#I guess i kinda wish I got to learn more about him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

javier-pena · 1 month ago

Text

three's a crowd

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader x Joel Miller

Word Count: 9.9k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re in love with Frankie and he is in love with you, but you both have no idea how to act on it. Until Joel Miller comes along.

Notes: I started writing this fic in June and it was supposed to be a fun little summer thing and then stuff happened and now it's October - but here it finally is. There isn't really much I can say about it except that Dani @alexturner saved the whole thing by pointing out that the final fic wasn't really like what I had talked about while discussin the idea with her and after editing it, it's much, much better. I also had a lot of fun talking about Frankie's and Joel's backstory with you, Dani 🤭 maybe I'll write that one day ...

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

BEFORE

It must have been two years ago, or maybe it was three. Your hair was longer, you had just broken up with your boyfriend of five years, had just moved to a town where you didn’t know a single soul. “A fresh start is what you need.” That’s what your therapist said to you when you cried your heart out after Derek dumped you and moved in with his new girlfriend a week later. But she hadn’t been talking about this, moving halfway across the country, all the way from Maine, where the winters are cold and the air is always salty, to Texas, where it almost never snows and the tornado sirens make you run for cover.

That’s how you met Frankie, sweet, smiling Frankie. Your truck broke down in the grocery store parking lot and he jump-started it. He stuck out to you because he was wearing a pale blue baseball cap, bleached from countless summers under the hot Texan sun, and not a cowboy hat like all the other men around. You bought him dinner at that steak place that would become your favorite, and after three shots of tequila you opened up to him. He held you when you started to cry, took you home, slept on your couch when you asked him not to leave.

You’ve been friends ever since.

He showed you around San Antonio, he flew you to Enchanted Rock in a helicopter he rented, he even took you to Mexico where you found out he speaks Spanish fluently. He helped you fix the roof of your bungalow when it started leaking. You, in turn, took him to the cinema, made him watch horror movies that made him squeal, dragged him along to a rodeo, taught him how to ride a motorcycle when he told you he had always wanted to learn. The two of you just clicked. It felt right.

Now, after three years, you can’t imagine your life without Frankie in it. You don’t remember who you were before him, and you don’t want to. He’s your best friend, and you’re his. Where one of you goes, the other follows. And of course, people mistake you for a couple, of course they ask, “And what about your girlfriend here?”, they say, “You’re lucky to be dating such a nice young fella”. You always laugh, correct them lightheartedly. But sometimes you wish they were right. You love Frankie as a friend, more than you ever thought you could love anyone, but sometimes you want more.

You almost got that more about a year after meeting Frankie. One of his friends, Santi, was in town, and you went out with a group before taking advantage of the hot tub that came with Santi’s motel. There were drinks involved, one thing led to another, and suddenly you found yourself straddling Frankie, wearing nothing more than a bikini, your fingers tugging on his curls, his hands roaming all over your body. It didn’t go any further than that, and the next morning he dropped you off at your house with his usual, “See ya ‘round.” He never talked about it and neither did you. He was probably regretting it and you didn’t want to lose him over something like this, so you left it all unsaid.

He started dating someone soon afterwards, first Arabella, then Bessie, and you hated them both, even though they were probably decent women. Luckily, neither relationship lasted long because it hurt. You didn’t tell Frankie, acted perfectly civil around them, but it felt as if your heart had been dropped from a great height and had shattered against the pavement. You had to ease that pain with a couple of meaningless one-night-stands but they couldn’t take your mind off Frankie buried deep in another woman when it should have been you. And when you told him about Billy and Carson and Hank and Landon and Clara to provoke him to do something, he just shrugged it off and said, “I’m glad you had a nice evening.”

Frankie is single now, and so are you, and life is good. It isn’t always easy, but it’s a far cry from how it was in Maine. You’ve made peace with the whole Frankie situation, realizing it might just be enough knowing you’re the most important person in his life, even if you’ll never have him completely. This way, there also won’t be a messy breakup, hurtful things said in anger, actions you can never undo. You’re content with being Frankie’s best friend, and that should be enough.

It's summer now, one of the hottest on record. The AC in your bungalow broke and Frankie wanted to help you fix it, but then he got busy at work. That was almost a week ago, and you use these circumstances as an excuse to hang out at Frankie’s place as much as possible. He doesn’t mind. He has a big pool in his backyard that he always shares with you, and he loves your company. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s putting off fixing your AC on purpose.

You’re floating on your back, eyes closed, the sounds around you muffled by the water. Frankie is lounging in a chair by the side of the pool, resting in the shade after a hot day. Every time you glance over at him, his eyes are closed. That gives you the freedom to truly look, to see him how not many people are allowed to see him.

You take a deep breath and dive, floating weightlessly for a few seconds. It’s so easy to imagine this to be your life, Frankie to be your boyfriend. If he were, nothing would be different. You’d get to use your shared pool, watch him doze in the shade, help him prepare dinner later, laugh at his corny jokes … Your heart squeezes when you realize you have all of that and still it isn’t enough. What’s missing is riding him by the side of the pool, your bodies sticky with sweat. What’s missing is kissing his neck while he’s watching the brazier. What’s missing is knowing he’s yours and you’re his, come what may.

There’s a shadow by the side of the pool, and you scramble upwards, breaking through the surface with a gasp. “What?” you ask, smiling up at Frankie, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand.

Frankie gives you a thumbs up. “Just making sure you’re not drowning.”

You’re treading water as you say, “Would you jump in and rescue me if I was?”

He laughs. “I’m pretty sure you’re a better swimmer than me.”

“I’d make it worth your while.” You wink at him.

He lowers himself into a crouch so he’s closer to the surface of the water, closer to you. “How?”

“Ever heard of mouth-to-mouth?”

He laughs one of those laughs that comes from deep inside his chest and shakes his whole body. “Leave it to you to make saving someone’s life sound sexy.”

“But it is sexy,” you say emphatically. “Imagine pulling me from the pool, your big, strong arms wrapped around me. I think you’d stay calm and collected; you’d know exactly what to do. Any woman who doesn’t fall for you after that would be a fool.”

Frankie dips his fingers into the water and flicks some of it in your direction. You squeal and try to duck, but the drops still hit you in a quick shower. “Shut up,” Frankie laughs.

You use your whole hand to try and shove the water back toward him. You miss. “Stop it,” you tell him, no weight behind your words, a broad smile on your face.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Don’t make me come in there, young lady.”

He always makes you laugh when he calls you that, the air of authority he puts into his words. You’re not that much younger than he is, but he always acts as if you’re 20 years his junior, while you have started calling him “gramps” to rile him up.

You propel yourself backward, away from him toward the opposite side of the pool. “You’re too chickenshit.”

“Oh, just you wait.” He starts to pull his shirt over his head, his cap that he always wears getting caught in the hem of the neckline. You really try not to but you can’t help looking at his soft belly, the white skin such a stark contrast to his tanned arms. You wonder what it would be like to touch him, what sounds he would make in response to the difference in pressure, if you were using your nails or –

“Am I interruptin’ somethin’?”

You don’t mean to, but you squeal at the sudden appearance of a strange man next to Frankie. You were so preoccupied staring at your friend you didn’t notice someone else approach.

Frankie lowers his shirt. His cheeks are slightly flushed. “Joel!”

You glance between the two men, but neither of them offers an explanation. Instead, a heavy silence settles itself over this already muggy afternoon.

Finally, the stranger, Joel, speaks. “Is this a bad time or –?”

“No, no,” Frankie quickly assures him while you bite down a harsh, “Yes, it is”. Frankie runs his palms down his shirt, trying to smooth the creased fabric. “I just … I had no idea you were in town.

“Well, I am,” Joel replies in a tone of voice that rubs you the wrong way. “I thought I’d drive by, see if you’re home.”

Frankie glances at you, seemingly only now remembering your presence. “This is Joel Miller,” he says in an oddly formal voice. “We sometimes work together.”

“Hi.” You raise your hand out of the water to wave at Joel, the smile you put on not reaching your eyes.

If you had to guess, you’d say Joel was older than Frankie by at least five years, maybe even ten. He’s taller too, broad-shouldered where Frankie tends to fold in on himself. His graying hair is slightly too long, but his graying beard makes him look handsome, especially when he gives you a twisted half-smile as if he’s fully aware of what he just interrupted and is taking pleasure in your discomfort and annoyance. You want him to leave but with a clench of your stomach you realize you also want him to stay.

“She your girlfriend?” Joel asks without pretense, nodding at you in a way that makes you clench your fists.

Frankie chuckles awkwardly, a sound you only heard a few times before and always hated. He lifts his cap with one hand to scratch his scalp, then shakes his head. “No, we’re just friends.”

Joel shifts, rolls his shoulders ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you, just friend of Frankie’s.”

Can’t say the same about you, you want to say but if there’s one thing you learned from your years spent in the south is that there is nothing more important than hospitality. “You too,” you say instead, and start kicking the water, doing laps in the pool. If you ignore him, maybe he’ll leave soon.

But Frankie opens a beer bottle for him and Joel sits down in the lawn chair next to him, taking a big swig. You try to ignore them as best as you can, but you can’t keep your ears from straining to catch snippets of their conversation.

“… between jobs … just a couple o’ nights …”

“… go out tomorrow … bar in town …”

“… broke up with me ‘cause she … her friend …”

Sometimes Frankie laughs in a way he only does when he wants to impress someone. Usually, you can see it too, usually you admire the same people but there is something about Joel that makes alarm bells ring in your head. And you don’t like the way Frankie behaves around him. You don’t want to call it submissive because you hate that word, but it feels as if he’s putting up a front for Joel, not saying what he really wants to say, not doing what he really wants to do.

But then sometimes Joel’s eyes are on you, his gaze hooded, and he doesn’t look away when you catch him staring. There is something in the brazen way he does it that makes you crave more, and you’re a little bit disgusted with yourself for wanting that. You don’t know this man, and you don’t like what you glimpsed so far, but when he asks, “Any chance of you joinin’ us, sunshine?” you’re so very tempted to say yes.

“I wanna shower first,” you answer, pushing yourself up on the edge of the pool. Joel’s eyes immediately shoot to your chest while Frankie’s are glued to his bottle, his fingers busy picking at the label.

“Don’t keep us waitin’,” Joel says in a tone of voice that grates on you and makes you tighten your jaw. You want to flip him off, and he knows it too because he raises his half-empty bottle to you. You wish Frankie would say something, or at least acknowledge your presence, but a loose thread on his jeans has caught his attention now. Your chest tightens with annoyance and, even though you’re loath to admit it, hurt, and you huff at Joel before grabbing your towel and making your way toward Frankie’s house. You feel Joel’s eyes burn a searing mark into your back.

You have no right to feel the way you do, you tell yourself as you work shampoo into your hair. Frankie can be friends with whomever he wants to. This is his house and he can let himself be treated however he sees fit. And you’re not dependent on him to defend you against a jerk like Joel, you can manage that all on your own. Besides, it’s not as if Joel is going to be around for long, he will most likely leave after another beer or two, so there really is no reason for you to get so worked up about it.

And yet …

You turn off the water with a quick jerk of your hand.

Stepping out of the shower, locating a fresh towel, it’s like second nature to you. You briefly bury the face in the soft fabric, inhaling the clean scent of Frankie’s detergent, a scent that will always bring you comfort. Then you pull one of the several dresses you keep at Frankie’s house over your head before using the towel to superficially dry your hair. It comes away smelling like him, which sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You’ve come to terms with it, you really have. Yes, you sometimes dream about kissing him, yes, you can’t stop fantasizing about what the two of you would be like as a couple, but what you have is nice. And it feels like it should be enough, which should count for something, right?

“Took your sweet time in there, sunshine.”

You jump, only registering Joel’s presence leaning against the opposite wall as you pull the bathroom door closed behind you.

“There’s a half bath next to the kitchen,” you tell him, avoiding his searing gaze. “You know, if you need to go.”

You try to scurry down the hallway and back out into the garden, but Joel pushes himself off the wall and steps into your way. “I don’t,” he answers. “I was looking for you.”

You sigh and look up at him, hoping he’ll notice your mild annoyance. “Why?”

“Frankie’s busy with dinner.” His gaze sweeps you from your damp hair down to your bare feet, widening as he notices your dress is slightly too tight at your chest. “And you look like good company.” Before you can come up with a snide remark, he’s two steps closer and his hand is suddenly resting on your waist, his palm hot to the touch even through the fabric. “You’re certainly prettier.”

The sudden contact, his brazen approach catches you off-guard. It’s been years since a man has treated you like this, and many years more since you were free to do with that whatever you wanted.

“Come on.” Why is his voice so low suddenly? “Cat got your tongue?”

You roll your eyes. “N-”

But before you’re able to finish the second short sound, the thumb of his free hand is on your bottom lip and he starts to pull it down. “Let me check.”

Before your brain can consider all your options, you bite down on his finger, hard, out of reflex, drawing a hiss from him. He pulls back, steps away, shakes his hand. But that sleazy half-smile is still firmly fixed on his face. “Oh, you’re a little fighter, is that it?”

You take a step closer to him in an attempt to intimidate him, but he doesn’t budge. “I just don’t like it when people touch me without my permission.”

“I bet that sweet little pussy of yours is tellin’ a different tale.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shove him, both palms hitting his chest, and he loses some ground.

He tries to snatch your wrist but you’re too fast for him. “Careful, sunshine. Don’t irritate me.”

“Why?” You push your chin forward in defiance. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Oh, I have some ideas.” Joel reaches for your waist again, but you manage to step back quickly. He balls his hand into a fist. “I just ain’t sure you’d like them very much.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“I’d like to teach you some,” he shoots back.

The sound of Frankie clearing his throat makes you jump. He’s standing behind Joel, just inside the sliding door that leads into the garden, a cocktail shaker in his hand, an apron covering his chest. “Drinks are ready,” he announces, his voice tense. Then he turns around, leaving you to wonder how long he’s been standing there and how much he heard.

Your stomach curls tightly with shame. Not because of anything he might have overheard or because of anything you did, but because you liked the way Joel talked to you, you liked that he decided he wanted you and went for it. You liked being close to him, feeling his uninvited touch on your body, hearing him say those lewd things. And all the while you forgot about Frankie, for the first time in months.

Joel glances at you and some of the shame must show on your face because he says, “If I kissed you right now, do you think he’d punch me?”

And just like that you’re back to feeling the slow grating of annoyance, like nails scraping down a chalkboard. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you huff before pushing past him and stepping back out into the garden.

The evening light is softer now, the heat feels less oppressive. The sun has begun to dip toward the horizon, and Frankie’s shadow is long against the grass as he waits for you to rejoin him by the pool. You want to put on your brightest smile for him, want to show him how much you appreciate everything he is doing for you, but with him you never have to pretend. Your face lights up when you see him whether you want it to or not, your steps quicken, your heart feels full of happiness. Even someone like Joel can’t ruin that, no matter how hard he might try.

“All clean?” Frankie has a lopsided grin on his face and a martini glass in his hand. When you nod, he hands it to you. “I made it just the way you like it.”

“Thanks, honey,” you tease and playfully kiss his cheek.

“This one’s for you.” Frankie hands Joel a tumbler full of amber liquid.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Just whiskey?”

“You seem like a whiskey kinda guy,” Frankie answers with a shrug before taking off his apron and hanging it over the backrest of his lawn chair.

“What are you having?” you ask, sitting down on one of the sun loungers Frankie keeps next to the pool.

Frankie lightly shakes his beer bottle. “I’ll stick with this for now.”

You glance from him to Joel and then back to him as both men remain standing, clutching their drinks. “Well, this is nice and relaxing.”

“Sorry,” Frankie mumbles and lets himself fall back into his chair. “Long day.”

Joel chuckles and steps forward, but instead of choosing the chair next to Frankie’s, he sits down on the sunbed right next to you. The rough denim of his jeans scrapes against your naked thigh and you scoot away from him, clearing your throat. Joel doesn’t seem to have noticed; his eyes are fixed on Frankie.

“You never told me you had a nice place like this,” he says, vaguely waving his hand at the pool and the manicured lawn. “I would’ve come over much sooner.”

“Where do you live?” you ask before Frankie can say something.

Joel chuckles before taking a sip from his whiskey. “You know what would go great with this?” He pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans, conveniently having to lean against you to retrieve it. You push back, refusing to make yourself small. He holds the pack out to you first, but you shake your head. He doesn’t offer it to Frankie.

“She asked you a question.”

Your eyes snap from the sight of Joel lighting a cigarette, the filter hugged firmly between his lips, to Frankie, who has his elbows propped up on his knees, a thumb and forefinger wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle, holding it precariously.

