pointing in the wrong direction

Then, eventually, the little bubble of the wife and husband is expanded by the addition of offspring—an exact copy and paste of the father, a perfect clone of the mother, but ideally a mix of both parents.

A tiny duplication of sky blue eyes, dirty blond strands of hair, and that oh-so-stubborn look on their petite facades, the same one John would be making whenever he half-heartedly insisted on getting his way in the silliest mock arguments they so often had that brought a peal of full belly laughter out of their beloved sons.

The sharp brow line, upturned delicate nose, and proud mannerism of their mother, in addition to the unbeatable sad puppy stare she mastered and often used against John when he questioned her purchase of yet another set of overpriced, scented candles she just had to obsess about every time they pulled over at the local market. And John always gave in to her way because the happiness that instantly bloomed over the features of his lady-wife was enough of a reward for the man to last him as a sweet, lingering memory for the days of absence spent thousands of miles away during his deployment.

The moment when he, at last, hit the home soil, though, and was discharged on leave for the time being—nothing would stop John from catching the first better cab and running it down in the direction of the home, the car parked at the base be damned, he can pick it up some other time. His house, a little two-level cottage on the city's outskirts with a sizable garden bordering on the forest, was often visited by the wildlife his sons adored to observe.

His usual arrival time was late at night, but on rare occasions, he would get home just for dinner and then spend the entire time chatting with his sons.

John would ask his older son about his grades and friends at school and, with the younger son, about whatever he had been doing to keep his mommy busy while daddy was away. Then, he would help them get ready for bed, and after a quick goodnight kiss on his cheek, he would send them running to their rooms.

And at last, he'd turn towards his better half, standing just a few steps away, who smiled at him with an open expression, full of love and adoration for the man she chose to marry. For he was her first and last thought on her mind when she woke up and went back to sleep each day, worrying about his safety whenever he was away, and when he was close and next to her, she cherished and enjoyed every waking moment by his side.

John doubted there was ever a word that could describe the content love that flew between them, the wordless understanding. They rarely needed words while they had each other.

“I'm back,” John would say, each and every time more tenderly than before. She would answer, “Welcome back,” in a voice softer than the softest of silks.

John adored his little family. He'd do anything to keep them safe and sound, even if it meant sacrificing his happiness. He missed them terribly while away but knew it was for the greater good; his work was necessary. He made sure that the danger of the world would never reach home again, not after the Piccadilly Circus incident.

×××

Like many times before, John was at his home base, passively partaking in a briefing of the upcoming training exchange the upper management wanted Task Force 141 to oversee. 

Sighting, John scratched the base of his neck and finally announced the end of the meeting. The scraping of chairs against the floor panels and agreeable murmurs from the gathered soldiers followed.

He stood up from the not-so-comfortable meeting room chair and was about to head towards the rest of the Task Force lads when his work phone vibrated with a singular notification. He immediately took it out and unlocked the screen to look at the message from Laswell:

»THERE WAS A SECURITY BREACH. CLASSIFIED INFORMATION WAS COMPROMISED.«

He was about to ask her for further explanation when his personal phone began to ring. Frowning, as not many people had the privilege of being in possession of his private phone number, he pulled it out of his pocket. ‘My Love’ was plastered on the screen, an even odder scene unfolding, as his wife rarely called during his work hours, and only occasional texts were sent his way. He put his work phone aside, and without further fanfare, John picked up the call right where he stood:

“Love, is everything okay–?”

“Daddy, are you coming to get us? Mommy told us to stay hidden; bad people are coming,” his eldest son sniffled quietly. She said not to come out and to call you when one hour passes.”

John's blood turned ice cold, freezing him momentarily, almost letting the phone fall out of his hand.

His family was in danger.

It was an electrifying spasm that went down his spine and shook him out of his stupor and into action. “I'm coming, son. Papa is coming,” he said firmly, signing to Ghost standing nearby ‘Home, emergency, invasion, ready the unit.’.

»RECEIVED. HEADING OUT TO ANSWER A DISTRESS CALL FROM HOME. FIND OUT WHO MESSED UP. OR I WILL.«

×××

The ride to his home with his men armed from their feet to the tips of their heads felt like a fever dream and a nightmare combined. None of the men dared say a word to him, not while he kept the line his children were on alive.

Even Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, the never-ending stream of chatting during the way to the mission, kept quiet, observing Price with barely hidden worry. Price hated worry; he hated pity, primarily directed at him, but these men he was with were the only ones who could look at him in such a way. And this was precisely one of such occasions.

There was a security breach into the classified systems, and one of the items stolen was intel about their Captain's private life—a life not even they had access to. To think that somebody who didn't mean well got a hold of it and targeted Price's bundle of happiness is an unredeemable crime people will die for committing.

At last, they arrived in front of the little cottage Price deemed a scorched ground. A scorched ground his men did not let him step on, insisting that they will sweep through just in case, while Price gets a hold of his children's hidden place and gets them into the safety of the bulletproof, heavy army vehicle.

He had no other choice but to stomp towards the little bunker-like area he told his wife about as a just-in-case emergency situation he had hoped to God that never would come to pass. Oh, how wrong he was.

