#ambers awesome thoughts

[cdreamscumrag]

They’ll never know that conarcoin licks my boots like a dog

[hedwig221b]

Do you by chance have BAMF Stiles recs? I'm reading your stories and all you rec so thank you for being awesome!!

Thank you so much! One wouldn't know by looking at my fics, but I absolutely adore BAMF!Stiles lol. He's a delight!

Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill

"There . . ." Stiles swallowed and looked down at the bottle in his grasp as he slowly swirled the amber liquid inside. "There's really nothing left. For me. Everyone is . . . gone, and it feels like I haven't thought of tomorrow in years." His words rang in the air like a gunshot, he took another heavy drink. "I would trade every last breath I take to just have another shot—not even a guarantee, just a chance to make things right and bring back even one of them."

The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

The Roads Not Followed by SylvieW

Scott decides to leave Beacon HIlls with Allison and her father. Stiles is left alone to deal with the supernatural troubles of his home town, so he turns to Derek.

Years later, Scott’s new pack is threatened, and the only ones who can help them are the Hale pack and Derek’s powerful mate.

Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

This is Ridiculous by zosofi

There's a unicorn in Beacon Hills. A fricken' unicorn. In fricken' Beacon Hills, California. And it turns out that unicorns aren't drawn towards virgins in a happy-go-lucky let-me-lay-my-not-at-all-metaphorical-horn-in-your-lap way. No. They kill them. And guess who's the only virgin idiotic enough to get sucked into the Beacon Hills supernatural scene? Stiles, that's who.

A Tangled Refuge by wanderingeyre

The Hale House has been rebuilt for the past five years and for all five of those years, it’s been a sanctuary for supernaturals that needed a place to stay, a halfway point, a place to recuperate, or a place to be safe from whatever was on their tail. Word traveled quickly in the small world of the supernatural and now they rarely had to seek out people who needed help. Most came to them.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!”

Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her.

“What?! What was that sound?!”

“You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder.

“Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!”

“Mike,” she argued.

“Who’s Mike?” Scott asked.

“Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

Came For The Spark, Stayed For The Flame

Derek felt the panic build up in his chest as Jezebel held out a hand. He smelled it before he saw it, because who could forget the scent of what destroyed your life? Fire and spark and smoke curled from Jezebel's hands, and the wood stacked at Stiles' feet flared up.

When Stiles and Derek get bonded as Emissary-and-Alpha, hidden attractions become a lot harder to hide, secrets are kept and secrets are surfaced, and an evil teenage girl is planning even more ritualistic sacrifice. Canon divergence from the end of 3a.

Dangerous by jjmash

There are a lot of things that the pack doesn’t know about Stiles.

Some of it is little things he simply has no reason to mention, like how he almost failed organic chemistry his first semester at Stanford. Some of it is bigger stuff that he just can’t bring himself to think about, like the nightmares that still plague most of his nights and trap him inside his own mind in increasingly horrific ways.

But most importantly, the pack doesn’t know all the ways in which Stiles has transformed during his time away from them. He doesn’t need fangs and claws to be dangerous.

The Person You'd Take a Bullet For (is Behind The Trigger) by SadieHerondale

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but until he gets Derek back, Stiles' actions are going to be worse than bad. And he will get Derek back, come hell or high water.

Something More Than Human by gatergirl79

Stiles Stilinski has a secret, a huge secret. A secret that will change the way everyone sees him. No, he hasn't been bitten by a werewolf. Stiles Stilinski is the product of a government experiment to create the perfect soldier, a human weapon. As a second generation transgenic, Stiles has been living a normal life with his dad in Beacon Hills, playing the role of klutzy sidekick to his werewolf best friend. All that changes however when Derek saves his life, Stiles finds himself slowly embracing who he really is. - But at what cost?

Red Witch by rootbeer

The red hair of a banshee. The red eyes of an alpha. The red hoodie of a mage. The red of fire burning.

Derek Hale has been a prisoner to the hunters since they burned his family alive. But now someone has come to save him: skinny, defenseless Stiles--147 lbs of skin and fragile bones. Turns out, sarcasm isn't his only weapon.

Oh my (let me look at those eyes) by Gorgeousgreymatter

A few months ago, he might’ve been able to solve this with some force—a little man-handling, a snarl, a glimpse of teeth. But he looks at Stiles’s broken face, knows he’s seen too much horror and blood and evil, the whole Big Bad Wolf routine is just going to fall flat. Because Derek looks at Stiles and he doesn’t carry himself like a teenager anymore. He carries himself like a soldier.

