“I’m going to lose my scholarship.” Pope moaned.

“It’s better than the cops having it!” JJ reasoned.

“No it’s not, dude! Anyone else that’s not you is better.”

JJ grabbed Pope and put the barrel to his mouth in a “shush” motion. Pope pushed him off.

“I’m living a nightmare.”

The group found their way back to the marina. As they were offloading there was a commotion with another large boat. Paramedics and the police were surrounding a man that looked to be dead. A dead body. As they were wheeling the body away from the boat, a woman ran frantically towards it.

“Scooter! Scooter!” She yelled. She clung to the man, caressing his face and assessing his condition. She broke down into tears. It was Lana Grubbs.

“Who’s that?” Y/N asked her friends.

“That’s Scooter Grubbs.” A random girl next to them chimed in. “He was out during the storm. Check out this pic I got. Dead body.” She bragged. She pulled out her phone and began to show a close up picture of the man being wheeled away in front of them. Y/N shuddered. Was that who her dad was looking for?

“What type of boat did he have?” JJ asked the girl.

“Somehow that dirtbag copped a brand new Grady White.”

The friends glanced between each other silently. Y/N looked at JJ and found that he was already looking at her. She gave him a look asking for more information but he just shrugged.

“Everyone’s out looking for it.” She added.

Back at the Chateau, Pope was telling everyone to keep their mouths shut about the situation. His panicked look on his face was enough to let everyone know he was terrified.

“We all have complete and total amnesia, okay?”

“For once I agree with you Pope. Deny, deny, deny.” JJ said.

“We can’t keep that money,” Kiara said. “It’s bad karma.”

“She’s right you know, it doesn’t belong to us. It belongs to Lana Grubbs,” Y/N added.

“Not everyone can afford unlimited data plans, ladies.” They rolled their eyes.

“Look, JJ I’ll help you out a little more this week if we just return the money.” Y/N’s tone softened, trying to reason with the blonde. He looked at her, silently adoring how she worried about him.

“Let’s go dark.” Pope said.

“If it means I get to keep the money, I’m in.”

John B finally spoke up.

“I don’t agree.” He said. “This is Scooter Grubbs we’re talking about. Same dude that buys individual cigarettes. Shit, one time I saw him begging for change in front of the Save-a-lot because he needed gas! This guy has never had more than forty bucks in his pocket and all of a sudden he’s got a Grady White? Just saying.”

“I need a break from you guys.” Pope moaned, standing up to walk to the dock.

“Look, Pope, how does a guy like Scooter get a Grady White?”

“Prostitution?”

“Square groupers bro. Flying under the radar, no aerial surveillance, they don’t do that stuff during a hurricane.” John B reasoned. “What does that mean, JJ?”

“They were straight smugglin’.” He grinned.

“I’m guessing there’s a crap ton of contraband on that boat.” Y/N added.

“Okay so if there was that kind of stuff on board, and it belongs to someone, they’re going to come looking for it, right? So taking it would be catastrophically stupid.”

“You’re right.” JJ said. “But stupid things have good outcomes all the time. All we need to do is find a way to get into that cargo hold of that wreck and then lay low.”

“And how exactly do we do that?” Pope asked.

“Kegger?” Kiara proposed.

Y/N had went over to Kiara’s house to steal an outfit for the night.

“Red or pink?” She asked Kiara.

“Red. JJ won’t stop staring at you if you don’t.”

“C’mon Kie, stop teasing. You and me both know he doesn’t like me like that. Look at all the women he hooks up with. You don’t see me on the list.”

“Fine! Don’t listen to me! But open your eyes girl!”

Y/N was mad that Kie was playing with her feelings. She knew that JJ would never think of her like that. Was she not telling her something?

“I’m a police officer’s daughter Kie, no guy wants to talk to me.”