Joel takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly. The smoke tickles your suddenly very dry throat. “I live here and there,” he finally replies. “Wherever work takes me.”

“Okay, so where do you currently live?” you probe.

Joel waves his hand around. “Y’know …”

“What he means to say is that he’s currently between houses,” Frankie clarifies, a slight tension in his voice you haven’t heard before.

“Oh, so you’re a bum?” Is Frankie’s face lighting up with satisfaction at your comment or are you only imagining that?

Joel takes another drag. “I’m whatever you want me to be.”

It was bad enough that he had no regard for your boundaries when Frankie wasn’t right there next to you, but he can’t expect you to just take it now that Frankie is this close. You try to stand up, but his hand closes around yours and pulls you back down next to him, the force of it making some of your drink spill.

“Hey!” you protest loudly, but he only slings his arm around your shoulder.

“His girlfriend just kicked him out,” Frankie goes on, pretending he didn’t notice what just went down. “He cheated on her with her best friend.”

“Couldn’t have been a very good friend then.” You pick Joel’s heavy arm off your shoulders and let it fall down next to you.

Joel shrugs. “If I see somethin’ I want, I take it.”

“Must be lonely, going through life with that mindset,” you observe, watching him as he stubs out the cigarette against the tiles surrounding the pool.

“Depends on what you want out of life, I s’pose.”

You glance up at the slowly darkening evening sky, currently a soft, darkening blue, then take a sip from your very strong martini. “And what is that?” you ask, watching a bird glide across the sky.

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

AFTER

“Yes.” It comes out rough and breathless and eager, and suddenly your blood is rushing in your ears. You have no idea when the evening shifted to this, but you suppose it was inevitable from the moment Joel walked in. You just didn’t think Frankie would be the one to ask the question.

You glance at Frankie, sweet Frankie, who always respects you, always treats you like you’re royalty, and you see something in his gaze you’ve never seen before, a sort of strangled curiosity, like he’s desperate to find out where this might go, but unsure if he can handle the way there. You smile at him, and you nod, and his pupils dilate immediately, setting your heart pounding. That’s all he needs from you, and all you need from him.

Frankie puts his beer bottle on a small table next to his chair, leans back, crosses one leg over the other, ankle resting against his thigh. “Tough luck, pal,” he says, and next to you Joel stiffens. “You can kiss her though.”

For a moment, you’re right back there in high school, a bottle pointing at you, your friend Ines grinning at you from across the circle, Billy licking his lips nervously. But you’re all grown up now, you’ve played these games a million times, should know their rules by heart. Then why are your hands so sweaty?

Joel doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t even wait for you to turn toward him. His hand is already at the back of your neck while your eyes are still on Frankie, and his lips have found yours while you’re still trying to decipher the look in Frankie’s gaze. The kiss is rough, almost unpleasantly so, and you can taste the nicotine and whiskey on Joel’s tongue that claims your mouth with hungry licks. Joel’s whole body is pushing against yours, and you push back, pressing your chest against his, making his concentration slip briefly. You use this moment of inattention to gain the upper hand and bite his lip, less violently than you bit his finger but hard enough for him to inhale sharply. Maybe even hard enough to draw a little bit of blood.

Joel shifts, tightens his hold on your neck, and pushes up against you even more, like he’s trying to get you to lie down and submit to him. Resisting his efforts gives you a feeling of power you’re unable, maybe even unwilling, to control. You’re still trying to come to terms with the newness of the situation, with the shift that has taken place, but you know exactly what you want, and that is not to give up one inch to Joel without making him work hard for it.

Joel’s hand is on your naked thigh now, tough callouses rubbing against smooth skin. Just like his kisses, it almost feels too violent, but then you remember Frankie’s hands roaming your body in that hot tub, the way the water hadn’t managed to soften his skin. You remember how much you wanted him that night, and suddenly you wish Joel would touch you more.

As if he can read your thoughts, Joel’s hand is suddenly at the underside of your breast, cupping it through the fabric of your dress, his thumb finding the nipple so confidently as if he has touched you a million times before. Your body responds to the touch immediately and you lean into it, your lips parting in a stifled moan. The pad of his thumb rubs across your hardening nipple, rolls it through the dress and the bra you’re wearing, and you should push him away, make him feel like his efforts are futile and he has no effect on you whatsoever, but it’s been too long. Too fucking long. You’re on fire, unpleasantly so, feeling like you’re burning up too fast, like the flames have barely touched you and you’re already turning to ash. You press yourself into Joel’s touch as your jaw slackens, and he grabs your breast and squeezes it roughly while pushing his tongue into your mouth with the sole intent of making you gag.

“Hey!” Frankie’s voice is sharp, but when you flinch away from Joel and glance over at him, he’s still sitting in his chair holding his bottle of beer.

Your ears feel hot with shame as you refuse to acknowledge Joel’s presence and avoid Frankie’s gaze. Frankie was the one to suggest the kiss, Joel made the first move – then why do you feel such shame? Like you’ve been caught cheating? Why do you feel it’s wrong to –

“What?” Joel asks, interrupting the spiral you’re about to slide down.

Frankie squeezes the neck of the bottle, his skin making a wet sound against the glass. “We said kiss.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that sleazy smirk return to Joel’s lips. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little second base.”

Frankie seems to consider this, his eyes fixed to the ground beneath his feet. You wish you could tell what was going on in his mind, but your heart is still racing like you’re being hunted for sport and your body is screaming for Joel to put his hands on you again, and all of that is too much to read Frankie.

Frankie holds out a hand to Joel. “Cigarette,” he says, and Joel obliges. You watch Frankie light it up and take a deep drag, a sight so unfamiliar it makes you eager to commit it to memory. “So you really wanna fuck her then?” he finally asks.

There is a pressure low in your abdomen that makes you shift against the lounger.

Joel only laughs, crude and hoarse, as if deigning that question with an answer is below him. “Where did you get that idea from?”

Frankie takes another drag, a short one this time, before glancing directly at Joel’s crotch. You follow his gaze to find a bulge there, one that definitely wasn’t there before, straining against the stiff fabric. When Joel’s eyes find yours, you make sure he sees you lick your lips. His jaw twitches.

Frankie leans back comfortably in his chair, some of the ash from the cigarette landing on his pants. He brushes it off with a flick of his wrist. “I’ll let you fuck her. But you’re gonna do exactly as I say.”

You think you must have entered a parallel universe or another dimension. For a short while at least. None of it makes sense: the cigarette in Frankie’s hand, the way he talks and what he says, that man next to you who is nothing more than a stranger, who had his tongue in your mouth two minutes ago, and that all of this makes you wetter than you can ever remember being. But then Frankie’s eyes meet yours, dark pupils blown unfamiliarly wide, and yet there is something in them you recognize – this isn’t a stranger who is looking at you, this is your best friend. No matter what happens next, he’s going to look out for you. All you need to do is trust him.

Next to you, Joel shifts, adjusting his crotch. He licks his lips. “Yeah.” He nods. “Okay.”

Your eyes are on Frankie now, heart racing in your chest, mouth completely dry, as you wait for what comes next. Your brain is running hot trying to go through all the possibilities of what Frankie could have Joel do to you, but all you come back to is Frankie kneeling in front of you, spreading your legs. Joel is nothing more than a shadow beside you, watching with a hungry gaze.

Frankie leans forward and reaches out his hand as if he means to touch you, but then stops himself and leans back. “You don’t have to do as you’re told.” The softness in his voice catches you by surprise, but he goes on before you can analyze it. “To start, do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You glance at Joel, at how stiff his shoulders are, and you face him, trembling fingers pulling his shirt up where it is tugged into his jeans. Up and up you pull it until he has to raise his arms for you to get it off, and then you finally see his body betray his nerves as his chest flushes a deep red. There is a scar on his left collarbone, old and slightly brighter than the skin around it, there are some sparse, dark gray hairs on his chest, and his stomach is so much firmer than Frankie’s, so much less inviting.

Joel huffs and your gaze shoots back up to his face. “Kinda boring, don’t ya think? Pullin’ off my shirt when you could’ve done anythin’ to me?”

You won’t let him get to you, not like that, not when Frankie’s eyes are on you. “There’s no shame in me enjoying myself by taking things slow,” you retort. “I know your first move would’ve been to stuff two fingers into me but where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, you’re gonna see where the fun in that is when you’re comin’ ‘round ‘em,” he replies with that infuriatingly sleazy smile darkening his face.

You lean in just a tiny bit closer. “Only if Frankie lets you.” God, that thought turns you on so much your head starts to spin.

Once you recover, Joel’s right hand is cupping your jaw, his grip firm, while his thumb rests against your lips. “Someone should stuff that mouth o’ yours.”

You open your mouth then, until his thumb is only pressing against your bottom lip. You let it slide in past your teeth until you can feel it on your tongue, heavy, tasting like nicotine. You close your lips around the digit and suck on it, your cheeks hollowing, your tongue massaging it. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. Somewhere to your right, you hear Frankie’s chair groan.

The sound of Frankie’s voice interrupts you. “I want you to take off her dress.”

With a wet plop, Joel pulls his thumb out of your mouth and then starts pulling at the straps of your sundress, pushing them down your shoulders.

“Slowly,” Frankie adds, his voice calm as if he’s talking to a semi-feral animal.

Joel moves you so both your feet are planted firmly on the ground, then shifts so he’s behind you. He finds the zipper at the back of your dress and begins to pull it down, torturously slowly as if there is something he wants to prove to Frankie. As more and more of your skin is revealed, he brushes over it, calloused fingers making you shiver. His hands feel so much like Frankie’s, and yet not at all like him. Frankie would be soft and gentle too, but he wouldn’t scrape you with his short nails, he wouldn’t tremble like it takes everything in him not to devour you whole.

The fabric of your dress glides down your shoulders and back, and comes to rest around your hips. It isn’t anything Frankie hasn’t seen before – your breasts are still covered, after all – and yet there is something in his gaze when you look at him, a strange kind of longing, like desire that has been kept in check for so long it has become second nature to him. You can see it in the flare of his nostrils, in the darkening of his eyes, in the way his bottom lip trembles briefly before he darts out his tongue to wet it. And yet he sits there, watching, his body unmoving like it has been trained not to give in.

“Take off her bra.”

Even Frankie’s voice is controlled and even. You shift, pulling back your shoulders and pushing out your chest in an attempt to get him to break, but his gaze shifts from you to Joel as he waits for the other man to follow his orders. Joel doesn’t need to be told twice. He flicks open the clasp at your back with one hand and your bra falls away. You push out your chin, willing your face not to heat up.

Frankie’s throat works as he swallows, a small crack in the otherwise impenetrable wall he has put up. “You’re perfect …” His voice, too, cracks on the second syllable and he coughs. “Wouldn’t you agree, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply. Instead, he cups one of your breasts again and squeezes the nipple tightly between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch you back as a small stab of pain shoots through you. Now that the protective barrier of fabric is gone, you can feel just how rough his skin is against your sensitive spots, how his callouses catch in places your own fingers smoothly glide over. Your head falls back against his shoulder as he pinches your nipple again, as he begins to roll it roughly, pull on it from time to time to hear you hiss.

Joel’s chest rises and falls against your back, hot skin pressing into hot skin, his breath caressing the back of your neck. He runs his nose from your earlobe all the way down to your shoulder, then back up again, but before he reaches the starting point, he sinks his teeth into your neck and bites down, drawing a shivering gasp from you. And then he doesn’t let go. He bites down harder, holding you in place, while cupping your breast with his entire hand, kneading it until your world tilts.

You’re not aware of how desperate you are to find purchase, but the garden and the pool and the sky above right themselves when your hand finds Joel’s thigh. The denim is rough beneath your palm, but he is a rough man so it doesn’t surprise you. What does surprise you though is how hard you have to fight to keep yourself from bucking your hips.

“Joel, stop.”

For just a short little while you had forgot Frankie is there with you, but his voice reminds you with brute force. And when Joel does as he’s told and you are left with nothing to distract you, all you can do is look at your best friend, at his fingers wrapped around that cigarette, and wonder what it would feel like to have him play with your nipple instead of Joel. The painful way your heart constricts at that thought utterly catches you by surprise.

Frankie takes a final drag on his cigarette, flicks the butt away, and clears his throat. “You’ll only do what I tell you to do.”

You shift, the fabric of your underwear rubbing against your clit sending a bolt of desperation through you, mixing with that unbearable longing to create a heady, dangerous cocktail. “Frankie, please.”

Frankie takes you in, and you have no idea what he sees, but he runs his thumb across his bottom lip and asks, “Do you want him to touch you?”

Joel runs his fingers up and down your arm, his touch so light it feels like torture. You try to squirm away but he keeps you trapped against his chest.

You exhale shakily. “Yeah.” There’s a brief moment of hesitation, one that makes your heart flutter as you decide whether you should keep going. You do. “God, I’m so wet.”

Joel’s wandering fingers close around your upper arm like a vise.

But Frankie keeps up his walls. “Show me how wet she is, Joel.”

You don’t think there has ever been a moment in your life where you were more turned on, a single moment where you were less in control of your body and your desires. You try to stand up, your legs trembling like you just finished a marathon, hands wrapped around your dress, ready to pull it all the way down. Joel doesn’t even let you straighten your back. He pulls you back against his chest and wraps an arm around yours before running his free hand down your stomach, not seductively or teasingly but as if he has a task to fulfill. You’ve barely registered the sensation of his fingers against your lower stomach before he has pushed them past the fabric bunched around you hips and into your underwear, and this time you lose the battle against your own body. You roll your hips into his touch as your eyes flutter shut, you push and push, moans and whimpers urging him on. He doesn’t need to be encouraged – he rolls your clit beneath his index finger, just like he rolled your nipple, before dipping it lower, pushing past the muscles at your opening and up into you.

Before you can make sense of it all, he removes his hand and holds up two fingers right in front of your eyes, glistening with your slick. Your chest heaving, you try to catch your breath.

Frankie’s eyes are wide open. “What does she taste like?” he asks, his voice rough as if he hasn’t used it in quite some time.

Joel rubs his thumb against his index and middle finger, toying with your slick. “Don’t you want to find out for yourself?”

Frankie nods so slightly you can’t be sure it really happens, then hides behind a smirk, and you feel something unbearably insisting curl up tightly in the pit of your stomach. “You tell me.”

Suddenly, Joel’s fingers are at your lips, pushing into your mouth. You open up, surprised by the sudden intrusion, and then his thick digits are pressing down against your tongue, making you gag. Tears are filling your eyes, and spit drips out of your mouth as you feel Joel’s hot breath against the shell of your ear.

“Tell him.”

You can’t, not even if you wanted to. Not because you can’t taste yourself on Joel’s skin, not because you can’t talk with his fingers filling up your mouth, but because Frankie flies out of his chair, brow furrowed and fists clenched. Before he can come to your aid, you close your hand around Joel’s wrist and push his fingers even deeper into your mouth, not breaking eye contact with Frankie, not even for a split second.

Joel presses down against your tongue and you suck on his fingers eagerly, but none of that matters to you. The only thing you care about is the red flush creeping up Frankie’s neck and into his cheeks, and the way he keeps closing the distance between the three of you until he’s standing right there, close enough for you to reach out and run your hands up and down his thigh.

Frankie’s hand is warm and heavy as it closes around yours, pulling Joel’s fingers out of your mouth. You gasp, unable to prevent a thin thread of spit from connecting your lips to Joel’s hand. It winks out of existence a second later when Frankie’s mouth clashes against yours, drawing another gasp from you, one that releases months and months of pent-up longing, one that originates deep in your chest but almost dies on your lips, stifled by wonder.

It isn’t a soft kiss, it isn’t even particularly well executed since your teeth clash painfully and Frankie pushes too hard too quickly. He also tastes more like Joel than himself, of beer and cigarettes, but none of that matters. He could have given you a small peck on the cheek and it would have been the greatest kiss you had ever shared with anyone. You feel his breath against your cheek, a shaky exhale, and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself fisting his shirt, fingers clenched so tightly you will never be able to let go again. That is all you ever wanted, all you ever prayed for, and now that you have it, you never want to lose it again.

Eventually, Frankie pulls back ever so slightly and whispers against your lips, “Summer, that’s what you taste like,” and it’s such a corny line it should have you rolling your eyes, but instead you crane your neck and seal your lips to his again, high from the feeling of your tongue in his mouth. He huffs and pushes up against you, but he’s not close enough – there’s still so much space between you. You reach up and grab the collar of his shirt and pull him even closer, but suddenly rough hands grab your arms and hold you back forcefully.

“I wanna go first.” It isn’t a request, that much is clear.