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | hurt/comfort | magical Stiles | mafia | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | omegaverse

[doctorcurdlejr]

Niko!! what'd you think of I saw the tv glow. I finally saw it last night and noticed you posting about it so I wanted to know your thoughts :)

Levi!!! I was JUST wondering what you were thinking about the movie after I saw you posting about it as well... we are so media discussion pilled in this way, it's awesome. ANYWAYS I've had so many thoughts since I first saw it and I've been trying to turn them into something coherent for a little bit now.

Ummm okay I have written 1k+ words about this movie, the suburbs, and escapism via teen TV.... clearly I was dying for somebody to ask this I guess so thank you for indulging me <3

First and foremost, I absolutely loved it! I've seen it twice now and the first time I watched it I got to see Jane Schoenbrun talk about the film right after. I already really liked it from that first watch alone. I found it so deeply relatable to my experiences - both in terms of growing up gay and trans, but where I am now in my 20s trying to navigate adulthood. Hearing what Schoenbrun had to say really cemented my feelings and thoughts about the film.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a big influence on the movie (it's why Amber Benson makes a cameo as Johnny Link's mom). Even though I don't have the same emotional link to Buffy since I never watched it, I recognize it as the same type of warmth I experienced growing up with Riverdale. When Owen says he feels like his insides have been scooped out but that he's too afraid to look and have that wrongness everybody knows is there be confirmed, Maddy simply responds "Maybe you're like Isabel. Afraid of what's inside you." Tears forming but not falling, breathing shallowly, I grabbed the paper and pen the theater keeps at the seats for people to order food with and wrote that line down - the slip of paper is still somewhere in my car. Writing it now almost feels lame in its simplicity, but it felt like my insides were being flayed open.

During the director discussion, Schoenbrun talked a little bit about this idea of how truly fucking bizarre it is to grow up in the suburbs. Like, when we think about the pinnacle of normality in American culture, it's the image of middle-class cis-hetero-white suburbia. At the same time, despite this cultural dream of normality, everybody is hyper-aware that the suburbs are one of the least normal things ever. So, the ACTUAL cultural understanding of it is that it's where we go to, like, passively kill ourselves (*George Costanza voice* WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY YOU KNOW!). This idea isn't new, I mean there are so many films and shows about navigating that specific bizarre dissonance from Rebel Without a Cause to Heathers to Twin Peaks. Probably half the pre-teen to teen TV I watched obsessively growing up, stuff like Strange Days at Blake Holsey High, Making Fiends, Truth or Scare, and eventually Riverdale, were never shy about being weird and morbid and saying "yes, the suburbs are exactly as bizarre and lethal in the ways you can already feel in your bones at 13." I Saw the TV Glow does a really good job of keying not only into that mental dissonance but more specifically into how those of us who have felt so intrinsically weird and different and wrong fell back on these shows like they were capable of doing the emotional version of a rescue breath maneuver after being drowned.

In high school, if there were two things about me that any person who even vaguely knew me could list off it was that I watched Riverdale, and I was a lesbian - and I was mocked more for the Riverdale. At that age, I was, without a doubt, the most miserable I have ever felt in my life. I rarely left the house because my family lived in a development that made me want to scratch my skin off when I walked out our front door. Owen didn't leave the house for days, afraid Maddy could somehow force him out. I sobbed constantly and frequently to depressing indie rock on the floor of my closet while hoping my family would just once read the (honest to god) KEEP OUT poster plastered on my door since I didn't have a lock on it. Owen didn't leave his room for days, afraid of what Maddy recognized in him. I didn't go on dates and kept my chest binder shoved to the bottom of my bookbag while wearing dresses that could've come from a how-to-be the perfect 50s housewife manual. Owen didn't leave his bed for days, afraid of Maddy touching his neck and Isabel's dress. I also watched Riverdale with the kind of zeal you see in a Pentecostal who has found God and started speaking in tongues to let you know it. I own a button that says, "Don't Make Me Go Dark Betty On You," I cherish it in a way that is only achieved by knowing exactly how corny and trite it is and then moving straight past that because well actually, and most people wouldn't get this, she's holding back something deeply dark and wild and- and disgusting. something painful yet intrinsically her. but i get it, obviously. or maybe not obviously! hopefully not obviously, but- basically, I'm just saying I get it: the experience of reflection and recognition through the other and all that.