Within an hour, the group had gathered all the materials for the Kegger and met at the Boneyard. Y/N spotted JJ up ahead. His blonde hair unmistakably glistening in the sunset glow. She wondered if he would talk to her tonight or take off with another new girl. Once down to the sand, the keg was set up and ready to go. John B started filling up cups of beer for everyone. Soon, a crowd started to form. The boneyard was a mix of three crowds, the Pogues, the Kooks and the Tourons. The Tourons are just kids here on vacation with their families for the summer. As the night progressed, Y/N found her place with a group of Pogues she knows from school. The group was laughing around a fire, retelling a story about how a teacher was caught making out with a student after class. The principal found them and he was fired right away. The kid only got a 3 day suspension. Y/N felt someone sit next to her. She looked to her left. A boy around her age with curly brown hair and a lanky stature smiled at her. A Touron.

“Hi. I’m Dean.” He greeted. “I’m not from here and you look pretty friendly enough to talk to.”

This made Y/N laugh.

“Why thank you. I’m Y/N. Welcome to the island.”

She shook hands with the boy jokingly. She could feel the effects of the alcohol she was drinking starting to flow through her body.

“Another beer?” Someone with a keg asked.

Y/N accepted the beer with a grateful smile then turned back to Dean.

“So, new guy, where you from?”

“San Fran. I’m a long way from home.” He smiled. “My moms friend recommended it here, but too bad there was a hurricane. Cut our holiday in half. We head back in a few days.”

“Ah, big city guy. I could tell, you all have the same vibe.” She teased.

“Hey! I’m officially offended.”

She laughed. “Sorry about Agatha though, really, she was a real pain in the ass.” The two continued to talk about random things. Y/N thought that he was a nice boy to talk to, but he wasn’t JJ.

“See, those are my best friends over there.” She pointed out Kiara and John B. Then a little ways over at Pope. She couldn’t find JJ. “We do everything together.” Y/N was five drinks in. Maybe six. She lost count. Not once did this boy try to make a move on her. At first she was thankful because it is always awkward trying to tell them no, but at the same time her heart sunk because it’s always been that way. There was no way he knew she was the daughter of a cop. He doesn’t live here.

“So, Y/N do you have a boyfr-“ Dean’s sentence was cut off when Y/N suddenly stood up to the the sound of JJ’s voice. He sounded like he was in an argument.

“You’re so funny man!” She heard him yell.

Over to the right of where she sat she could see Sarah Cameron and her no-good boyfriend Topper, along with the rest of her friends. JJ did not look happy. None of them did.

“Sorry. I’ll be right back. I’m just going to check up on my friends. They seem a little drunk.”

As she approached the commotion, Topper called them “dirty Pogues.” That term set John B off. He forcefully shoved Topper backwards, causing him to stumble. Topper looked shocked and then lunged forward and threw a punch so hard at John B’s face that it looked like it would knock his teeth out. John B fell against the sand, unable to stand up.

“Babe! Babe!” Sarah attempted to stop her boyfriend from causing any harm, but it was no use,Topper hated Pogues. Topper continued to kick John B until he reached the edge of the water.

“Hey John B, don’t make me do what happened to your old man, all right?”

The crowd around began to chant for them to fight.

“Stop!” Y/N screamed at them, rushing in. JJ held her back, shaking his head no. If it wasn’t for the situation it would’ve felt like a hug.

“Guys stop!” Kiara hissed at Topper and John B.

John B mustered up enough to stand again and used his momentum to tackle Topper into the shallow tide. Both attackers now soaked from the cool water.

“Let him go John B!” Pope yelled.

They continued to throw punches at the others abdomen and back. John B was able to land a few good hits.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” JJ cheered.

Topper and John B continued to trade hits. Unfortunately, Topper was able to gain the upper hand and slam John B into the water face first. He then got on top of him.

Sarah and Kiara began to scream. JJ had never looked so frightened in his life for his best friend.

“JJ do something!” Y/N screamed at him. JJ looked torn. He ran towards Topper and John B and pulled out the gun.

“No JJ!” Y/N called after him, terrified.

JJ rested it on the crown of Toppers head after he cocked it.