Frankie pulls back and smiles down at you, his face soft and open, searching for any indication you don’t want to do this anymore. Even though you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him right now, the thought of him watching while Joel fucks you, utterly in control of the situation, makes you clench around nothing. Frankie can tell – he switches back to his neutral mask in the matter of a second. “You didn’t do as you were told …”

It isn’t a threat, but it might as well be.

Joel hooks a thumb into your mouth and pulls down your bottom lip. You try to bite him again, but he is prepared this time, holding you in place. “Let me come in her mouth at least.”

Frankie grabs Joel’s wrist again and pulls his hand away from your face. “No.”

You have never heard him use that voice before, that kind of voice that makes you snap to attention, that voice that commands people to follow him. You shift, trying to rub your thighs together, but it’s just a primal reaction you have no control over. All your attention is on Joel trying to pull his wrist out of Frankie’s grip, and on Frankie holding him in place, the muscles in his arm straining.

“I’m going to sit back down, and you’re going to fuck her.” Frankie’s voice is so calm it sends a shiver down your spine. “Slowly,” he adds, letting go of Joel’s wrist. “And if you make her come before I tell you to, there’ll be consequences.”

Every muscle in your body tightens. You’re too wound up to rationally consider what Frankie is proposing, too wound up to think about how much you want this and what that might mean. You glance behind you to catch Joel’s reaction, to see if he’s just as affected by Frankie’s proposition as you are, just in time to watch him lick his lips.

“And I get to fuck her however I want?”

Frankie’s gaze shifts to you. It’s nothing more than a glance, a quick check-in, and you nod, just as quickly, just as imperceptibly.

“Yes,” Frankie answers.

Next thing you know, you’re up on the lounger, knees and hands braced against the soft pillows, faded from long summers under the hot Texan sun, focusing on the sounds of Joel unbuckling his belt. You feel your throat tighten at those sounds, leather scraping against skin, metal clicking against metal, but your mouth is too dry to swallow. Joel unzips his jeans, then there’s a rustling sound, followed by a deep, needy groan. It’s enough to make your heartbeat stumble over itself with excitement. You try to turn your head and glance behind you to see what he is doing, but Joel catches your movement and forces your head down, firm grip at the back of your skull.

“Stay.”

To your right, you hear the sound of Frankie shifting in his chair. He doesn’t intervene.

Joel grabs the bunched-up fabric of your dress with both hands and begins to tear it with quick, jerking movements, ruining it. It falls away and glides down to the ground where it comes to rest next to the lounger, leaving you almost completely exposed to Joel. And Joel doesn’t hesitate. He pushes the thin fabric of your underwear aside and sinks into you with one deep, calculated thrust you can feel in your chest.

Your fists clenched, your head hanging low, you try to take it, but his thrusts send shudders of pain up and down your body. It’s not unbearable, and it shouldn’t surprise you; he fucks like he does everything else – rough and with an edge of violence to it – but the stretch is uncomfortable, and the thrusts are greedy, so much so you wish he had surprised you after all.

“Slow down,” Frankie orders, and you lift your eyes to him. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and when Joel does as he’s told, he watches you closely, searching your face for any signs of the discomfort lessening. You shift, your body adjusting to the feeling of being so full, and when Frankie asks, his voice low, “You okay?” you realize that you are. You’re more than okay, actually. Two more shallow thrusts from Joel and you’re completely relaxed.

“Yeah,” you answer, just for Frankie to hear and his lips quirk up in a smile.

“We’re good,” he tells Joel.

Joel’s open palm lands against your ass cheek catching you unawares, as does the moan you let loose at the sudden burst of pain. Frankie swallows, or at least you think he does – you can’t be sure with your eyes flutterin shut. You push back against Joel, eager for more, pulling him deeper inside of you with a greedy clench.

“The way you’re clenchin’ ‘round me makes me think you’ve never had dick before.”

Joel’s voice comes out restrained, the words are punctuated by more slaps, one harder than the last. Their meaning is lost on you as you are reduced to a babbling mess, unable to retain anything that is happening outside of your desire for him. You gush around his cock, hot and wet and wanton, and somewhere between the thrusts and the grunts, you hear a chortle.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya.”

That chortle is what pulls you back into yourself, and you risk another glance behind you, hoping that this time he will let you see. He does, and you watch him pound into you, both hands on your hips, denim pulled just low enough to free his cock, dark hairs curling just above it, streaked with bulging veins. He has one knee braced against the lounger, one foot firmly planted on the ground. You almost hate yourself for being so affected by that sight, but you can feel everything tighten, your body begging for release.

“Fuck,” you groan, your voice breathy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna –”

With a condescending smirk, Joel reaches for your clit. “Go ahead, sunshine.”

You close your eyes, focusing on how you’re clenching around him. You’re so, so close, you can almost taste the release on your tongue. Your mouth hangs open, a moan begins to emerge from someplace deep inside your chest and –

Joel’s hips falter and still, and you can feel yourself flutter desperately around him, but it’s not enough. You glide along his length, coming down from the edge, frustration blossoming in the pit of your stomach. Joel’s fingers rest uselessly against your swollen clit, still as the rest of him, and whenever you try to grind yourself against them, his touch lessens.

“Joel …,” you whine, opening your eyes to look back at him.

It’s not Joel your gaze lands on. It’s Frankie, standing right there next to the lounger, one hand on Joel’s head, fisting his hair, pulling on it so his chin is raised high, his neck exposed, a thick vein pulsing near its base. Joel is breathing heavily, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to free himself, while Frankie looks down at him, darkness clouding his features.

“You’ll do as I tell you or I won’t let you come inside of her.”

Frankie lets go of Joel’s hair with a shove to drive home the point. Even now, freed from his restraint, Joel doesn’t fight back. He glares at Frankie as if he’s imagining beating him bloody, but he does like he’s told, removing his fingers from your clit to dig them back into your hip. He picks up the pace again, thrusts a little shallower than before, drawing a sigh of relief from you, scratching that undefinable itch Frankie restraining Joel like that triggered in you. That itch you don’t want to examine too closely right now but that you know you’ll return to.

Frankie pats Joel’s shoulder, two firm raps against the straining muscles. “Good boy.”

You clench so hard around Joel he must notice, but he doesn’t remark on it. He resumes the steady snapping of his hips while your eyes fall shut and drop down to your elbows, those two words floating around your mind like an echo.

Good boy.

A desperate little whimper escapes you, one at least Frankie seems to hear, because he runs two knuckles up and down your spine in a movement that is meant to calm you but shoves you toward the edge with a violent jolt. He must know what he’s doing to you, there is no way he hasn’t noticed. And it should fill you with shame, it should make you resent him, the way you lie bare before him, showing him the most vulnerable parts of yourself, but it only makes you want him more. You open your eyes to find him standing right next to you. This close, you can see how tight his pants stretch over the bulge you hadn’t noticed before, how you think you can even make out a dark spot of precum forming against the fabric. You lick your lips.

“Frankie, please.” Your voice is rough and broken, laced with desperation.

Joel shoves into you so violently you feel the thrust in your throat, but he doesn’t say anything.

Frankie leans down and places a soft kiss against your temple, then runs his thumb across your furrowed brow. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

You whish you could tell him you’ve been ready ever since he suggested Joel should fuck you, but you can only laugh, a broken sound followed by a hard swallow.

Frankie straightens his back, his eyes bright with excitement. “I see.” He makes his way back over to his chair and sits down, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “Go ahead, Joel.”

Joel picks up the pace, making every thought, every doubt you might have, instantly disappear from your head. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing you hard, and after that it doesn’t take long at all. After that, you let out a deep moan and push back against Joel so hard it makes him lose his rhythm, but it doesn’t matter. You’re coming, pulling him deeper into you as he fucks you through it, letting you squeeze him as you sink deep into pleasure, losing track of your body’s movements.

You come back to the surface when you’re spent, and everything feels sore and tender, but Joel doesn’t stop. There is a burning between your legs now and you hiss, reaching back for him.

Frankie is there next to you again, cupping your cheek. You have no idea when he approached, what made him leave his role as spectator this time, but you instantly relax when you feel his touch on him. “Just a little more,” he murmurs, calming you. “You can take it, I know you can.”

You watch him squeeze the bulge in his pants, and giving it another, harder squeeze when Joel grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back. The proof of how much he’s affected by you is enough to chase away the discomfort and rekindle the fire in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes glued to the bulge in Frankie’s pants you wonder what it would be like to feel him thrust into you, chasing his release, to feel him take what he needed from your body, fueled by how much you want him in return.

Finally, Joel stills and spills into you, groaning as his orgasm sparks through him. But your eyes are locked to Frankie’s, as neither of you dares to look away.

THE OUTCOME

The neon sign of the motel casts deep shadows into the cabin of Frankie’s pickup. Your gaze is fixed to the flashing letters, promising vacancy. A car rushes past, its tires whispering against the concrete, still hot from the Texan summer day. You try to ignore the tightness in your stomach, but when a door falls shut with a rattling bang somewhere nearby, you feel that sound like a punch to your gut.

“That was fun,” Joel says from the backseat. He stretches his legs, kicking his foot against your backrest. “If you ever wanna repeat that …” He lets the offer hang there in the air between you.

Frankie grabs the steering wheel tightly, the wood groaning under his skin. “We’ll know where to find you,” he finishes the sentence.

Joel braces both hands against your backrest and leans forward so his lips are close to your ear. “I think I’ll stick around for a while, so if you ever wanna grab some drinks, sunshine …”

Only half-listening, you reply, “Whatever,” fighting down the nausea you’ve been feeling ever since you climbed into Frankie’s truck.

“Whatever,” Joel echoes with a huff, opens the backdoor, and climbs out. “You know, I’ve had better,” he adds, before shutting the door with a loud bang.

“Hey!” Frankie barks, but you shake your head, and Frankie lets him walk away.

It doesn’t matter what Joel says to you. You couldn’t care less. Because as soon as Frankie starts the car, he’ll drive it straight over to your place, say goodnight without really looking at you, and tomorrow, he’ll pretend that none of this happened. Just like he did before. And as much as you hate that thought, you’re going to have to live with it.

As Joel climbs the stairs to the second-floor landing of the motel, you say, “You’ll want to take me home now, right?” It’s best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

The wood groans again, but this time from Frankie loosening his grip. He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his ruffled curls. You don’t look at him, but you study him out of the corner of your eye, trying to read his face. He puts the cap back on, then slings his arm across the backrest of your seat. “Actually … I was hopin’ you’d come back to my place.”

The nausea you’ve been feeling pricks up its ears with interest and then curls up into a tiny ball, tugged away in a corner of your stomach. “Oh?” you say. And that’s all you manage before he closes the distance between you, his left hand cupping your jaw, his lips brushing against yours, tentatively, asking for permission. You give it to him by fisting his shirt, pulling him toward you, by smiling against his lips, exhaling all the tension in one short giggle, full of relief. He strokes his thumb across your cheek at the same time as you open up for him so he can brush his tongue against yours. You find yourself mirroring him, hand on his cheek, thumb running over the stubble there, relishing the feeling of him being so close.

You pull away first, and he follows you, mouth slightly open, chasing another taste. “What are we gonna do at your place? Do you have more friends who want to fuck me while you watch?” you ask, high from the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, from that promise that he won’t forget about any of this in the morning.

A neon flash lights up Frankie’s face, once, twice, as you watch his cheeks darken with a flush. He takes his time, studying your face closely. “No,” he says, his voice a low rumble, so unfamiliar it draws a smile from him, “I want to fuck you myself.”

If you enjoyed the fic, I'd love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime ...

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #frankie morales x reader x joel miller #frankie morales x you x joel miller #triple frontier fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #i need to stop with these insanely long fics lmao

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unfriedough · 10 months ago

Note

Hey sorry if your request aren’t open but I had a thought about Zuko x water tribe/bender reader!Like three years after the war he wants to propose to reader and So he ask Katara and Sokka about marriage traditions within the tribe and he carves a betrothal necklace for her?? And the readers reaction!! Thank you

An: HEY. Sorry this took like, so long I think you requested last summer, however I’ve kinda lost most of my determination to write and this account became more of a chore than what I had initially wanted. Either way, maybe somehow I’ll be able to be more consistent soon but I also don’t wanna make myself hate writing so :(

Thank you for requesting, I really do appreciate it, hope you enjoy :)

Zuko’s nose twitched as the cold nipped away at his extremities, huddled up in a few too many jackets. There’s a striking difference between cold and cold and right now he wished he was on fire.

Your gloved hand was intertwined with his as you lead him off of the fire nation ship and onto the white snow of the southern water tribe. This trip was planned as a way to visit Sokka and Katara, but Zuko had another plan in mind.

Finally, after three years of struggling to settle down, the fire people finally relaxed and he was able to make more time. In that time, he realized he’d wanted to marry you more than anything. So here he was, in a nation far too cold for someone like him, with a goal in mind.

He had exactly 5 days (and a half if you’re counting from now) to get ready a betrothal necklace. Why a necklace? Well, Zuko had watched you for days on end in the castle library, a book bigger than your head on the table being analysed by your eyes. You’d smile brightly when you locked eyes, and call him over. He’d sit next to you, shoulder to shoulder, attempting to read with you. The books were always about old water tribe traditions, tales, legends, history, everything of the sort. You’d wanted to stay connected to your culture and upbringing - it made you who you were today.

And so that brings you to today, here, the water tribe.

“Katara!” You squealed, running forward and pulling her into a hug. You two squeezed each other tightly, excited noises being expressed.

Zuko and Sokka nodded to each other, trying to be kinda nonchalant but Sokka couldn’t hold it much longer, he sprinted at Zuko and tackled him to the ground into an oh-so-warm hug. You laughed at the site, Katara too. Zuko felt a twinge of pink on his cheek, from the cold or embarrassment he couldn’t really tell, but he still wrapped his shaking arm around his buddy. After a few more ‘I missed you!’s and giggles, Zuko and Sokka got back up. Katara grabbed your hand and pulled you deeper into the village, you laughed the entire way, giddy from being back home here with your family. You threw a glance backwards at the fire lord, there was something very slightly off about the way he was smiling, you brushed it off as just the cold getting to him.

It was most definitely the cold getting to him.

Sokka led him to the ice on the outskirts of the village and brought some chairs along. They were gonna go fishing while they talked. As they both sat, another shiver ran up the poor fire bender’s back.

“How do you guys survive the cold?” He groaned.

Sokka chuckled, handing him a rod, pushing the bucket of bait closer to him, “You get used to it… I could ask you the same thing about the heat,”

“I’m a fire bender it’s in my blood,”

“Yeah well you learn a thing or two when your lovely sister starts learning how to bend and suddenly you’re always wet,” he cast the line, leaning back, putting one leg over the other.

“I guess,” he laughed.

They sat in a suffocating silence for a minute, Zuko just awkwardly holding the pole and Sokka staring into the sky.

“Are we going to address the camelephant in the room?”

Zuko looked to him from his peripheral, “I’m kinda nervous I guess, I don’t know what to do,”

Sokka sat up a little straighter, getting up to help Zuko with his fishing issues. He stood behind him and helped his arm into the correct place, slowly to be sure he understood.

“Just like fishing, you have to be precise and confident to get what you want, and if you cast your line just right, you’ll catch the fish,” he winked once the bob hit the water, stepping back to admire his own work.

“Not sure that’s the best metaphor,”

“Say you love it, he's been working on it ever since you wrote to him,” Katara rolled her eyes, holding your hand as you both struggled to not slip on the ice.

“KATARA.”

Zuko couldn't help but laugh, then he was met with the puzzled look on your face.

“I thought this was a surprise trip, when’d you write to them,” you tilted your head, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“…needed to make sure they were free,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“That totally checks out,” you rolled your eyes, getting a serious case of FOMO.

Sokka coughed to try to clear the awkwardness, “So fishing…”

“What’re you trying to catch anyways?”

“Does it matter, it’s about the process YN get with the times,”

“Since when did you fish for fun?”

“Since now.”

“I thought you hated fishing,” you were all standing up by this point, including Sokka and Zuko.

“Only because Miss Katara always splashed me,”

“And I won’t hesitate to do it again!” She bent a small stream into his face, giggling when he stumbled back.

“Oh it’s on Katara,” he paused, “As soon as I get snow,” he waddled away to get to the snow on shore.

You laughed when the waterbender used more ice to cause him to slip.

“I’ll go help him up,” you laughed, moving towards him as he laid helplessly on the ice, not even bothering to get up anymore.

Zuko watched your figure, missing the way Katara turned to look at him.

“I think you should do it here,”

“What?”