As soon as he opened the lid to the hideout, two pairs of hands tackled his legs, clinging to his pants for dear life. His stoic facade quivered, and dropping to his knees, John gathered the sobbing kids to his chest. He picked them up, stood up, turned around, and carried them toward the vehicle under the watchful gaze of his fellow men. 

A subtle movement from the corner of his eye had Price turning his head towards the veranda, where Kyle “Gaz” Garrick waved at him to catch his attention. He raised a brew at the young man. ‘Traces of struggle, blood, no body.’ They took her. They took his wife.

John glanced down at his sons and snuggled them closer to his chest, his face unreadable. Price nodded at the sergeant and continued his solemn march, already beginning to formulate a plan of action in his head.

Whomever it was, wherever they were, Price would find them.

_____________________________________________

a/n: still getting used to writing a "you" POV, especially from third person perspective, so bear with me, k? Great, good night 💀💀

The darkness doesn't prevail. The ever-burning star comes out from under the long line of the horizon, shining down at the land that begged for its warm touch.

_____________________________________________

The slumbering animals awaken again from the hibernation they succumbed to in late fall. Conducted by the light breeze of spring in the air, they come out of their lairs with a light body and mind. They might have starved during the dark days of winter, yet they prevailed and awoke at last, greeted by the warmth of the first day of a new season.

The drought makes way for the blessing of the rainy season, bringing relief to the scorched plains and gauging their thirst with the miracle of a cold shower from the greying skies.

That's what Alejandro thinks of you. You're his spring after the cold of winter, the sun that shines down on him even during the darkest hours, the long-awaited rain that soothes his dried-out sinner's soul.

Alejandro was a man of God, but even his solemn grace could not compare to the blessings you brought into his life.

It all started innocently. You were the great-niece of one of the old patrons who religiously attended Alejandro's masses. A girl in her twenties, visiting her family for the summer to help your aunt with the chores around the property.

Your aunt bragged about you to her Sunday mass friends, complimenting you to heavens and back, which piqued Alejandro's interest. It's a rare sight for a young lady like yourself to waste summer heat in a small town in the middle of nowhere.

Such querida like yourself should be busy surrounded by her friends, not hundreds if not thousands of miles away from home. That's what Alejandro thought, at least.

But nothing would have prepared him for the sweet sight of your innocence when you stepped through the archway of his church during one of the warm Sundays. A cotton-made dress hugged your body in just the right places, hugging your breasts and accenting the sensual curve of your hips, flowing around your waist with every step that you took.

Your aunt introduced you to the friendly young priest who moved into the town a while ago. A delicate smile that adorned your face with softness Alejandro had never seen before was directed at him.

He was a man gone.

His cock, which he had sworn off the use of when he entered the priesthood, rose to life for the first time since his late teens when it was the last he recalled feeling such primal want.

Persisting and surviving through the service was his way of the cross. Finally, the bell rang, and people began spilling out the main gate, some wishing Alejandro a good Sunday.

He barely made it to his private quarters, the urgency to relieve his body ache almost too overwhelming to hide the sin he was about to commit in his own four walls. Alejandro couldn't help but slam the doors shut behind his back. He threw himself on the bed, unzipping his suit pants that barely contained his erect pride in place. He hissed out a curse as his cold palm made contact with the too-hot-to-touch skin of his cock.

Twisting his wrist, he began pumping up and down, occasionally brushing his thumb against the tip, which was a poor imitation of what your tongue would feel like when you tasted him for the first time. "Ha pasado mucho tiempo desde, ah, mi última confesión..." His head lolled to the side, and he shivered at the electrifying spasm that went down his cock and up his spine.

"Perdóname, Padre," Alejandro grunted out, squeezing the base of his member, "porque he pecado..." He groaned, running his free hand across his face and hair. He spread his muscular thighs apart, sinfully imagining that it's you between them, with your delicate hands wrapped around his leaking cock.

His tongue lashed out from between his lips to lick at the dried-up skin, a filthy moan escaping his throat. He would not last long, not with your angelic face wired hot behind his shut eyelids, smiling down at Alejandro, coaxing him to let go.

And Alejandro did just as you asked him to; with the last rough tug to his weeping dick, he came hard, temporarily blinded by the feeling of climax you eased his weary soul into. His warm seed shot up and landed on his satin stole. The priestly shawl Alejandro didn't care enough to take off his shoulders beforehand, leaving a prominent contrast of his creamy white come against the rich purple of the material.

His breath calming, Alejandro pried his eyes open and looked down upon himself. As if possessed, he raised his arm that was previously squeezing his dick in a near-perfect picture of what your tiny pussy would do to him. With a hand still covered in his juices, he dipped his fingers into the pool of sperm sploshed on his shirt and stole. He brought it to his face to examine the stickiness, rubbing it between his thumb and pointing fingers.

No hell seemed scary when creatures like yourself existed in this world. Alejandro will get you sweaty and moaning between his arms soon enough, and the both of you will reach an absolution together. Him spilling his seed deep inside of you, and you on his cock, hitting and prodding all the right spots that make prayers spill from between your lips.

_____________________________________________

Spanish vocabulary:

Querida - Dear

Perdóname, Padre, porque he pecado - Forgive me, father, for I have sinned