“Yeah, you know what that is. Let him go.”

The crowd of people started screaming and dispersed ridiculously fast after spotting the gun.

“JJ put the gun down!” Y/N tried again.

“Okay, okay we’re good man!” The anxiety in Topper’s voice was evident. He rose with his hands in the air.

“Everyone listen up! Get the hell off my side of the island!” JJ screamed at the top of his lungs. He rose the gun in the air and shot it twice to prove that he was in control. Sarah and Topper ran off. Y/N covered her ears. She was terrified of guns after her mother was shot on duty when she was a thirteen. Y/N had never been told the full story but the tale left it’s mark. Mrs. Shoupe has since retired from being a police officer and chose to write books instead. A very drastic career change.

“Y/N!” Dean yelled at her. “Let’s leave!”

Dean was standing alone in the middle of the sand. He had waited for her to make sure she was okay, not knowing that JJ was her friend since she couldn’t find him when she was pointing them all out earlier.

“Who the fuck are you!” JJ pointed the gun at Dean. Dean put his hands in the air to show his surrender.

“Woah, woah man! I come in peace! Please!”

“JJ stop!” Y/N screamed.

“I said, who the fuck are you?!”

“I’m just here visiting the island! My name is Dean!”

JJ looked at Y/N, but put the gun down, finger still on the trigger. Dean visibly sighed of relief.

“How do you know him?”

“I-I met him earlier at the fire. JJ you’re scaring me with that please you know I hate them.” In the heat of the moment, JJ has totally forgotten your fear of guns. His demeanour changed completely. He put the gun back in his pocket and threw his hands on his forehead in frustration. Y/N huffed at his behaviour. She saw a different side of JJ tonight. One that she was not used to. He scared her and their friends and she just needed to go home. It’s been a long night. She looked her friends in the eye.

“Get some sleep guys, and make sure John B is alive.” She gestured to the boy who was halfway in the water. She gave on last glance to JJ before turning back up the trail with Dean right behind her. She burst into tears. Her crying heard by JJ as he watched her figure until she disappeared into the darkness. Y/N had hoped he would have at least apologized.

After last night Y/N woke up feeling anxious and upset. The image of JJ holding a gun haunted her memory. She knew it wouldn’t just go away. She remembered Dean walking her home and asked for her number before he left to go back to his hotel. She politely declined saying a mere ‘it’s complicated.’ He understood and said he was glad she was safe. He gave her his just in case she changed her mind. A text on her phone rung softly on the bedside table. She picked it up and a short text from Kiara read:

‘Hey I know after last night you don’t want to see JJ, but we need someone that knows how to dive. We’re searching that boat today and you’re the only one that knows how to properly dive and has the equipment. You in?’

‘Will he promise to get rid of the gun?’

‘No promises :(‘

Y/N groaned in her bed. Typical JJ. A knock on her door perked her up. Her father walks in, wearing his uniform.

“Hey sweet pea, I know sometimes it’s hard to be a dad and a police officer at the same time, but I know there was a gun used last night at that party. Do you know who had possession of it?”

Y/N froze in a silent panic. She couldn’t throw JJ under the bus like that, even if guns scared her. He would never forgive her and she would most likely never see him again.

“Uhh, no I was over on the other side of the fire. When the crowd of people started running saying that there was a gun I ran too. You know I hate them.” She tried her best to sound convincing. Sometimes her father was intimidating. He gave her a raised eyebrow.

“You sure? It sounded like it was one of your Pogue friends.”

“No they were all with me around that time.”

He hummed, definitely not satisfied with her answer.

“Well, the Sheriff already told me she knew who it was but didn’t give me his name. I figured you’d know who it was.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Now, I don’t think the island is safe right now, so I need you to make smart decisions. No parties, no boats, no beaches and no hanging out with your little Pogue friends for a while. I don’t think they are very good influences.”

“Dad you can’t do that!” Y/N cried. “They’re my friends! I don’t care about the parties but that’s just not fair!”