“The proposal,”

“That’s not enough time, it’s barely enough for me to learn how to carve the necklace,”

“Lucky for you, Sokka’s pretty efficient with plans, he’s been plotting since you told him,”

The fire bender smiled, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jacket. “Okay, maybe, but how can I get started when she’s with us all the time?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle her,” she smirked.

“Are you sure this is safe?” You shivered, standing in your bathing suit on top of a huge rock, below it freezing water.

“No!” Katara, “But let’s do it anyways,”

“I don’t know, what if I freeze?”

“Good thing we have a fire bender with us,” she pointed to Zuko, who was in the distance learning about what tools to carve and what stones to use, he’d settled on one that reminded him of your eyes, and the band matching the deep royal blue usually used. He wanted to alter the pattern as a way of commemorating both elements. Currently, he and Sokka were doodling designs on the snow with sticks.

“Look at those dorks, I wonder what they’re doing,”

“You know Sokka, they’re probably drawing,” she laughed nervously.

“Hmm, that kind of looks like a-“ you were cut off as she pushed you off of the rock. You shrieked as you first dropped, then as you got more air time you changed into a more streamlined position with your head downwards. Instant regret when you hit the water though.

You resurfaced, drenched and in pain from the cold. Your fingers felt like they were gonna fall off any second now. Before you got to dwell on it, Katara joined you, also screaming in fun-agony.

“WHY’D YOU PUSH ME?” You splashed her.

“You were talking for too long…” she giggled, going under and pulling you down.

You inhaled a large amount of air before going under, making sure to keep her under with you as well. After a few seconds of freezing cold, you resurfaced, feeling pain in all your joints from the water.

“Why did I ever think this was a good idea?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” she shrugged, waterbending herself back up to the ledge so she could jump again, “But it sure is fun,”

Sokka and Zuko heard a splash in the distance.

“I think Katara is torturing your wife,”

“What?” he mumbled, looking at where you were very clearly lecturing her about something, “What’re they doing?”

“Ice bath, Katara tricked me into doing it once… I never fully recovered,”

Zuko chuckled, using his stick to doodle another design. Which he then stared at for a while.

“This is it.”

“Oh?” Sokka glanced at it, “It’s perfect.”

The men stared at each other proudly, as if they’ve just completed a super hard mission.

Immediately, Sokka took him inside a tent, quickly teaching him methods of carving with different tools. A few more splashes could be heard and you and Katara had fun.

“I wonder what he’s doing to Zuko,”

“Boy stuff,”

You furrowed your brows, “what does that even mean?”

After a lot of time (and a few cuts) Zuko finally had a necklace ready. Sure, it needed to be refined, but his hands were tired and shaky. Sokka patted him on the back, watching the fire bender weave the blue band into the loops.

What they failed to notice was you approaching, now covered in a warm coat.

“What’re y'all up to?” You breathed out, still cold but beginning to gain your senses.

Zuko panicked, hiding it under his leg. You looked at him weird.

By this time, Katara had joined the group, and behind her the sun fell into a pink and purple type hue. Zuko didn’t miss the way your breaths were so laboured, and he took it upon himself to lead you back to where Sokka said you two were staying. You changed into some clothes while he surveyed the room, moving around nervously.

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” you pulled a sweater over the thermal shirt, reaching over to grab an undercoat.

He walked up to you, fingers working shakily to button up the buttons. “Just cold,”

“No, the cold doesn’t make you avoid me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,”

“Really? It feels like Katara and Sokka are trying to keep us apart.” He grabbed another, heavier coat and draped it over your shoulder, you inserted your arms in the holes.

“I didn’t notice,”

“You’re lying,” you stepped back, putting your boots back on and tucking your pants into them.

He frowned, reaching out to you, but you stepped back.

“It’s weird, the letter thing as well- why didn’t you tell me you sent it to them? I thought it was last minute?”

“It was!”

“You’re lying again,” you frowned, folding your arms.

“I promise it’ll all make sense soon,”

“How soon? What’re you hiding?”

“I-“

“Actually. Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.” You huffed, storming out of the room, leaving a different kind of cold lingering.

Zuko sat down on the large bed, dropping his head into his hands. He sighed deeply, reaching over multiple layers of clothing to his pocket to pull out the carved stone. Truly, it was mediocre at best. And after this misunderstanding, the sinking feeling of impending rejection poisoned his thoughts. He couldn’t help but trace his finger over the patterns, wondering what could’ve been- he was half sure he was single now.

“I forgot-“ you gasped as you walked back in the room, catching a glimpse of the rock in his hand.

“Yn!” He quickly shoved it behind him.

“Zuko… what was that?”

“What was what?” He said, looking so suspicious it was stupid.

You took a few steps closer, inching towards him slowly, “In your hand,”

“My hand’s empty…”

“Liar…” you dragged on, standing right infront of him now.

“Zuko,”

“Yn,”

You tried pulling at his arms, but he wasn’t budging.

“Cut it out! What’s behind you?”

“Nothing!”

You sighed, walking away in defeat, just as he let his guard down, you pounced, having to grab it and rolling onto the bed. He barely had time to process it when your face immediately changed.

You sat up, moving on your knees towards him on the bed, patting his bicep, “Zuko light,”

The fire lord frowned, embarrassed that he was about to get rejected, although that’s no foreign feeling. A small, dancing red flame illuminated the carved necklace.

“It’s…” you covered your mouth with one hand, tears welling in your eyes.

“Tacky- I know, I just thought- you don’t have to do a-“

“Beautiful…” he glanced sideways at you, “Zuko…”

“This isn’t at all how I wanted this to go…” he sighed, dropping his head.

“No… probably not,” you sniffled, “but it was perfect,” you laughed, he chuckled as well.

He got up, lighting an oil lamp for better lighting. Zuko circled the bed and stood next to you, still nervous and fidgety.

“Yn,” he breathed out, shakily.

You nodded, glossy eyes meeting his.

“The years you’ve spent by my side, against me, with me- those have been the best years of my life. When I’m with you, I feel like I’m truly myself. I’ve never,” he swallowed harshly, “I’ve never felt more at home,” he paused again, looking up at the ceiling, “then when I’m with you.”

You let out a small noise of excitement, bouncing your legs.

“I’ve made so- so many mistakes in my life, every single day of it, but I think… I think letting you go would be my biggest mistake, Yn-“

“YES!!” You pounced on him, hugging him so tight as your heartbeats both skyrocketed.

You giggled as he looped the necklace around your neck, it was simple, and dainty, but most of all it was so Zuko. The more someone could stare at the imperfections in the craftsmanship, the more they’d love it. A man carved it with love and intention.

You held each other for a while, just swaying in the dimly lit room. You leaned back, cupping his face in your hands.

“Is this why we're here? You wanted to carve the necklace?”

“Yeah, pretty much, you ruined my plans though,”

“I did, didn't I?” You giggled.

“I had a lot planned for us, with the help of Sokka of course,”

“Ohh now that makes sense,”

“What makes sense,”

“Literally everything, you were being so weird,”

“I’m not great at keeping secrets,”

“Good, never keep one again,” you kissed his cheek.

“I suppose we should tell Katara and Sokka,”

“Yeah, I suppose we should.”

And so, hand in hand, you walked out to the bonfire, where the siblings sat.

Sokka was so mad his plan foiled.

#atla #atla zuko #avatar the last airbender #fluff #avatar zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko #zuko angst #zuko #zuko atla #zuko x Reader #fire lord zuko x reader #zuko x female!reader

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ckret2 · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 54 of everybody being really eager to kill their prisoner human Bill Cipher for good: the gang's trying a new way to create fuel for the one weapon guaranteed to destroy Bill.

It goes so great.

As Ford drove to Northwest Manor, Dipper skimmed through the introduction to Flatworld, where Edward Bishop Bishop was pretending that his book had been dictated to him by a sentient square; but he couldn't focus on it. He sighed, shut the book, and stared out the passenger window at the passing trees.

"Something on your mind?" Ford asked.

"I'm thinking about the Axolotl's poem again. The one about Bill."

"Ah. Still trying to remember the rest?"

"Kinda. Mabel and I are working on it together," Dipper said. "But it's not that. I've just been wondering... what if the poem is... you know, part of a prophecy about Bill or something?��Mabel remembered another line of the poem—'A different form, a different time.' What if the Axolotl was telling us why Bill's back as a human? Maybe we need him here—to, to use his powers to fight off a bigger threat or something. Do you think that's possible?" He held back another question: what happens if we kill him before then?

Ford frowned thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about the Axolotl as well," he said. "About the worlds I visited that called it a god of criminals, tyrants, and luck. That sounds to me like the exact kind of being that would be Bill's ally. And it's odd how resistant Bill was to telling us anything about the Axolotl, when it simply passed over town for a few seconds and then moved on. Why the secrecy? How does Bill think it benefits him for us not to know about it?" Ford shook his head. "I think you're on to something, Dipper—I think whatever the Axolotl told you is important. The question is: important for whom?"

Dipper's stomach turned. The Axolotl had radiated such kindness; it was hard for Dipper to believe it could be up to anything evil with Bill. But then—Dipper clutched at Flatworld with the damning biography on the back—but then, how many people had Bill himself fooled with the benevolent teacher act?

Dipper understood now why "Don't Trust Bill" had so quickly turned into "Trust No One." Even when you knew that there was only one real enemy—even when you knew that most people out there were still reasonably honest and friendly—you could never tell just how far Bill's shadow stretched. "I guess that's true. We can't really know."

"We can't know yet. But it is worth trying to figure out," Ford said. "I wish I could tell you where to start looking for answers. For now... we'll just have to consider anything possible."

Ford was right. But all the same, every time Dipper paranoidly asked himself What if Grunkle Ford is right, what if the Axolotl really is on Bill's side, a second, even more paranoid, even more worried voice asked, But what if he isn't?

####

When they arrived, Fiddleford was already in his lab, hard at work on the miniature particle accelerator they'd come to see him about.

"The paradox what was powering it started yowling" Fiddleford said. "So obviously it ain't a paradox no more."

Ford grimaced. "That does lay to rest whether the cat is alive or dead."

"Sure does," Fiddleford said, sighing. "So I let the cat outside and I'm rebuilding the whole contraption to run on a more robust paradox. I hope you've got better news for me, Stanford."

"We hope so too. I think Dipper might have the solution to our fuel generation problem."

They briefly explained Dipper's unfortunate puppet incident last summer—Fiddleford had to take a break in the middle to grab a cup of coffee, "To steady my nerves,"—its ongoing effects on his sleep, and the new developments of the last few days, culminating in Dipper learning how to project his soul out of his body—

—which, Ford now realized, he probably should have expected Fiddleford to take poorly.

"Sweet sasparilla!" Fiddleford kicked over his chair while jumping onto the nearest table. "You're dead?!"

"What?" Dipper said. "No, I—"

"You're like a ghost possessing a zombie!"

Dipper thought that over. "Whoa..."

But, even though Fiddleford thought the whole affair went against the rightful order of the world, he agreed that it was a sound idea and worth trying. "It's lucky that my tater tot and I hunted out all the ghosts in this place during our spring cleaning," he said, opening a cabinet. He retrieved what looked like a pair of vacuums redesigned to be worn like backpacks with an assortment of random electronics dangling from wires. He held up a set of goggles and headphones hanging off one of the vacuums. "I invented these doohickeys that'll let you see and hear ghosts! They'll let us keep in contact with Dipper while he's out of his body." He set the vacuums on a table near the miniature particle accelerator and said, "First, though—Stanford, I need you to help me rebuild this machine."

"Of course." Ford turned away from the vacuum he'd been inspecting to look at the miniature particle accelerator.

Dipper said, "Wait, there are other ghosts in this mansion?"

"Yep!"

"I hunted one at the Northwests' big party last year," Dipper said. "How many more ghosts are in here?"

"We've caught, oh... thirty or forty so far."

"Seriously? That's amazing." Dipper was already thinking about the amazing Ghost Harassers episode this place could have been. Maybe even a miniseries.

"Aw, it weren't that hard. If you leave the TV on, they like to flock around it to watch. All you've gotta do is hide in the corner until a whole big bunch of 'em are gathered 'round—and then ya get them!"

"Oh," Dipper said. "Huh. I just tricked one into getting trapped in a silver mirror."

"Well, that's right impressive too. I never woulda thunk of that," Fiddleford said. "Me and Tate have been sucking them into cooling pouches in these here vacuums and then sticking the pouches in a chest freezer down in the dungeon! Maybe I oughta line the freezer with silver."

"This place has a dungeon?" Dipper asked.

Before Fiddleford could respond, Ford asked, "Which parts are we replacing?" He was inspecting the miniature particle accelerator.

"All of them!"

Ford gave Fiddleford a surprised look. "All of them?"

"Yep! Every last one!"

"Is the design changing that much?"

"Nope! It's staying exactly the same!"

"Then... why can't we just use the same machine we already have?"

"We will be using the same machine!" Fiddleford smiled mischievously. "Or will we?"

"Ah! I see! The particle accelerator of Theseus," Ford said. "Very clever."

"And kinder on the local stray cats, I reckon."

Dipper offered his assistance, but the work involved too much welding and buzzsawing for him to try untrained, so he was directed to sit a safe distance away with the first aid kit. At least it gave him a chance to read some more. He had to shove aside a couple flashlights and the glue grenade to reach where the slim book had slid to the bottom of his backpack during their walk from the car.

He skimmed over some of the worldbuilding looking for the story before he realized the story was the wordbuilding and looped back. It was a lot bleaker than he expected, even after Mabel's warning. Rigid class system, oppressive government, all kinds of horrifying shape prejudices... Frustrating dream visits to the ignorant line people in the first dimension who didn't believe in the second dimension, and to the self-absorbed King Zero in the point-sized zeroth dimension who thought a whole universe was contained inside him... A just as frustrating visit from a sphere who simply couldn't explain the third dimension in a way the square protagonist could understand, which was even more annoying since the square had just seen how the first dimension couldn't comprehend the second for the same reasons, so why couldn't he accept the possibility of a third dimension he couldn't imagine? Dipper got that it was supposed to be a metaphor to help three-dimensional readers understand that not being able to visualize a fourth dimension didn't mean it was impossible; but still. Come on, man. Don't be stupid.

On the other hand, at least now Dipper had a framework to understand the concept of higher dimensions and probably a leg up on next year's geometry. Would high school geometry cover four-dimensional space?

After a couple of hours of work and a break for lunch, the miniature particle accelerator was rebuilt and ready for another attempt to generate fuel. Fiddleford pulled on one of his ghost vacuums like a backpack, put on the set of connected headphones and goggles, and settled his glasses on over the goggles. "Y'all ready?"

"Ready," Ford said. He was seated at the accelerator's monitors, holding the jug that would contain any NowUSeeitNowUDontium they generated, and wearing the other vacuum—with the goggles over his glasses, and he was a bit worried about how Fiddleford had positioned his.

"Ready," Dipper said, a tad less certainly. What if he couldn't do it today? What if he'd never actually been able to do it last night and the whole thing really had been a dream?

But Fiddleford flipped the accelerator's power on, stepped back, and said, "All right! Do your thing!"

"Okay." Dipper stared straight at the machine, and—eugh—thought about degloving his body from his soul, peeling out of his skin fingers first.

This was only the second time he'd left his body deliberately. He'd observed in the past that the mindscape was strangely gray and still compared to the real world—but he'd never realized just how stark and swift the change was, like all the color and warmth had been abruptly sucked from reality. He shivered.

Ford inhaled sharply. Fiddleford stumbled back against the nearest table and yelped, "Flipping flapjacks!"

"You can both still see me?" Dipper said. "Can you hear me, too?"

"Loud and clear," Ford said.

"Like the voices of the dead." Fiddleford shuddered. "Welp, let's get this over with. I don't like all this ghost business. It ain't natural."

Ford gave him an amused look. "Since when have you ever been concerned about what's 'natural'? Didn't the engineering club vote you 'most likely to build a robot that flies in the face of God'?"

"You hush! There's nothing unnatural about iron, electromagnetism, and flamethrowers."

Dipper studied his body's face, its eyes pointed blankly toward the particle accelerator. "Well, I'm looking at the experiment, but I'm definitely not thinking about it. I think that's half of the paradox?"

"That's right," Fiddleford said. "Now, you just—float yerself on over to the other side of the accelerator, and think about it without looking at it."

"Right." Dipper positioned himself directly across the accelerator from his body, shut his eyes, and tried to think experimental thoughts. He didn't know much about Dontium besides what Ford had written about it in Journal 3—that it was inert when you were looking at it and radioactive when you weren't—so, if the miniature particle accelerator generated any, would he get blasted with radiation? Or was his body staring at the accelerator enough to keep it inert? But no—it was supposed to fill up the jug Ford was holding, right? Ford was observing it. Dipper tried to imagine what must be happening inside the accelerator; how did it work, would particles spontaneously generate in the tubes? Maybe they circled around until they fell into the hose to the jug...

He heard Ford gasp. "Fiddleford, look at this— Don't listen to me Dipper, just keep—keep thinking whatever you were thinking!"

"Is it working?"

"It was! Don't let us distract you."

Dipper tried to ignore the sound of Fiddleford running over to Ford, and started humming to drown out their hushed conversation. That was good, right? It meant the experiment was working. Keep thinking about that—experiment. Experiment. Expeeeriment. ... He wondered if trying to do the experiment by putting himself and Tyrone on either side of the accelerator would have worked, or if it had to be Dipper's soul and his body—

"Hot diggety!" Fiddleford shouted. "We've reached critical mass!"

"What does that mean, is it bad?" Dipper opened one eye a crack, trying to squint enough that he couldn't see the particle accelerator. "Is it gonna explode?"

Ford explained, "It means we've generated enough Dontium that it can sustain its own existence. Now, even if you get distracted, what we've already generated will remain. It can only go up from here."

"Wow," Dipper said. "That only took, what, a couple of minutes?"

"Less than that! During our last attempt, we tried for hours without reaching critical mass," Ford said. "Your idea was right on the money. Excellent work, Dipper."

Dipper grinned. After all that anxiety, it was almost a letdown how easy it was, but the coolness factor made up for it. He could just imagine the conversations the first week of high school: What did I do over summer break? Oh, nothing much. Just synthesized a new element. To fuel a weapon custom-designed to kill an immortal chaos god. And did I mention I was a ghost at the time? It didn't quite top last summer's adventures, but...

Then something went wrong.

There was a noise halfway between the electric buzz of a tesla coil and the rip of Velcro being torn apart. A stench like burning hair filled the air. A line of shifting colorful light began worming its way out of the center of the particle accelerator and up into the air.

"Oh no. Ohhh no!" Fiddleford grabbed his head. "The micro-rips! The threadbare fabric of reality! Our experiment put too much of a strain on it! We tore straight through!" One foot bounced agitatedly, "Ohhh, I knew I shoulda run some calculations before substituting in Dipper for you and Stanley."

Dipper gasped as the line of light began to agonizingly stretch open wider. Reality began seeping over its edges and dripping through into the kaleidoscopic miasma beyond. It developed a second horizontal rip across its middle as reality stretched beyond endurance in multiple directions. "What—is that?" He was afraid he knew.

"A dimensional rift," Fiddleford said.

"The Nightmare Realm," said Ford.

The last frayed thread holding reality together snapped apart, and the rift tore open wide, fully exposing the Earth to the roaring roiling chaos beyond.

They screamed.

"Hello?" A giant set of dentures with stubby arms and legs leaned through the rift. "Oh hey! Aren't you the guys that killed Bill?"

They screamed again.

"Is screaming how humans say hi?" the monster asked. "I'm Teeth. Aaah!" He turned toward Ford. "Hey! Fingers! Lookin' less electrocuted than the last time I saw you—"

Ford socked Teeth in the incisor, knocking him back through the rift. "Back, you! You and your 'friends' are not welcome in this dimension!"

"Ow. What the heck, man."

Fiddleford shouted, "Don't stop observing the Dontium!" He bounded across the room on all four to scoop up the milk jug and stare at it.

Ford nearly toppled through the rift, and had to grab onto the miniature particle accelerator as the heaviest nearby object to anchor himself. The rift sucked on reality like a vacuum, and the longer it was open the more powerful it grew.

Over the roar of the rift, Dipper yelled "What do we do?!"

"We have to seal it! Before it sucks all of Gravity Falls into the Nightmare Realm!"

"How?!"

Last summer, the instant Bill had no longer been around to maintain the dimensional rift, it had also sucked reality into it, starting with everything that properly belonged in the Nightmare Realm; but then it had also quickly sealed itself back shut. On the other hand, this rift was just opening wider and wider. Maybe it wasn't like the rift Bill had used to enter Gravity Falls, then? Maybe it was structured more like the wormholes that had been left behind after Weirdmageddon—

"I've got it!" Ford picked up Dipper's body—trying not to shudder at how lifeless it felt—and unzipped his backpack. "Is the alien adhesive grenade still in here?"

"It should be! Let me see." Dipper floated over to peer into his backpack.

The rift was already strong enough to drag at Ford's clothing. The lightest objects in the room lifted into the air and were sucked through. Papers. Pencils. Coffee mugs. Dipper's soul.

He screamed. "GRUNKLE FORD!"

"Dipper!" Ford grabbed for Dipper's ankle, but his hand passed right through. Ford's blood ran cold as Dipper tumbled head over heels into the Nightmare Realm.

"Look at that," Teeth said, watching Dipper soar by. "Dinner delivery."

There was no difference between the mindscape and reality in the Nightmare Realm, if Ford followed Dipper through he'd be able to get a grip on Dipper there. But how would he carry Dipper back to Earth without him melting through Ford's grasp the moment they were through the rift? Didn't matter, grab Dipper first, then figure it out—

Fiddleford shoved the jug of Dontium in Ford's hands as he ran past. "Watch over this!"

"What—!"

Fiddleford jumped into the Nightmare Realm, the end of a long extension cord tied around his waist. He stretched out the hose of his ghost vacuum and flipped a switch, and with a yelp Dipper's soul was sucked inside. Ford gasped in relief.

Trying to keep as much of his attention on the potentially-radioactive jug as possible, Ford reeled Fiddleford back in, shoved the jug in his hands, and dug into Dipper's backpack again until he found the alien adhesive grenade. He pulled the pin and chucked it through the rift. "Duck!"

He shielded Dipper's body and Fiddleford shielded the Dontium jug as the grenade exploded. Even so, the force of it blew aside everything within ten feet of the rift and sent both of them sprawling. When Ford glanced back over his shoulder, the adhesive had gummed up the opening of the rift like a popped glowing magenta bubblegum bubble; and as he watched, it sucked the opening shut. In a few seconds the air was still and quiet, and the only sign the rift had ever existed was an immense, jagged vertical line in the air around which the light refracted wrong.

Fiddleford gingerly got back to his knees, then pulled off his glasses and pushed up his goggles. One of the lenses had been crushed, and the glasses' frame was bent beyond repair.

Ford heaved a long, heavy sigh. "A bit too familiar, wasn't it?"

Fiddleford blinked at him. "Wasn't what?"

"The—reeling you in from the Nightmare Realm?" Ford said. At Fiddleford's blank look, Ford said, "The portal test?"

"Oh." Fiddleford scratched his head. "I... still don't remember it too clearly."

"Ah. Yes. Of course." Ford's stomach churned with guilt as he looked away from Fiddleford. Over thirty years late was too late to apologize, wasn't it? (Over the past year he'd wondered, again and again; and again and again he'd decided that it was.) "Thank you for saving—" He gasped, "Dipper!"

"Oh, right!" Fiddleford took off his vacuum, dropped it on the floor, and unzipped its bag. The ghosts of a Northwest in a buckskin coat and a confused-looking hippie escaped into the air. "Hey," Fiddleford barked. "You get back here!" He raised the vacuum's hose and flipped its switch. He caught the hippie, but as soon as she was sucked in she flew out the unzipped bag and off to freedom again. Fiddleford lowered the hose and shook a fist at the retreating spirits. "I'll get you ectoplasmic varmints, just you wait!"

Ford knelt on the floor and held the bag open wider. Dipper floated out, arms crossed tight and shivering. "So... so cold... and dark... and really, really dusty."

"Let's get you back where you belong."

Ford held up Dipper's body as he lay back down in it. He could see the moment color flooded back into Dipper's cheeks and his eyes focused again. Dipper groaned.

Ford said, "You're never doing that again."

"I am never doing that again," Dipper said.

"We can't do that again," Fiddleford said. "The fabric of reality in this town is too unstable to handle another paradoxical physics experiment that powerful! We'd rip open another rift to the Nightmare Realm!"

"And we just tossed away all of our remaining alien adhesive," Ford sighed. It left Gravity Falls vulnerable if any more rips formed. Sometime soon he'd have to go back to the alien crash site and see if there was any more adhesive he could scrounge up; but even if he did, they couldn't risk wasting more of it like this.

"But did we get what we needed?" Dipper asked.

Fiddleford held up the milk jug of Dontium and shook it. It had a strange shifting color, wavering between cyan and orange depending on the lighting. "Looks like we got about three-fourths of a gallon," Fiddleford said.

"It's only enough to fully power one shot," Ford said. "But... one shot is all it'll take to destroy Bill." His stomach flipped nervously as he said it. He'd been anxious every other time he'd prepared to kill Bill, but that had always been because he'd been preparing to battle for the fate of the universe with a godlike monster who could easily kill him or worse. For the first time, he was preparing to execute a defenseless prisoner, and he didn't know whether it would make the universe any safer.

For half the summer he'd hoped Bill was harmless. Now he wished he had proof that Bill wasn't, so that he could lay his conscience to rest.

Dipper looked as uncomfortable as Ford felt; but when he caught Ford's gaze, he hardened his expression and nodded. Ford nodded back.

"WOOHOO!" Fiddleford leaped his full height straight up, making Ford and Dipper start. "We done it! YAHOO!" He waved his hat around ecstatically, doing a little jig in place. "YIPPEE! HIP HIP HURRrr—hey, how come you fellers ain't celebrating?"

Ford didn't know how to explain without making Fiddleford worry he was at risk of falling under Bill's spell again. "We'll celebrate when he's dead."

####

"Who was at the door?" 8 Ball shouted. When he didn't get a response, he paused his game. "Teeth?"

Teeth waddled into the game room. His face was completely plastered shut with some kind of glowing purple glue.

Pyronica cracked up and Paci-Fire chuckled darkly. 8 Ball sighed, "What'd you get into, you idiot?"

Teeth waved his hands emphatically.

"All right, okay." 8 Ball stood and stretched. "Does anyone have the number of that lamp guy Bill used to hook up with?"

Half an hour later, having lured over Lava Lamp Guy with the false promise of ping pong pool and illicit liquids, they cornered him in a bathroom, with Zanthar sitting in the tub restraining him while Paci-Fire struggled to hold his face still.

"Please!" Lava Lamp Guy screamed. "Let me go! I'll do anything you want! My neurologist said I can't take much more of this!"

"Cease your complaints," Paci-Fire said, as 8 Ball took off Lava Lamp Guy's bowler. "You shall not dissuade us. We do this because we have no choice in the matter."

"Why not?!"

"Because none of us feel like making the trip to a dimension with a drugstore."

8 Ball stuck a soup ladle into the open top of Lava Lamp Guy's head and fished around until he got a scoop of the red goo floating around in the thinner orange liquid. Lava Lamp Guy howled in agony. Zanthar heaved a weary sigh.

8 Ball carried the ladle over to where Teeth was sitting on the toilet lid kicking his feet. "Here you go, bud."

Teeth clapped his hands, grabbed an oversized toothbrush, and held it out for 8 Ball to pour the goop on. He scrubbed his teeth until the goop dissolved the adhesive. "Whew!" He stretched his jaw a few times, then jumped to his feet. "Thanks! I was worried I was gonna miss karaoke night." He looked in the sink mirror to scrub off the remaining scraps of adhesive.

8 Ball put Lava Lamp Guy's hat back on. Lava Lamp Guy groaned, "I think I forgot my third husband."

"You've only been married twice," Hectorgon lied.

"Oh." Confused, Lava Lamp Guy said, "Alright."

Teeth muttered, "Blech, divorce memories." He grabbed a bottle of mouthwash to clear out the taste.

"So what happened?" Kryptos asked. He was hovering in the doorway beside Pyronica.

"I'unno. I think the Dimension 46ers were messing around with their portal or something? They opened up a portal here."

"What? Uh-uh," Pyronica said. "It had to be some other dimension. We just invaded them, why would they open the portal again?"

"No no, that sounds like humans to me," Kryptos said. "If one of them pushes a button and immediately dies, the guy standing next to him will go, 'I wonder if it does that every time.' I've seen them do it."

"It was definitely them, I saw that local contractor Bill recruited for the portal who went nuts. Fingers or whoever."

8 Ball groaned. "You mean the guy that invaded the Quadrangle and tried to kill everybody?"

"Yeah. That guy. He told me I wasn't welcome on Earth and chucked a glue bomb in my face. I was like, well alright, buddy, I'm not the one who opened up a portal in your house, you could have just stayed home instead of ruining my day," Teeth said. "I didn't really say that to him. I thought it."

"So now the humans are invading us." Pyronica threw her hands in the air. "Great! This is just terrific! Bill teaches them how to make their own portals, they follow us home, and now we're about to have a pest problem that knows how to use tools! How long is it until this whole place is crawling with humans?! I'm going househunting, how many rooms should I look for? 8 Ball?"

"I'm in."

"Teeth?"

Teeth sighed, but said, "Yeah. The neighborhood's going downhill. Especially if we're gonna have a pest problem."

"Big Z?"

Zanthar gave a thumbs up.

Pyronica looked at Paci-Fire. He averted his gaze. Pyronica said, "Paci?"

Sullenly, he said, "We should ask Keyhole's opinion as well."

She laughed in disbelief. Nobody cared about Keyhole's opinion, he went with whatever everyone else went with. Appealing to Keyhole was just a delaying tactic. "Fine, sure. We'll get Keyhole's opinion."

"I'm not going," Hectorgon said, crossing his arms.

Relieved, Kryptos said, "Yeah. Me neither."

"You don't have to," Pyronica snapped. "You two and Morph can wait for Bill to come back from the dead as long as you want. But the rest of us are leaving."

Kryptos tilted toward the hall, gesturing for Hectorgon to follow him away from the others. "How long do you think we can hold this place without the outerplanars?" The Quadrangle was all that remained of Bill's turf. Without Bill's energy boosting them, none of the shapes were particularly powerful. They'd always depended upon the other Henchmaniacs to guard Bill's stronghold, the heavy-hitters like Zanthar and Pyronica. Even Bill preferred to let them fight his battles when he could; Bill's energy was much vaster, but less renewable.

Hectorgon grimaced uncertainly. "We've gotta think of something fast."

####

Dipper stared at the jug in his lap, ensuring it didn't turn radioactive before they got home. Bill practically seemed to have a radar for Ford—and on top of that, could see through walls—but as far as he cared Dipper may as well have not even existed; so they'd decided that Ford would go in the main door to ensure Bill's attention was turned away while Dipper went through the gift shop and took the elevator down to Ford's study. Ford had told Dipper where to find a lead locker that would keep the Dontium contained until Ford could use it to refuel the Quantum Destabilizer; all he had to do was put it in and stare through the crack until he'd slammed the door shut.

And once they'd decided on that, the drive home had fallen deathly silent.

As the Mystery Shack appeared through the trees, Dipper asked, "We're doing the right thing, right?" His voice was quiet. "I hate him, but—we owe him our lives. And there's that prophecy..."

"Lives can't be owed," Ford said. "Yesterday he may have saved us, but tomorrow he would still destroy our world in a heartbeat. We can be grateful to be alive—but we can't let that stop us."

"So, we're doing the right thing?"

Ford was silent for much longer than Dipper would have liked. "I hope so."

####

(We're moving toward some important stuff!! Hope y'all enjoyed and I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this week's chapter!)

#dipper pines #stanford pines #grunkle ford #fiddleford mcgucket #henchmaniacs #(for the art & chapter)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(who doesn't make an appearance in this chapter but the whole fic's about him and nobody can shut up about him so he's getting tagged)#(is this the first chapter bill hasn't appeared in?? might be)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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talesofesther · 7 months ago

Text

until one of us caves

Rolan x Reader

Summary: After fighting Lorroakan, you decide to stay with Rolan.

A/N: I know that like maybe three people are gonna read this but I couldn't care less. The more I learned about Rolan's story, the bigger of a soft spot I got, and this little thought wouldn't leave my head so I had to write this down. Nothing serious, just something I wish I could do in the game. Also, this story kinda drifted a little from the original plan about halfway through and started writing itself, so don't blame me if the quality is dubious lmao. Requests for him are open I guess, if anyone's interested.

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

The scent of smoke and ash hung in the air. Stones and mud, remains of the elementals, littered the floor of Ramazith's Tower; as well as a few burned books here and there, smashed furniture, and splatters of blood in the marble. It would take a while to get the place back to the glory it could hold, but you figured it was doable.

The body of its previous master lay lifeless on the floor, spine broken, skin torn. You held no pity for him, only resentment.