“It’s what’s best. A man was found dead yesterday and I don’t need you being the next. The marsh is closed until we can find that sunken boat and any clues leading toward the investigation. I better see you here when I get back.”

And with that, Victor Shoupe was out the door without a final glance towards his daughter. His heavy footsteps heard as he descended the stairs.

“You could have at least closed the door!” Y/N got up with a huff, slamming it hard enough to prove she was upset. He was right about one thing, having a police officer father was hard. She raced back to her phone, tapping on Kiara’s contact.

‘Bad news. Dads got me on lockdown saying it isn’t safe right now. He said the marsh was closed so if we’re doing this it’s gotta be fast. Gotta sneak around my mom to get the gear.’

Luckily, Y/N’s mom was locked away in her study, like usual. It was one room she was never allowed into no matter the circumstance. She had caught glimpses at it, but not long enough to make out what she does in there. Sometimes she would walk by and hear her aggravated sighs and hear frantic typing on her laptop. She figured it was just her working on a new novel and writer’s block. Everything about that room was a secret to her. Even her father rarely entered. Y/N changed into her bikini and jean shorts before sneaking down the stairs after she heard her father leave and the pickup truck pull out of the driveway. Avoiding the study, she ducked out the back door to avoid being seen through the window at the front of the house. The diving gear was kept in their small shed in the backyard. Half of the memorabilia, toys and tools in here hadn’t seen the light of day in years. With her parents so focused on their careers they never surfed or gardened since she could remember. After her mother was shot, life had never been the same. It seemed like her dad was trying to prove that he has what it takes to become Sheriff one day and that her mother had to prove to the world that she is interesting enough to buy her books. Why was there anything to prove? None of her books made bestselling titles except for her autobiography of her life as a detective, wife and mother. She wrote mystery novels now. How fitting.

The shed was unlocked. After locating the box of diving gear, she double checked that there was a mask and an oxygen tank before lifting it off the shelf and sneaking around the house again. She hopped in her car, thankfully parked on the street before making her way to the Chateau, not ready to see JJ.

The boat ride out to the wreck was silent. The tension between Y/N and JJ could be felt from everyone around them. As John B came to a stop, Y/N brought out her gear, getting ready to hop in. John B threw out an anchor.

“Fuck. This tank is a quarter full. I guess it really has been that long. I don’t even know if this is safe.” Y/N said, displaying her thoughts out loud.

“Great, I love it when a plan comes together.” Pope said sarcastically.

“It should only be... “ She looked down at the boat below. “25 minutes if that boat is 30 feet down. I just have to mark a safety stop.”

With that she took a ribbon from the gear box and her shorts off and plummeted into the water.

“That was hot.” JJ blurted.

The friends rolled their eyes. Y/N resurfaced and jumped back into the boat.

“Okay I tagged about ten feet down the anchor line. It’s where I’ll do my safety stop.”

For the first time since last night, JJ spoke to Y/N.

“Okay, when you’re down there, you’re going to look for the cargo hold. You stick this thing inside and twist and pull, okay?”

Y/N nodded, grabbing the key from JJ. She was still waiting on that apology.

“See ya in a few!”

She placed the mask over her face, saluted to her friends and jumped into the water. The water in the marsh was murky, but the outline of the boat was evident amidst the cloudiness.

Above water, the sound of police siren whooped through the air.

“Oh shit it’s Y/N’s dad!”

“Just act frickin’ natural!”

“Evening, officers.”

“Evening.” Shoupe said in an assertive tone. He threw Pope a line to tie the boats together. The other cop from the motel raid was with him.

“How you kids doin’? You know the marsh is closed?” He asked.

“No.”

“No, wow.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Why- why was it closed?”

The friends tried to act as normal as possible. Their attempts feeble.

“We’re conducting a search out here. Boat went down. Seen anything?”