From the corner of your eyes, you could spot a twitching tail and clenched fists, staring blankly at the body of his tormentor. He said nothing, merely huffed and walked away before you could think of saying anything, your gaze followed his steps.

The time between when you'd first set foot in Sorcerous Sundries and now had gone by in a haze. You had stopped dead in your tracks then, breath hitching as you caught sight of the countless bruises on Rolan's skin, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness took over you. You'd walked up to him, the words "Who did this to you?" were stumbling past your lips before he even had the chance to utter the practiced greeting. Rolan had evaded the matter, as you'd expected, building ever higher walls around himself. And you'd surprised yourself with how restless the sight of him had made you feel.

"Soldier?" Karlach's hand on your shoulder pulled you back to the present, making you quickly turn your head back to her.

You blinked several times until your eyes regained their focus; "yeah?"

She gave you a halfhearted smile and you wondered just how much your turmoil showed on your face. "I was just asking if you're alright, and… where do we go from here." Her voice held kindness to it, as it usually did. More often than not Karlach was, surprisingly, a calming balm in your hectic days.

"Uh-" you hesitated. Perhaps you should already be used to being the one people turned to in search of guidance, leadership. But it was a title you'd never really asked for, was it?

"You guys should go ahead, dispose of him somewhere," you gestured to Lorroakan's lifeless form, "before anyone walks in on… all of this."

Karlach nodded along and then raised a brow at you. "And what of you?" She asked, yet there was a smirk on her lips that alluded to the fact that she already knew the answer.

"I'll hang back." Your cheeks warmed up, "I'll meet you guys at Elfsong later."

"Take your time, soldier," Karlach winked at you, then turned to hurl the dead Wizard's body over her shoulder. "Right let's go people, nothing left to see here."

"And how exactly do you intend to walk around the city with that?" Shadowheart asked exasperatedly, yet followed Karlach to the swirling portal nonetheless.

The tiefling shrugged, holding Lorroakan's body with one arm, "I don't know. If anyone asks we'll just say he's drunk or something."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, I want to see that."

Shadowheart and Astarion added simultaneously, one rolling her eyes and the other smiling brightly.

"Alright then, you think of some excuse for-"

You chuckled at the banter of your companions, their voices growing distant as they disappeared through the portal that would take them back to the bustle of Sorcerous Sundries.

With a deep breath in and a long exhale out, you turned around, gaze slowly roaming over the empty expanse of the luxurious tower; now so quiet, bordering on serene, save for the damage the battle left behind. Until you finally spotted the one you were looking for.

Rolan was tucked away in a shadowy corner, head bowed as he stacked a few fallen books on his hands and then beside each other on the shelves. His movements all stiff and slow, as if the books were much too heavy and it hurt to carry them.

The worry twirling in your stomach threatened to escape as you took careful steps towards him. Yet you still weren't sure how to approach him. The tower suddenly held a nearly intimate air. It was delicate, fragile. The lines between you and him had started to blur, you couldn't pinpoint when, but they did; and now, in the privacy of the high tower, you started to feel the weight of it.

You cleared your throat, but the tiefling didn't turn to look at you, though his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. You wondered if he knew you'd stayed, or perhaps hoped you would.

"Rolan… would you like some help with organizing things a little? At least for the night?" You tried, unsure what else you could possibly say and biting back the urge to tell him that he looked like he needed a good night's rest. He wouldn't admit it, you knew; but the fight had taken a huge toll on his already bruised body. He looked utterly exhausted; shoulders slumped, tail laying limply on the floor, barely holding himself together.

He turned his head to glance at you, an unreadable expression on his face, and lips hovering with uncertainty for a moment. "No, I can manage…" Rolan's voice was quiet, his features softly highlighted by the last fading rays of sunshine coming through the tall windows. You could see the bruises on his cheek, jaw, and nose—some new, some old; darker shades blooming on his reddish skin.

"You can go," he turned away again.

"Are you… sure?" You took half a step forward, fidgeting with your own hands. You didn't feel like leaving him just yet.

"Yes. I'm sure." He finally faced you fully in a quick motion, eyebrows slightly furrowed, "I'm not a helpless child, I can at least take care of organizing this mess by myself, if nothing else."

You closed your eyes momentarily at his words, "That's- that's not what I meant, I know you can-"

"What is it you want then? That I thank you for saving my sorry ass? Again?" His tone held bite to it, anger even, yet you had a feeling that it wasn't directed at you, but at himself. With a huff, he threw aside the one book he still held in his hands, "Okay then, thank you, your heroic attitude of the day has been achieved." He gestured toward you, speaking as if he had been just another thing to check off your list.

The movement of his mouth had pried open a fresh cut he had on his lip. Rolan didn't seem to notice, but the small sliver of blood glinted in the low light. Your heart ached, but not for his words, they were mostly empty. It ached because you saw how much he was hurting. That defeated look lingered in his golden eyes, the same you'd seen at Last Light Inn when he had been incapable of rescuing his siblings. You wished you could tell him he was enough. You wished he would believe you.

You took in a steadying breath, holding onto your composure for both of your sakes. "It's not about being a hero, Rolan, it's about helping the people I care about."

Another scoff fell past his lips, he avoided your eyes, looking distantly out the window beside him; "What are you doing here then?"

You merely raised an eyebrow at him, features soft, allowing him to believe in whatever he wanted to believe.

His throat worked through a heavy gulp when he glanced at you again, tail swishing behind him as he took half a step back. "Sod off," the words came out heavy and unstable, "You came here because Lorroakan was after your Aasimar friend… Your job is done now, you can leave." He stormed past you then, quick steps taking him to the other side of the tower.

With a roll of your eyes, you followed after him, "I came here because I care about you, too." You tried to convey as much sincerity in your words as you could, staring intently at his back as he raised a fallen chair. You caught a glimpse of his tail, coiled tightly around his own leg. You wondered if he even realizes he's doing it, if it's some kind of self-soothing habit he's learned over the years.

His hair had been undone, too, falling freely over his shoulders and looking a tad longer than what you were used to. The look suited him—a touch of softness in his usually sharp appearance—in the back of your mind you promised yourself to tell him that someday.

Several beats of silence went by. With Rolan holding tightly onto the back of the wooden chair. You tended to be annoyingly insistent, the tiefling thought to himself. Ever since the first time he met you, you had a habit of refusing to give up on people. On him. Rolan tried to tell himself it didn't get to him, that the butterflies in his stomach, and the overwhelming relief your mere presence brought him meant absolutely nothing. Because of course, you wouldn't look twice at someone like him, would you?

It was ironically sad that his heart would choose you—the hero, his hero—of all people, to have a soft spot for. He could never measure up, not really, and he knew that; told himself that very fact over and over whenever his mind dared to hope with what-ifs.

"You don't mean that," his voice was small and he berated himself for allowing it to be. He closed his eyes tightly, knuckles growing white with his grip on the chair. "And I was fine," Rolan emphasized the words yet he didn't know anymore if he was trying to convince you or himself.

Silence engulfed the tower again. Deafening silence. One sharp claw tapped the back of the wooden chair, a fast rhythm, following the heartbeat thundering through his veins. With a defeated sigh, Rolan turned to face you. Still, he refused to meet your eyes, focusing instead on the fabric of your glove wrapped around your hand; he could see faint scars on your fingers, wondered how you got them.

"Were you, really?" You asked then, softly, near desperately; waiting with bated breath for him to just look at you.

Rolan was a little difficult to get to, had been since you first met him. Part of you rather enjoyed your harmless bickering every now and then. Behind the witty words, there had always been hidden smiles and bashful eyes, the hopeful glint of being in each other's presence, if briefly.

Alas, you weren't exactly entitled to pry or demand, much as you cared for him it wasn't your place, so you relented; "Tell me you're alright, truly alright, and I'll leave if that's what you want so bad."

Rolan hesitated for a heartbeat, and then two, and three. Any words he might want to say were stuck in his throat, tangled in between feelings that confused the hells out of him. How could he ever tell you that he's not alright? That he hasn't been for a long time?

How could he tell you that he doesn't want you to leave, ever?

There was a distant stinging behind his eyes and he hated himself for it, for being so needy and vulnerable. He hated how his palms were sweaty and his heart threatened to break free of his ribcage with the speed it was beating. He hated how his knees seemed on the brink of collapsing with his weight. He hated how he suddenly felt all the bruises in his body hurting so badly, as if only now he allowed himself to feel the pain they inflicted. He hated-

A soft touch on his lower lip halted Rolan's spiraling thoughts abruptly, and his breath. With the sleeve of your robe, movement as light as a feather, you cleaned a sliver of blood that had escaped the fresh cut there. Rolan shuddered under your touch, for like a breath of fresh air after nearly drowning to death, that was all he could feel.

Pointy teeth dug into the inside of his cheek, holding back what would only be a flood of embarrassment for him if he allowed his pestering emotions to spill. His throat closed up tight, vision growing hazy until you were nothing but a blur in front of him.

There was something about the way you touched him oh so tenderly that got his walls tumbling down as if they were paper under the rain. Your hand lingered, refusing to part from him. Your fingers trailed a hesitant path to his cheek, mapping the bruises underneath- no, mapping his skin, him.

And he could crumble. Rolan felt himself falling, falling, falling.

When was the last time he felt a kind touch? one that didn't hurt or sting or threatened? He couldn't recall.

"I do mean it, I care about you, Rolan." You promised him, and only him. Whispered words dripping with affection.

The front of your boots hit his shoes as you took a final step closer. Rolan brought one hand up, his fingers closing around your wrist with urgency. Yet his hold was gentle, pressing into the veins there and feeling your pulse running beneath his fingertips. He held you there, all but begging you to stay. Words were difficult, complicated, and messy; hopefully his soul could tell you what he couldn't.

With your heart in your mouth, you mumbled; "it's okay. It's over." You're not sure if he heard or felt the words, but Rolan dipped his head forward until his forehead bumped yours.

Suddenly close wasn't close enough. You wanted to kiss away his tears, his bruises, his pain; promise him that everything would be alright now even if your own life was a sea of uncertainty.

"Why?" It fell past his lips. Such a genuine question uttered with such a small voice that it hurt you like a dagger to the heart.

"Why do these things happen to me?" Rolan's voice cracked and stumbled, his eyebrows briefly furrowed in a mix of anger and sorrow. "I-" he breathed in deep and unsteady, bright eyes welling with unshed tears that shone brightly under the soft candlelights on the walls.

You gulped back your own heartache, struggling to keep to yourself how soft he made you feel. You slowly raised your other hand to push fallen strands of hair behind his ear.

"I hoped it had a purpose," he admitted then, quiet as breath. His lower lip quivered before he spoke again, closing his eyes and leaning timidly towards your touch. "That it was a test, and he would- he would eventually stop. That I just needed to endure a while longer."

A choked sob stumbled past his lips and you felt the first of his tears landing on your thumb. Rolan shook his head, a self-deprecating scoff falling past his lips; "that I deserved it."

"Stop," you said before you could think, finally taking your hand away from his cheek, only to bury it into his hair instead. With the encouragement you knew he needed, you pulled him to you.

Rolan fell forward with no restraints, no hesitations, only a weary soul looking for solace. He buried his head between your neck and shoulder, both arms coming around your waist and squeezing tightly, to the point of his claws nearly ripping your robe.

You held him back with the same desperation, one hand tangling in between his hair and cradling his head to you. Your lips brushed the nape of his neck in a silent confession of adoration.

The fabric of your robe grew damp as silent tears fell past Rolan's defenses, his body shaking in your hold, releasing months if not years of bottled-up emotions.

With a kiss to his warm skin, embers of the fire he ignited in your heart broke free; "You could never deserve what he did to you. You're so very special, Rolan. To Cal, To Lia…" You told him, slow and tender, twirling strands of his hair between your fingers, and a small smile stretched your lips when you felt him relaxing against you. "… To me." It was nothing but a whisper, blown into the wind only for him to hear.

Rolan's breath stumbled, you felt it in the way he gripped you tighter—if that was even possible—and heard it in the soft gasp beside your ear.

"Please don't-" His voice broke in the middle, all husky and wobbly from his tears. "Don't say… that. If you don't mean-" he hesitated, fresh tears cascading freely down his cheeks, beyond any foolish attempt to be held back; they dripped down the bridge of his nose and soaked the fabric of your robe, making him curl into you all the more to hide his embarrassment from the outside world.

"Please," it was so quiet as he pleaded. For what, he wasn't entirely sure anymore. Maybe he just knew he couldn't take losing anything else.

You pulled back and Rolan felt his heart stumbling and cracking in his chest. But you were quick to mend it back together, with both hands coming up to hold his cheeks again, your thumbs brushing away the wetness there, near reverently.

"I promise," you whispered, gaze drifting ever so slightly downward before focusing back on his bright eyes. You were bold enough to lean in until the tip of your nose touched his, and as you did so you felt something coiling around your leg. You smiled; "I promise."

Rolan gulped, his mouth parting as he barely held himself back from closing the gap between you. Goosebumps littered his whole body when his upper lip accidentally brushed yours.

He pulled away but refused to loosen his grip on your waist. "I don't want you to leave," he said it so quietly, offering you his bleeding heart with a shaking hand.

Gentle fingers brushed away the messy strands of hair clinging to his forehead. When Rolan looked up, there was a loving smile on your lips, it was the first time he saw it and he already knew he'd kill to see it again.

You leaned closer, and with a kiss between his brows, you said; "then I'll stay."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Rolan’s taglist: @milkiane@v1ci0us

#rolan #rolan x reader #rolan bg3 #holy rolan empire #rolan x tav #rolan baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #rolan imagine #rolan x female reader #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #rolan fanfic #my story

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youronlydarlin · 10 months ago

Text

warning: kinda sad ANGST, Simon losses you :( , ooc kinda?? But he's soft for you only, trust me bro

This was kinda inspired by that one part in the comics where our poor, Si holds his mums skull, n he jus'... Kinda nuzzles into it. I dunno it just bought on some sad feeling, mkay...

Simon who slightly raises the cup of tea he's drinking each time he has one, just to let you know he's relaxing. Or trying his best too, at least. Doesn't know what he'll do if he worried you from beyond the grave. Sometimes he looks at all the belongings you left behind. Saying how they probably miss you, but not nearly as much as he does.

Unlike some, Simon uses your things. He doesn't want the house to go through the pain of loosing you too. So he drinks from your mug, and sits on your chair. Reads your favorite books, but never takes out the book marks in case you want to continue reading them. He also completes your bucket list for you, and even though he's the one doing them he always whispers 'good job, to the wind, hoping they'll carry the messenge to you.

Simon who speaks to your framed pictures. He remembers each, and every memory behind them. "Bet your happy... Now it'll always be my turn to grab the 'bloody groceries.." he jests. He hopes that one made you laugh. Knowing you, you would've. It's a mystery how you always laughed at his lame jokes. Though your laugh's always been better than the awful punchlines.

Simon who passes by that cafe you bugged him to go with you to, and he feels his throat go dry. He never got to take you there because of a sudden call from Price, telling him about an urgent, albeit sudden, mission. He definitely regrets not taking you out on dates more often. There's so many shops opening that he knows you would've loved to see.

Simon who's heart breaks at how quickly the world turns without you. Everything's moving so quickly, leaving him behind like it's already moved on, and he hates it. He hates how there's less clothes to fold now. Food is served, but only for one. The taste of it is flavorless, and dry. It's times like these, that he wishes he should have took the time and learn your recipes.

But what's worse, is that your side of the bed is cold. And it'll remain that way forever. At times he'll reach for you absentmindedly. Nightmares about war traded for dreams about you, but during those dreamless nights where sleep doesn't visit he'll stroke your pillow the same way he'd do to keep your hair out of your face, and pull the covers over the empty space you once occupied. He wonders if it's cold where you are right now. But just know that he's always willing to warm you up if ever you come back.

Simon who...

Stands at the doorway. Bag slinged over his shoulder, full of everything he needs and more for deployment. He knows he can't leave without properly saying goodbye, so he fishes out his wallet, and digs out a picture of you. He holds it up to his face, and it's funny. How you're not even staring at the camera when the photo was taken. No, you were staring at him. This one's always been his favorite. So he clears his throat, and wishes you don't hear the slight shake in his tone.

"..By now you would've told me to be careful.. And I will, by the way. But, m' sorry for all the times I didn't...'

....

" I have to go now. Don't need them gettin' on my ass for 'being late.. so.."

....

"..You just rest now, ok, love? There's nothing else for you to worry about' anymore. I love you, always. Wish me, and the boys luck, yeah?.."

He gives a light kiss to your photo, and it's as if you're with him when he steps outside the door..

a/n: This was a challenge to write, and I don't know what to feel about the results. I'm just polishing my english, I guess. M'not good at writing angst, you can probably tell, also my grammar feels off on this one, again. English isn't my first language, sorry. So please correct me on any mistakes I've made! But putting all that aside, I hope you like this more than I do! And, always remember that you are loved, and cared for! Have an amazing day, my darlings!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod imagine #cod x reader angst #ghost x reader angst #Ouchy my feelings #call of duty x reader #x gn reader #x female reader #x male reader

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cuppajj · 24 days ago

Text

Thoughts about BY 5 and 6

So I finished the episode at an unhealthy morning hour, and now after getting my full sleep, I can fully share my thoughts!

And of course, spoilers for the newest episode!

First things first, I want to talk about Burning Spice himself. A while back, I made a post about my hopes for him and how I didn’t want him to be a temperamental meathead, but instead a smart and calculating person who took from his extensive knowledge of history to psychologically destroy as much as physically. Did we get that?

Kinda, kinda not. Spice isn’t another Purple Yam like I’d hoped, he has more character than being just angry, but the hotheadedness does remain most of the way through. He reminds me of a strongman anime villain, the kind whose braun speaks more than brain, but still capable of strategy. Most of that strategy comes from Nutmeg Tiger though, as Spice is mostly interested in fighting Cheese from beginning to end. There’s no moment where he messes with her mind directly and picks apart her vulnerabilities beyond surface level “you hold things dear to you that I will destroy”. Which, implication is that he was more focused on just fighting, which in the context of how/why he is the way he is, kinda makes sense.

And about that, I’ll address it briefly: So we learn that Spice’s corruption, at least the straw that broke the camel’s back, was that he got bored watching history unfold. I think it’s very cool! While I was interested in a little more nuance behind his boredom, sometimes villains don’t need a complex reason for why they do what they do. It does make Spice less sympathetic than Mystic Flour though, so it seems like not all Beasts may be equal in cause and backstory. However, stuff about him may be explored later, since he’s going to be back.

So I would say that Spice isn’t as one note as I’d hoped, but he is a simple villain. A simple and very very fun and scary villain, but there could’ve been a lot more to his character in this story that made it lacking for me. I know BY chapters are usually short, but there could’ve possibly been more time showing the parallels between him and Cheese beyond a dialogue or so. It would’ve been really cool if Spice addressed those directly, using it against Cheese. Making her rethink/relive the trauma of losing everyone and mentally destroying her… like what if there was an exchange in the prison cell when she was at her lowest? What if Smoked Cheese had either been incapacitated and unable to speak, or in a separate cell so Cheese could be entirely at the Beast’s mercy? (We DID get a bit of that when Cheese realized how apathetic he was and what he saw in her soul jam, but that was more of a disgusted shock than a mental breakdown.) Smoked could help her out of her turmoil later (an exchange between him and Spice could’ve also been awesome), but Spice leaving mental damage on Cheese would’ve further spread the idea that he also values breaking things internally.

But, I guess Spice is just destroy destroy destroy to the point where he doesn’t really care about anything else, which is… fine. Admittedly not my cup of tea because it’s so basic, but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy his motivation. I hope we get a little more nuance next time we see him.

Anyway love these sprites!! I wished we got more related to the first two, it shows a mellower and/or ironically colder side of him that I think would’ve really helped amplify his fear factor. Spice is all fun and destruction but the oh shit comes from him showing more of the calculated side he used to have.

But speaking of Golden Cheese, I’ll talk about her next.

Overall I really liked her story here! I love seeing her in action and on her own, and her interactions with Smoked Cheese were fun to see! Smoked Cheese was extra fun, I loved how he had sass while still caring for people beyond his kingdom’s entourage (his voice and mannerisms remind me of tfp knockout it’s crazy). I was also happy to learn how the soul cheese worked, since that was a question I had from last episode. It appears Smoked isn’t in his body, but his soul is projecting a physical form given mass that relies on Golden Cheese’s power. Very interesting, and I wonder if he’s just going to stay out now, or if he’ll return? And what of the others too…

Now, something I will say about Cheese is that while her character arc made sense for her in a bubble, I feel a similar thing like I did with Spice that it could’ve been much better. Personally, while Cheese staying true to her greediness and immense care for her treasures is a good thing to power her up, I don’t think it made her as bigger a person than Spice than she could’ve. What would’ve been cooler and more thematic for her character would’ve actually been accepting that destruction and the loss of things she cares about is a natural part of life.

What I mean by this is that while Spice embodies destruction, Cheese essentially embodies creation, which are two polar opposites that have their place in the universe. Antagonizing one or the other should come with a deeper approach to the message, and frankly, antagonizing destruction in its entirety is a very black and white angle. Destruction can be inherently bad and tragic, yes, but it can also pave the way for new life and new things to be created. Plantlife grows back after a forest fire. You can build something better upon the ruins of what was before. For Cheese, her kingdom could’ve been lost/destroyed, but she could’ve accepted it and strove for a newer and better kingdom. Which, in some parts she did, but my philosophy also applies to people lost too.

Death and destruction was a prominent theme in Cheese’s backstory, and much of her Golden City arc was confronting that. I suppose this is a separate talk for another time, but to put it simply, she didn’t have an arc about accepting those who were lost, moreso about striving to bring those who were lost back. The story ended with her promising to bring her friends back, instead of accepting that she lost them and focusing her strength on protecting those she still has with her. That last part could’ve actually been what the Spice story led to, with her first wanting to find a way to bring everyone back, but deciding by the end of it that she can protect the memory of her kingdom along with the living friends she still has. Smoked Cheese could’ve even helped her with that, showing that he cares for her over himself, leading to a heartfelt goodbye between the two. This is just a wishful image, but it would’ve been a really good way for CRK to tackle a deep theme and touch a lot of people’s feelings. But what we got was a lot simpler, with both Spice and Cheese’s characters and themes, which I guess makes sense. Some stories (or the game itself) don’t really want to be anything super deep in narrative, and that’s fine as long as they’re still fun, which this was.

Lastly I will say, I fear the awakening thing will get a little predictable and repetitive from here on out. Beast is a threat for the first chapter, continues to be a threat up until Ancient does a power of love and friendship introspection and transforms into a stronger version of themself. I hope one of them will be a little subversive in this—I don’t know how, I just hope these great stories aren’t bogged down by predictability!

But anyway, those are my thoughts about BY 5 and 6. Overall a great story, I’m so happy to get Spice and Cheese action because they’re two of my favorites, Smoked Cheese was fun, and I’m looking forward to the new Shmilk stuff we will be getting around the anniversary. After that I really hope Eternal Sugar is next, I have a bunch of thoughts/hopes for them too!!

Anyway thanks for reading!

#crk #cjj sayeth #beast yeast #crk spoilers #beast yeast spoilers #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie

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soulaires · 1 year ago

Note

aaron warner family headcanons

The Warner Family.

pairings: dad!aaron warner x mom!reader

summary: get to know more about the warner family!

warnings: fluff, domestic, ooc, domestic shenanigans, protective aaron warner …

🪩:: voicemail ; read my other aaron warner fics here.

Aaron found out about it when he heard some crying in the bathroom at the middle of the night, noticing your lack of presence beside him, he got worried and walk towards the bathroom.

There, he saw you, in front of a mirror having a breakdown.

He approached you and asked whats wrong.

“love?” he said softly, as he hugged you from behind and caressed your hair, “My love, whats wrong?” he asked you worriedly.

“aaron..” you trailed off as you continue to sob. He hugged you tightly and kissed your forehead , pulling away as he make you look at him, “what is it, angel? You can tell me.” he urged you.

“I’m pregnant.” you blurt out.

With the lack of reply, you panicked.

“I missed my period recently and I feel kinda shit lately so me juliette and nazeera bought an pregnancy test earlier and I tested all 7 of them and they are all positive, I don’t—”

As you were rambling, he quickly hugged you tightly and lifting you up to the ground as he span you around. You laugh softly at this gesture as he peppered kisses to your face and hair while he whispered sweet nothings.

“Its okay. We will be okay. Don’t worry. We got this, yeah? I love you. Thank you. Thank you, I love you so much, My love.”

at the first stage he got nervous about being a dad and have some self doubt but later got over it as he saw you patying your belly despite it still not visible.

he got more protective over you and never ever let you do things.

you guys told your friends by a guess the word game. They all cried.

He bought a book about being a dad and take notes on pregnancy books to help you out.

Baby proofs the every part of the house immediately.

He went to every appointment with you

He never ever made you feel guilty for your cravings.

Oh you want a food from a store hours away? Just wait.

A hellspawn food combination that you want? He will eat it with you.

Massage? Done.

A food from a different country? He ordered his men to get it ASAP.

Want some sweets especially made by your husband even though you have never tasted his baking? He learned how to bake immediately!

You guys did an gender reveal in the most fun way.

You did it as both kenji and juliette worn a baby costume with 'boy' written in the blue bib for juliette while 'girl' in a pink bib for kenji

They both FIGHT to determine who wins to know the gender

They even go overboard as they jumped into the swimming pool racing each other to the finish line

Kenji won.

So, its a girl!

You guys decorated her room immediately

You did ALOOOTTTT of shopping!!!!!

Your husband just spoils you rotten as you keep buying cute toys, plushies, and pretty cute clothes!!!

“my love, don't you think its a bit too much?” “I am sure the little princess do not need that much clothes, honey.”

he gave up as soon as he saw some cute baby clothes + a matching one.

When you guys did a baby shower its so emotional like omg you guys are gonna be parents!

You and Aaron planted a tree so it grows with baby dior!

teenager!dior safe place is the tree, she goes there to lay down, read and to relax when stresses!

Your friends wrote letters for dior to read when she reached the age 7, 11, 13, 15, 16, 18, 20, 21 and 22!

You and aaron made her a gmail account as you guys constantly wrote her some letters and random things there for her to read in the future

When you went into the labor he desperately wished to take away your pain and was crying with you. He comforted you as he cares your hair and gives you kisses.

“shh, its okay, baby. Im here. Im not going anywhere. ”

“you got this, my love. You are doing so well.”

“Aaron! I can't do this—”

“yes, yes you can, darling.”

He really can't bare to see you in so much pain even though he had seen so much worse

He was very gentle and was crying when he held your baby girl in his hands. His princess, his girls, his universe.

After the labour, you were barely allowed to do things in the house, he only let you rest while he take cares with everything.

You guys had an 3 months lockdown, not allowing anyone to visit the baby

Always keeping an eye for baby monitors

You and him do an rock, paper scissors when it comes to changing baby Dior diapers (he lets you win, sometimes.)

Dior have your eyes so he is a victim to those puppy dog eyes. He can't say no to you, what more to his princess especially with your eyes?

Learns to do her hair!!

Dior first words is not 'momma' or 'dada' it was Kenny. Kenny. You and aaron felt betrayed.

Despite with the nickname, kenji teared up and always paraded the moment (to your husband dismay) he grows to adore the nickname when she keep calling him that

He sometimes forget that he played dress up with baby di so sometimes he go to work with tiara, ribbons, those princess accessories on him.

“Refrain from laughing, there is nothing funny about this matter.” “uh...theres something on you, sir.” “oh.”

Sometimes they were to scared to point it out

Kenji, nazeera and juliette made fun of him not until they were a victim of the dress up

At one point, kenji kidnapped baby dior and was later banned from seeing her for 2 months (barely a month in dior throwed a tantrum wanting to see her uncle kenny)

Baby dior played with your make up when she misses you! She wanna look like you because she misses you so much

Dior is an nature girlie! Aaron believes his angel is a reincarnated of persephone/artemis

Baby dior wears her pants backwards. She believes that “tails” should be at the back. You and Aaron gave up on the fight.

You guys had an motto that if its not hurting anyone or themselves, don't fight it. Let them.

One time you guys thought she was playing phone call but turns out she was in an hour real call with james.

Seashells hunting !!!!!

Everytime you guys went to a beach aaron always buy a big beautiful seashell then hides it in the sand for her to find!!! And her reactions always makes you and him melt!!

he also buries some treasure chests

He made an contract of no boyfriend until shes 30 and made baby dior sign with her prints with paints. He framed it.

You scold him for that and he just shrugs lol

teenage!dior have you in her closefriend and private insta!!

she collects shells and glue them to a cardboard and gifts it to you!

She wants a sibling so one day she just go “I want a baby sister or brother 🥺”

Keeps wishing on a well for it

Aaron is 100% in he just goes “Princess, ask mommy :)” “me too, baby. Let’s just ask momma for it, hm?”

Well, let’s just say she always get what she wants…

authors note: I had fun doing this Omg I wanna make it a series, do you guys want it? Please let me know!!! Feedbacks and reactions are very much appreciated!!!

(Aaron Warner) tag list 🏷 : @ravisinghs-wife @ab-baybay @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @cosmicswan

If you want to be added to my A.W tag list plz let me know in my inbox ! 💌

#reader insert #shatter me series #shatter me #aaron warner x reader #aaron warner #aaron warner x you #rie answers 🦦#riewrites 🫀#aaron warner anderson #aaron warner imagines #girl dad aaron warner #aaron warner x y/n #shatter me x reader #aaron warner imagine #fem!reader #The Warner Family 🪐

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wisedelusionalmarshmallow · 2 months ago

Text

@rosekillermicrofic, September 6th - Book, T, Word Count - 721

It was a really regular day today at the bookstore where Barty works.

Like really regular.

Like 'all of his regulars came in today' regular.

The couple who comes here every two weeks to buy two books. Barty learned that they trade the books once they’re done with them and then have bookclub-style date nights. Which is really cute but totally not his thing.

The old ladies who come here for an actual bookclub. Barty had to stifle a laugh at today's choice, some 'murder mystery’ that was a lot more romance than their usual mystery or horror selection.

The one young boy who spends all his weekly allowance on the newest Batman and Spiderman comic.

Even the young woman with the service dog. Barty always has good conversations with her, even though he can never remember her name, and isn’t too keen on asking for the fourth time.

The entire day, Barty was waiting for the ball to drop. Waiting for a call from his boss telling him a shipment got delayed or that he’ll have to cover for Avery again because somehow he’s always sick the day there’s a concert playing in the city over. Figure that one out.

But none of that happened.

It was half an hour to closing when Barty heard the doorbell chime, signalling someone had just entered the store.

Now, he doesn’t have the best view of the door from where the counter sits—his manager trying to get more stock shoved on the shelves rather than worrying about the safety of the store—so he doesn’t really see the customers until they ask a question or come to check out some items.

That’s how he found himself leaning over his counter, trying to figure out the new scheduling system on their computer. He'd been putting it off all day and just needs to get it done before the store falls into more chaos than it already is. But he just can’t even get past the sign-in. His manager left a sheet of employee codes, but every time he would input it, nothing would work.

That’s when the stack of computer science textbooks appeared on the counter in front of him. Ah, the customer was ready to pay. But if they’re taking computer science, would it be rude to ask for help? No, right?

Ugh. Whatever. Without even looking up, Barty talks to the customer. “Hey man, I’m gonna guess you have some sort of experience with computers or whatever... Um, this—” he turns the monitor and points to the screen. “—is not letting me sign in, like at all. And I kinda need my schedule.” The customer laughs a little and that causes Barty’s head to shoot up. Holy—

Fuck! Why did he have to be hot? Barty awkwardly smiles at the man; he thought he would look like just another college nerd, not a literal Greek god.

He quickly surveys the issue. “Are you forgetting your password?”

“Nope. I have it right here,” Barty smiles, very nervous and flustered about the situation.

“Hmm.” The customer places his head in his hand, surveying the screen before looking down to the keyboard. “Ah.” He reaches forward and clicks a single key. Caps Lock. Could this day get any more embarrassing?

“Thank you,” Barty sighs. Then turns the monitor towards himself again and enters the password, the little ding coming from the speaker, and the application finally loads. He looks over to the books on the counter before looking up at the man’s face again. “I wish I could give you one of those for free, but my boss didn’t really like it when I did that last time.”

“I’ll just take your number instead then,” he says casually.

Barty’s ears go red. Oh my god, did he just ask for my number? Ohmygodohmygod. “Uh–I. Sure.” Barty grabs out a new roll of receipt paper, the closest thing to scrap paper that he has right now, and rips off a piece, quickly scribbling out his number, praying he remembers all ten digits correctly.

He hands the paper off and smiles at him, waiting for the customer to say something and then leave. Except they just stand there in silence. Staring at each other.

That is, of course, until the ball drops.

“...you gonna ring me up?”

#rosekiller #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #microfic #september 2024 #evan rosier x barty crouch jr #the slytherin skittles #book #marauders

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holidayinhell · 13 days ago

Text

Interview

CWs: references to noncon, violence

1. Would you rather - Rope or Chains?

R: Rope.