A collective round of ‘no’s’ came from the group. Shoupe didn’t seem terribly convinced. JJ suddenly remembered that Y/N was down there, using more and more oxygen by the minute. He prayed she wouldn’t pop out of the water anytime soon. Another situation with bad timing. The others seemed to realize too, attempting to hide their agitation from the officers. Shoupe noticed this.

“I’m going to uh, check your little boat out.”

“You wanna check, uh check her out, yeah.” John B stuttered.

“Thank you.”

Shoupe made his way into the boat. He glanced at each of the teenagers faces.

“You got any more of these?” He asked, holding up a life jacket.

“Yeah, yeah. There’s more in the hold.”

Kiara stood up so he could look under the seat.

JJ pulled out three more life jackets.

“Yeah, here you go.” He said.

Shoupe nodded sternly. He looked out onto the water, suspicious. He made his way to the bow of the boat.

“Be careful. You don’t want to slip.” Pope commented. Shoupe placed his sunglasses on, scanning the water for anything out of the ordinary. The sunset made it hard to search, creating a glare of colour on the surface.

“All right.” He concluded. “Beautiful day.”

“Sure is, sir.”

“Let us know if you see anything on your way out.”

“Will do.” Replied JJ and Pope.

“We’ll be gone soon sir.”

“Yes you will.”

Shoupe got back into his boat and drove away. When he was out of sight, the group rushed to the side, worried for the girl who was underwater.

“She’s definitely out of air.” Pope said.

“There she is!” JJ yelled.

“Oh god! Jesus Christ!”

Y/N gasped for air loudly and desperately. She pulled the mask off and swam towards the boat.

“How’d it go down there?” John B asked. “Did you find anything?”

Unable to speak properly, Y/N tossed a black bag she scavenged onto the deck near JJ’s feet. He grabbed it immediately.

“Hell yeah!” He said.

Y/N climbed the ladder, still short of breath.

“Yeah, you’re dad was here, but we took care of him.” Pope told her. Y/N let out an exasperated laugh.

“Gotta, get back, before he does.” She said between breaths. She sat down tiredly.

Kiara suddenly shifted.

“Hey, guys? Bogey at two o’clock.”

“What?”

A white boat was approaching the Pogues fast. Two men were on board. No one recognized it.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know but let’s not stick around to find out. JJ get the bowline.” John B instructed. JJ tried to pull the anchor up as fast as he could.

“Guys don’t wait up for me!” He yelled.

“Let’s go!” Kiara added.

The boat did not slow down. John B started up the boat and headed into the marsh. The mysterious boat and its occupants turned to follow them.

“They’re following us!”

Y/N turned around at the same time the passenger began to pull out a gun. Her eyes widened.

“Gun! They’ve got a gun!” She alerted her friends before ducking down to avoid the line of fire. The first shot was sent out, narrowly missing John B who was intent on driving the boat as fast as he could. The rest of the gang lowered to the deck. JJ instinctively covered Y/N as best he could, shielding her from any potential bullets. He remembered her fear of guns this time.

“John B, get down!” He yelled at his best friend.

The perpetrator opened fire a second time. The boat was gaining on them.

“Oh my god we’re gonna die!” Pope yelled. A third shot rung out.

“Shit! Pope, move!” Kiara said, standing up to reach the net at the back of the boat. Another bullet flew by.

“Kie get down!”

Kiara ignored John B’s plea and threw the net behind the boat. A loud noise could be heard as it wrapped within the prop of the boat behind them. It slowed to a stop. Angry shouts of the two men could be heard as another shot flew after them. The Pogues drove to safety.

Back at the Chateau, John B grabbed the mystery bag and plopped it onto the dock. Y/N was still shaken up by the recent events, opting to be silent. JJ helped her off the boat in her shaken state.

“What do you think is in it?”

“Gotta be money right?”

“Can we please just open the bag!” Pope ushered. “You guys are literally killing me with anticipation.”

John B opened the bag to take out another bag. He opened the drawstrings to reveal a metal cylinder. Y/N watched with eager eyes behind JJ. She hoped her efforts weren’t for nothing.