W: Chains, dear god, chains any day. Ropes fucking burn.

2. If Whumpee had multiple Whumpers, who is their favourite? For Whumpers, which Whumpee was your favourite?

R: Yeah, I’ve got a favorite. A couple years back I had a Whumpee who fought me at every turn. He'd throw his food at me, cuss me out, and try to attack me. One time he scratched absolute shit outta my arms. Anyways, I got tired of his shitty attitude and decided to kill him. I didn't keep it a secret, I told him he was gonna die. But when I went in to do it, he changed completely. No more screaming, no spark in his eye. He got quiet. Heh, he got all lovey dovey with me even. You know, lots of people say they’ll do anything if only you’ll spare their life. I never did cash in on that promise, but on this Whumpee, I put it to the fucking test. Heh. He let me do whatever I wanted to him. Depraved, horrible things, that would make the most degenerate man blush. Heh, and even though he was crying through most of it, he still pretended to like everything I did to him. And god. You should’ve seen his eyes when I told him I was still gonna kill him. That look. I think about it still.

W: I can’t. glances over at Whumper. Next question please.

3: In your opinion, what is the best way to train a pet?

R: Humans are fickle fucking beasts. You have to break down someone’s pride in order to train them. I start off with food deprivation, that usually helps me gauge what kind of fight I’m in for.

W: Positive reinforcement has always worked for me… I’ve only ever had a pet bearded dragon though.

4: Broken ribs or bullet wound?

R: Both.

W: These questions are uncomfortable to answer. But, uh, bullet wound I guess. Assuming it didn’t graze any organs.

5: Preferred type of gag?

R: I like a fabric gag. Or a simple piece of duct tape. Sometimes they come off and I get to squeeze a little scream out of Whumpee, and then I put a fresh one right back on. I kinda like the cycle of it.

W: I don’t have a preference… none? I guess the metal bit one isn't the worst of them. It hurts my teeth but at least I can still kinda breathe.

6: Burned or stabbed?

R: Stabbed.

W: Stabbed, I guess?

7: Favourite stress position?

R: An old-fashioned hogtie. I guess I’m unimaginative but I don’t get too crazy into the BDSM shit. Who has the patience for that?

W: Uhh.. just, handcuffs behind my back. Something relatively comfortable.

8: Have you given or received any Brands? What do they signify?

R: Heh. No. Never been branded. I certainly have had my fun branding Whumpee though.

W: I… have two… Uhm. One on my chest that, thank Christ, is almost all the way healed. It said, uh, swine. The other one is on my back, it’s a lot worse. I don’t know what it says but I can feel it so it’s um, it’s here to stay, I guess.

R: It says Nice Try. Remember?

W: Not really.

R: From your second half-hearted escape attempt. Didn't realize you forgot. But I did hit you pretty fucking hard that night.

9: Broken arm or broken leg?

R: Leg.

W: Arm. A million times, arm.

10: How did you get here? Why are you the way that you are?

R: I live here. Far as I know, I’ve always been 'like this'-- whatever the hell that means. And I don’t see a problem with it. We’re all free to do as we like, so that’s what I fucking do.

W: I dunno. I, I was outside, it was dark and I think it was raining…yeah… heading home from the bar. I didn’t drink that much. I didn’t live that far, either, so the rain wasn’t a problem. I remember falling down and then… I woke up here. And I’ve been here ever since.

11: What is your biggest regret?

R: I wish this Whumpee could’ve learned a thing or two from my defiant Whumpee in the second question you asked. I wanna get my dick sucked like that every fucking night.

W: Regrets... yeah, I've got a few. One stands out. It was late at night, Whumper didn't tie me up. I snuck out of my cell and I made it to the steps. Almost to the top, nearly all the way out. The door was unlocked and cracked open a little, I thought I could make a run for it and—

R: —I was waiting for you at the top. Heh. I wanted to see if you'd run, and you sure tried to. Not so much after that, though.

12: Is there a line you won’t cross? For Whumpee, what do you most fear Whumper might do?

R: A line I wouldn’t cross? Uhhh…. No. No, I don’t think so. I’ll cross any fucking line. turns to Whumpee, grinning. So what are you afraid of, Whumpee?

W: I, um. Does he really have to be here when I answer these questions?

R: Tell them, Whumpee.

W: Can I whisper it to you? (he’s already done so much to me, so fucking much… it’s dumb but I don’t want him to shave my head.)

R: smirks. You know I heard that.

13: What lessons have you taken away from your experience?

R: Everything has been the same old, same old for me. Guess this Whumpee’s lasted longer than the rest of ‘em. He’s coming up on a year soon. Kind of impressive he’s stuck around this long and hasn’t given me a reason to kill him yet.

W: I don’t know. I do what I’m told so I can eat. I take it day by day. I guess the lesson I’ve learned is that abandoning pride is the only way to survive…

14: Whip or cane?

R: Whip.

W: Yeah. Whip.

R: Didn’t expect you to say that. Noted.

15: Drugged or coherent?

R: Depends on the situation. Drugging them is useful for transport but I don’t much like it when they’re too dazed to understand what’s happening. Sometimes they fall asleep, too.

W: Drug me any fucking day. I don’t care. I’ll take whatever you have.

16: What are your true, honest feelings about each other? Is there some part of you that cares for the other at all?

R: Sometimes I like to touch him. He’s warm and it’s funny when he tries to squirm away. Plus I like it when he begs me to stop. But do I care about him? …eh. Sure, sorta. He’s my plaything.

W: Erm. Thanks, I guess. For me… Whumper is the reason I’m here. I guess I’m appreciative for the food… but he does hurt me. A lot. Constantly.

R: You're very welcome.

17: What is your favourite thing about the other? A personality trait, a physical feature, anything

R: He’s got pretty hair. A kind of pretty face, too. Yeah, almost like a girl. Heh. And he makes good sounds when he’s screaming.

W: Ah. Fuck. I really don’t know how to answer this…

R: Come on. What’s your favorite part?

W: Um. Well, I'll say this: Whumper is smart. Scary smart. I don’t think anyone would ever imagine how smart. I don’t know. I don’t. It’s… terrifying.

18: Do you have relationships outside of each other? Friends, family - if yes, do they know about Whumpee? Do they care?

R: Yes, yes, and no.

W: I have a half sister in, uh, Arkansas. We’re not close, obviously… used to have friends I guess, but it’s been a long time since I saw them…

19: What other hobbies do/did you have?

R: Video games.

W: I used to play saxophone. A lifetime ago.

20: For Whumper, is there any chance you’ll let Whumpee go? For Whumpee, have you ever thought about life after you’re free?

R: No. Sorry. Realistically, it doesn’t make sense to ‘let him go.’

W: I, uh, I used to think about it. I don't anymore… like he said.. realistically it doesn’t make any sense.

R: Mm. Good answer, Whumpee.

------------------------

this interview uses the questions from Character Ask Game post by @inhurtandincomfort !! thanks homie!

((more Whump))

#whumpblr #whump writing #whump #whump interview #idk lol this was a fun exercise in writing #cw: noncon #whump drabble

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tiredfox64 · 7 months ago

Note

🔆 you’re popping off. your writing rocks brah.

I was hoping maybe you could do Raiden and Kung Lao fighting over readers (fem/afab) attention. Like back and forth jabs. And like Kung Lao trying to show off, kinda talks down on raiden in front of her. where as Raiden takes a more gentle approach with helping the reader with their training, helping her with her form he’ll glance at Kung Lao knowingly. It builds a small wedge between them, so reader decides to invite both over one night. And like you know that movie challengers? Like the zendaya scene where she’s got the two guys kissing her? Like THAT. LIKE THAT. If you can do this. I’ll piss rainbows. 🌈

Are You Challenging Me?

Prior notes: I had only the trailer to work off of so I hope I got things right. Also what a statement from you at the end. It’s not bad it’s unique and I like it.

Pairings: Kung Lao x Afab reader x Raiden

Warnings ‼️: Suggestive at the end

Even those who have been friends for so long can end up fighting over something. That something could be a girl. That girl would be you.

No one has ever seen Raiden and Kung Lao turn a friendly competition into a serious one. Constant bickering and jabs at each other that turn to hisses from nasty remarks. You would only see this kind of tension from middle school boys or some cheesy teen movie from the 2000s. Ah but boys will be boys. Who can blame them?

You are the prettiest girl they’ve ever seen. Not just that but you are tough and always willing to learn more. That’s why you train with them so much. Well, it used to be training. Things have changed since you came around. Mostly their attitude and their closeness.

You knew Kung Lao was cocky and boastful, even for a Shaolin monk. The things he did in front of you made the other monks groan in frustration and caused Raiden to shake his head in disapproval. He was always calling for your attention.

“Hey! Hey! Look! I can spin as fast as a tornado!” “Check this out! I can beat up five guys at once!” “I bet Raiden can’t strike as fast as I can! What do you think?”

That was the usual stuff you would hear. Though comparing himself to Raiden was mostly common. He would put Raiden down the moment he had the chance. It would go beyond fighting and go into ridiculous stuff.

He can eat more than Raiden. He can jump higher than Raiden. He can stay up later than Raiden. Everything Raiden could do, Kung Lao could do better. He’ll prove it again right now.

Kung Lao ran up to you and Raiden, almost crashing right into him.

“Hey Raiden, how about another fight? Whoever loses has to pay the next time we visit Madame Bo’s.” Kung Lao was hoping he would say yes just so he could beat Raiden up.

“I can’t, Kung Lao. Can’t you see we are busy?”

“Oh I see. You’re afraid of losing again. Bet you’re afraid of embarrass yourself in front of her. Don’t worry, I get it.” He patted Raiden on the back before letting out a laugh like he successfully humiliated him.

“That’s not it,” he rolls his eyes before speaking, “I’m helping her with training right now. We can fight soon just let me finish up here.”

Raiden loved to help you and you were grateful for that. Though it always seemed like you needed adjusting when it came to your form or help when stretching. Even if you are a centimeter off he had to correct you. Guess he is a perfectionist. Or maybe he is sneaky.

Raiden came behind you and placed his hands on your waist. His foot tapped yours to make it move to the side more. You didn’t notice but he gave a light squeeze to your waist. He wished he could wrap his arms around you but now is not the time. Though it would upset Kung Lao a lot.

His hands traced up your arms till they were at your head. Your face was so soft he wanted to kiss it. But all he can do now is adjust it. Raiden glanced at Kung Lao and saw he was almost seething with rage. For once he decided to be a little cruel to his dear friend.

He went down till his face was inches away from your thigh. His hands grabbed at the tantalizing piece of flesh before him and turned it slightly. Now your form was perfect.

Kung Lao couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Though Raiden’s straw hat was concealing his eyes it could not conceal that smirk on his face. He knows exactly what he was doing. He’s just too good at hiding his devilish intentions behind a sweet, kissable face.

It seems that no matter how many time Kung Lao shows off, Raiden will always be the winner here. He’s the one who gets to touch you.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You’re not dense you can feel that something is wrong. There is tension in the air and it only appears when Kung Lao and Raiden are in the same vicinity.

You have been keeping a close eye on their relationship. They have been drifting apart for some time now. Everyone can see that. What you didn’t get was why. You were missing the signs. You missed the glances Raiden would give to Kung Lao. You missed the fact that Kung Lao would only call for your attention, not anyone else’s.

You had to do something about this. It would be a shame if their friendship crumbled over something silly. Whatever that silly thing was.

Inviting them over to your place was a great start. Though they might be shocked when they see each other at your place. You might have left that out on purpose.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

“What the—what are you doing here, Raiden?”

“What am I doing here? I should be asking you the same thing, Kung Lao.”

They both stared at each other with mouths agape. They were confused as if the possible reason was outlandish. It’s not like there is a universal rule that you can only invite one person to your place.

“What are you two standing there for? Come inside, you’ll catch your deaths out there.” You called for them.

They didn’t even realize you opened the door. But now that they do they were racing to get it. Kung Lao pushed Raiden out of the way, leaving him with a disappointed expression.

Your place was well decorated and well kept. It’s only you living in this small house. That doesn’t make it any less of a home. Your house expresses you which the boys really like. They followed you closely but realize you were heading in the direction of your room. There was hesitation, especially from Raiden. Why not just stay in the living room? What gives?

You don’t have time for this stupidity. You grabbed their hands and dragged them into your room. They always imagined being in your room , of course that fantasy always involved you on the bed and the other one not being there. Clearly none of that good stuff will happen, right?

“Alright, sit down, I need to ask you guys something.” You plopped down on your bed.

The bed is off limits in their minds. The chairs? No. The bean bag? No. The floor? Probably a safe bet.

They sat in front of you, looking up at you like loving puppies waiting to be loved by their master. That’s not the first order of business tonight. Don’t be fooled by their eyes. There is still a wedge between them.

“Mind telling me what’s got you two so bothered. Don’t act like I haven’t noticed your strange behavior recently. I’m concerned about you guys.”

They can tell that you really care just by the tone of your voice. But a silence still hung in the air. Kung Lao nor Raiden wanted to speak the truth. It’s awkward, especially with your bro there. Kung Lao’s cockiness got to him though, reminding him of who he is. He shouldn’t be afraid so he’ll say it.

“I want you to be my girlfriend.” He declared.

Well that was a shock. You know what else shocked you? Raiden.

“I want you to be my girlfriend.” He said as well.

They glared at each other after saying that. They don’t even acknowledge the fact that you were sitting there with a confused expression. It’s not usual for two men to ask you out at the same time, in the same way. It was at least straight forward. You snapped your fingers at them to bring their attention back to you. Like the good boys they are they obey.

“How often does this happen? Going after the same girl?” You asked.

“Not as often as you think.” Raiden responded.

“We usually have different types.” Kung Lao chimed in.

This is weird. Somehow you were the connection between them when it came to types yet at the same time being the wedge between them.

“So…are you saying I should be flattered?”

“Aren’t you everybody’s type?” Kung Lao said it so innocently that it was smooth. He does good when he’s not trying too hard.

Think about this for yourself now. It’s no lie that you like them both. They have their own quirk that draws you in. You love Raiden’s kindness yet ability to be brutal while in battle. He works hard and is willing to guide others to try hard as well. Kung Lao’s cockiness can be annoying to others but it enriches you. It gives him confidence and the ability to think of new ideas. That razor-rimmed hat didn’t come out of thin air. There is so much you can say and love about them. But which one do you choose?

Alright, you have an idea. A weird one but it’s an idea.

“Come here.” You motioned for them to join you on your bed.

“Which one of us?” Kung Lao asked but Raiden was already up and running to your bed. Kung Lao got there just as quick as he did.

Nothing else was said from you. You only had actions. You leaned into Raiden first, bringing his head closer to yours. Your lips captured his in a passionate kiss. It was just like everything he imagined. Your lips were soft and had the slightest hint of vanilla that came from your favorite lip balm. He was practically melting in the palm of your hands as he wished this could last forever. But you pulled away, you have someone else to get to.

When you turned towards Kung Lao he has an upset expression on his face. It turned to shock the moment he felt your lips against his. That softness and the taste of vanilla enchanted him. He almost turned the passionate kiss into a whole make out session. That desperation to have you and touch you himself was building up for quite a while. He doesn’t want to hold himself back. But just like with Raiden you pulled away.

From the kisses you gave to them you came to the conclusion that you like them both equally. You don’t want to break either one of their hearts since it will break yours as well. So why not have both men. This can do good in bringing their friendship together again. It might even make it stronger. Yeah, this can work out. And you would have told them but they came to a similar conclusion as well. That will be discussed later.

For now you are more focused on their lips that are leaving kisses all over your neck. It makes your body heat rise up and causes a stir between your legs. Their hands are all over you. Kung Lao’s reaches for your neck to hold it still while Raiden’s reaches for your chest. You whimper at the sensation of their tongues lightly licking your skin. Kung Lao thinks it best to stay leaving hickeys on you. It will show everyone who you belong to. Raiden should do the same so that all know that you belong to them.

They lightly push you back against your bed. There is a hunger in their eyes. One that has built up for days. Raiden just can’t wait to hold you close as Kung Lao goes to town on you.

There is no shame is wanting this as well. Don’t hide that devious smirk from them. It will let them know to keep going.

You know what they say. Sharing is caring. And they care for you a lot.

After notes: If you’re gonna piss rainbows do it in the ditch I dug. If a skittle don’t fall out imma be disappointed. I have a sneaking suspicion that imma be asked of more from this. I didn’t want to push it beyond anything I’m sorry if you wanted more. Now I must finish eating before I mentally prepare myself for my class tonight. Adiós!

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