John B unscrewed the end of the cylinder and dipped it upside down into his hand. A compass fell into his palm. He froze.

“Oh, great job everyone! We found a compass.” Pope stated sarcastically. JJ looked disappointed.

“Sorry Y/N, looks like you almost drowned for a stupid compass that’s not worth anything.”

Y/N frowned while John B laughed.

“This was my father’s.”

Any feedback appreciated. :) Let me know if I should continue! <3

113 notes · View notes

mercyisms · 2 years

Text

And now, an initial scattering of thoughts on the following topics. Spoilers all the way through:

On Alecto, John, Humanity, and Love

On Pyrrha’s parental instincts and Nona’s honesty impulse

On Kiriona’s body and the Corpse Prince

On Lyctorhood, Paul, and Kiriona

And also on Lyctoral research and duties

But actually they’re almost all love.

Also, look, I’m just riffing. These thoughts are in no way tidy, but maybe they are fun, especially as jumping off points for later. On Alecto, John, Humanity, and Love

“John loved her. She was John’s cavalier. She loved John. For she so loved the world that she had given them John. For the world so loved John that she had been given. For John had so loved her that he had made her she. For John had loved the world.” (471)

“all the ones I touched, all the ones I loved… they stayed [incorruptible]” (76)

“I needed my loved ones to be something I could touch… needed them to be my hands… my fingers…” (435)

“And she’s scared to die. You’re afraid of so many things, but she’s only afraid to die.” (434)

“Pyrrha, he laid me down as an appeasement to them; he fed me as an appeasement to them; but he has never appeased me, and now all he has done was teach me how to die” (476)

Love! It’s all about love! It’s all, all, all about love. Before John grasped the soul, there’s a degree to which love is what powered his abilities. The Earth/Alecto loved John and he loved her and thus he was chosen. John’s love for “the only people he [needed]” preserves them. Love is a core ingredient to the magic happening in these books (see Paul in subsequent sections), and the element that gets misshapen in John’s pace of vengeance, in the lyctoral process. The Earth taught John how to love and John taught the Earth how to love in turn. (The trillionaires did not.) John loved and was loved by his friends. Somewhere in the multi-millennium quest for revenge, John has forgotten. Love has become warped. (See my post on violence and imperialism from a hundred years ago; it was also about love.) I think you have to thread this together with Mercymorn’s assertion that Alecto could never pretend to be human. (Curious still on Augustine’s claim that John made her worse!!) And contrast that against how, as Nona, Alecto very much did learn how to be human. Down to the minutiae. & that she was retaught love from Pyrrha and Cam and Palamedes and Hot Sauce. Which perhaps speaks to Mercymorn’s own awful personality, but also to whatever happened in those intervening years. How John forgot how to love, and his lyctors forgot how to love, and that changed Alecto in turn. Put that too, with John has only taught her how to die, has removed her last fear. Look, I’m just riffing here, I have no conclusion, but hey. Terrified for you Mr. Gaius. Terrified for the ways love mutates and permutates in these novels.

Pyrrha’s parental instincts / Nona’s honesty impulse

“a soft, guarded want; a hunger – a living desire to take the corpse [Kiriona] in her arms… To own, to squeeze, to cosset and destroy.”

“Did you think this was fun Pyrrha Dve? Did you this was lovely? Family. Blood. Together. Kiss, kiss. A Child’s game. You say nice words and everyone pretends they are the words you say. Here is a house. We ‘live in it. Worms slithering over each other… Did you like playing pretend? Did you like being mother and father? You should have given into your desires and eaten us. Chew and swallow. More Natural. Would have respected you for it…” (413)

“But I’ve loved you—in a better world I’d be able to say, ‘Like you were my own,’ but I don’t know what that would even mean anymore.” (420, Blaze it)

“If Wake had just asked me, I might’ve done it in the first place—died here, with her, for this…” (471)

If we were keeping a tally of how many times Pyrrha speaks in a parental or domestic register around Cam, Palamedes, and Nona, it would decimate her ass jokes counter. It really would. Pyrrha Dve wants to be a parent so bad. (“Why did you bring the [baby]?” @ Wake) It is wonderful and tragic. It also sets up that incredible moment in the end, where Alecto/Nona’s inclination to see and speak the truth becomes something nasty (something we might understand Augustine and Mercymorn, duplicitous sluts, fearing). Alecto unmasks something true and awful about Pyrrha, the brokenness, the remnants of lyctorhood, the way that process, and being an agent of the empire have warped her. Even her love for Wake is laced with violence, is entangled with mutual theft, destruction, and harm. (Is Alecto speaking a truth or simply a truth Pyrrha believes/fears about herself?) Pyrrha knows enough to know lyctorhood is not love, but she is embedded in its patterns, she is or fears herself to inextricable from its impulses. And yet when she dreams of an end, a happy ending, the fulfillment of the love that left her brokenhearted, she dreams of suicide, mutually assured destruction, martyrdom – it’s still a sort of lyctorhood, by another name. Is this compatible with something generative and regenerative? How does this live alongside the deep desire to foster something new? How does it consume it? It's also such a delicious twist in the “found family” trope, I wrote, and then Tamsyn went and said it explicitly: “they are a found family, but I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that in the last movement of the book Nona questions what that even means—their motives, what they all truly wanted out of each other, their pretenses: are they a family, or are they all just a psychosexual mess of roleplaying and bad meals?” Well, exactly. How much can Pyrrha change? How much do Nona and Cam and Palamedes change her, really? Tamsyn Interlude It was exactly here that I looked up and saw the TorDotCom interview and particular where Tamsyn Muir says: “That’s the part I had fun with—what love, in its purest and most messed-up forms, looks like between these people. In a way Camilla, Palamedes, Pyrrha and Nona are love’s dress rehearsal for the last book. You have not begun to see the horrors of love.” God. (Whose love will be the most horrible? John’s? Alecto’s? Harrow’s? Cassiopeia’s?? As always, I want to eat it.) On Kiriona’s body and the Corpse Prince

“He’s made a revenant out of you.” (369)

“My father has made my body’s bones denser than titanium plex… My father has made my skin turn away bullets. I am the perfect sword hand and the final expression of the art of the Nine Houses. Don’t you get it? I am the Emperor’s construct.” (373)

“It was in Kiriona’s every movement—the bright, swift flexions of her arms, and the way she swung her legs, big and brash, and the weirdly easy, light grace which she moved her dead body. / Nona had never seen anyone so sad in her whole life. It made her nearly afraid to die.”

“I’ll be his cavalier. I’m the First. Hell, I’m his child and heir… [John] said me with my blood could do it [kill Alecto] – said me with my blood, I was the only one…” (468-9)

“It didn’t feel good… Fuck… Why didn’t it feel good?” (473)

God. Obsessed with this. Obsessed with John inadvertently bringing new life into the world in the most literal way (procreation), if via the most unique procreative attempts perhaps ever conceived, but then fixing it immediately to a perfect/dead (synonyms here, within John’s empire) body. If it feels like a riff on lyctorhood, well of course it is: “The final expression of the art of the Nine Houses” is not in fact lyctorhood, a living soldier, but a dead and sentient weapon. Gideon! Every step of her life has brought her deeper and deeper into the logics of the empire. She has been promoted at the cost of her life, two times over. I’m intrigued by the joining, here, of Gideon’s sadness and deadness with a lightness of being, a weightlessness. I am sympathetic and enamoured with Tamsyn Muir for fulfilling Gideon’s own desires for love, parental love in particular, self-knowledge, and revenge and how it isn’t fulfilling, how it’s used to turn her into a very literal tool, yet another sacrifice. (Love, here, is still warped.) The pivot towards a blood-right, a birthright, the idea that somehow Gideon’s blood gives her power and purpose is such a chef’s kiss rendering of some of the unpleasant logics John is using to mobilize Gideon, and the ways those promises are empty, deceitful, and isolating.

On Lyctorhood, Paul, and Kiriona

“I think a true Lyctorhood is a mutual death… A true Grand Lysis, rather than the Petty Lysis of the megatheorem” (291)

“… but the soul longs for the body, Nona. Even a fucked-up soul…. even a soul that’s been changed forever. It takes a lot to acclimate a soul to a body it wasn’t born in, if that original body’s around for it to miss.” (355)

“It’s not love, what you’re about to do. It’s not beautiful and it’s not powerful. It’s a mistake. We didn’t even do it right… we were children—playing with the reflections of stars in a pool of water… thinking it was space.” (420) Possibly one of the most beautiful lines in this whole book.

“So there was another way, Sextus, after all,” [Ianthe-in-Naberius] murmured… “But there are more worlds than this. Come with us. We are the love that is perfected by death—but even death will be no more; death can also die.” (424)

In my liveblogging, I almost completely bypassed Paul, because I don’t know how to talk about them without the aforementioned context. I’m not sure how I feel about Paul! How I feel about a mutual death being an answer, a better if imperfect method of lyctorhood. There’s something very compelling about trying to trace a distinction, if any, between martyrdom and sacrifice and not stopping (Pyrrha, Camilla) and choosing to stop, to let go, and if that choice to stop facilitates a different kind of rebirth or the production of new life. (See earlier liveblogged comments of Camilla-in-happiness and Camilla-in-grief.) Is there something to Camilla’s moment of finally letting go? Of losing herself alongside instead of on behalf of Palamedes and fostering, together, something new. Obviously, I’m cribbing language that encompasses biological reproduction, but this motion is hardly exclusively biological. Tamsyn’s TorDotCom interview frames this as rebirth. I think the Locked Tomb shows us a whole host of ways we can or cannot care for each other, in different generative way, and a real host of parents who try to abort, weaponize, or destroy new life at any terms, all in service of loftier goals. Paul reframes this. It seems, I admit, a little neat, a little vague, but I’ve perked up at the idea of it. (And if/how Paul is sustained?) And the way Paul begins to shift us from consumptive traditional lyctorhood (Ianthe, etc.) or the further weaponization (awful word I know but) of younger generations (Gideon, by way of all her parents). And in a dead kingdom, new life – free, new life, life acted in service to mutual love – is so scarce, the shift is one to keep an eye on. edit: See Tamsyn explicitly calling John’s empire a deliberate, static society focused on a singular purpose! (I know, I’m redundant here!)

Lyctoral Research and Duties This is me simply collecting the quotes of what each lyctor did in terms of research and combat because… I love these terrible war criminals, I suppose.

“It’s a shit version of Mercymorn’s old entropy trap,” said Pyrrha. “Not half as good.” (356) Mercymorn stays winning. I remain obsessed with the that Pyrrha “trepanned Cris, who loved it” Dve and Mercymorn “yelling, screaming, throwing up” Nolastname were apparently very close collaborators

“Anastasia’s tripod principle. Body plus thalergy, but no soul, is basically a very weird vegetable.” (362)

“… would’ve taken Cassiopeia and Cyrus and Ulysses and Cytherea just to keep [Ianthe] in hand…” Notably, all of the lyctors who were not even on the board to begin with, when Ianthe ascended. (362) Obsessed, of course, with Cytherea mentoring Ianthe though.

“We’d need a Lyctor to lead it away…preferably with two other Lyctors to engage it in the River… You want Cyrus, Augustine, Cassiopeia… You want Gideon the First and Gideon the First is dead.” We are inclined to believe Cyrus is the bait and Cyrus and Augustine are the ones engaging in the river, based on speciality.

“You can’t spoof this. Cass and Mercy and I worked on cell thanergy.” Girlpower. Girlbosses. Girls-I-Love. You co-publish that ethically dubious paper, I love you.

#nona the ninth #ntnspoilers #nona spoilers #the locked tomb #alecto the first #m: tlt meta #m: nona liveblogging

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