Whatever, the point is that this movie is one big glaring trans allegory about how it sucks dog shit to live in the suburbs, and even at our most repressed we find these little snow globes of actualization in the glow of a tv screen that isn't afraid to show you the world you see. I've seen some people say that, like, in this context accepting or coming into your transness is this monumental death of self, which I get, but I feel there lacks a nuance in that because either way Owen is dying. Unlike Maddy who buries herself alive only to come out renewed, Owen doesn't kill himself upon facing the reality that the world is constructed to keep him miserable and the only way out is to take back what it is that the world wants to keep scooped out of him. Instead he just passively lets it drag him to a much more permanent death. This lack of suicide sucks in the kind of way that forces you to sit in your car on the midnight drive home and think to yourself am I letting myself suffocate because at some point knowing the misery became less scary than admitting I've been capable of doing something about it the whole time?

Clearly, I’ve been enchanted by the film’s narrative and meta-textual language. If you're familiar with it, you can see how Schoenbrun built this movie like a long-form dream episode of a canceled teen show filmed in Vancouver. Lynchian? Yeah, sure. Riverdalesque? THIS we cannot possibly deny. Schoenbrun said they included Amber Benson as an act of healing the inner rage experienced at Tara’s death in Buffy. This is a Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa ending Riverdale with a bisexual polycule after his gay Archie play got ceased-and-desisted type move. There’s probably more I could say about the soundtrack and the visuals, but I’ve hit over 1k words on this, so I’ll leave it at I enjoyed this movie a lot. :)

Maddy is an out lesbian who left town to escape the misery and found it strapped to her ankles. She slinks out, an animal pressed against the gymnasium floor, and says "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Owen looks into the camera and narrates. He cuts himself open with a box cutter, fully acknowledges what's there, and the movie ends with his suffocating apology parade for the unremarkable inconvenience of his excruciating suffering. You can be gay and trans, you can know it and you can stop repressing it, but you're not going to stop suffocating until you can find a way to destroy the part of you that truly deeply does want to die, reaching for the comforting euthanasia of normalcy. Stop visiting the dream of the life you want and make it into your reality with the same kind of unrepentant conviction seen in some underfunded but wildly ambitious teen television series. In other words: you must try to survive the ego death of being weird. A weirdo, who doesn't fit in and doesn't want to fit in!

[patolemus]

Sterek fic recs: Time Travel AU Edition

As I promised @oldefashioned here is the start of my unending sterek fic reccing. I’ll go by category because this post will never end otherwise.

1. song of the phoenix by graveltotempo

In a last ditch effort to save Beacon Hills after everyone else has died, Stiles channels all of his energy and magic into cleansing the Nemeton and the magical core of the town. But he is more powerful than he knows, more connected to the Nemeton than anyone can guess, and a group of kids, teenagers and adults wakes up in the middle of the night ten years earlier with a second chance they didn't know they needed and a bond they don't understand. Stiles though? Stiles wakes up with a little more.

Notes: It's just. So good. It's kinda hard to explain but basically no one knows what's going on but at the same time it works. Kinda. They're working on it. Stiles is awesome in this, I especially love his relationship with the Hales, because of course I do. It's ongoing.

2. Twice And For All by novasillies

“Derek,” he said despite himself. The werewolf’s eyes sharpened. Scott gave him a distressed look. “Do I know you?” He asked tensely, and Stiles grinned in return. “Oh, no,” he answered, “Not yet.” - In which a well-timed conflict between the magic of the Ghost Riders and Stiles' spark sends him back to the day Scott got bitten. Stiles pointedly changes nothing and so God complexes, needlessly complex romantic drama, and pure, unbridled silliness ensue. (Updates every Thursday wink wonk)

Notes: This is to date one of my favorite time travel fics of all time, across multiple fandoms. Stiles in this one is just *chef's kiss*. Completely unhinged, I love him. Also, the sterek? Easily one of the best dynamics I've read. It's ongoing, only four chapters left!

3. Fly a Little Faster by mirrorkill

Everyone knows when you go back in time, you shouldn't step on an ant, just in case you accidentally kill your own grandparent or something. But what happens when you go back in time and, uh, accidentally interrupt the one event that apparently made the Grumpiest Alpha in Town into a ball of mindless manpain?  Well, if Marty McFly can do it, so can Stiles Stilinski. All he has to do is get Derek and Paige to fall in love before he gets pulled back to his own time. And before he makes anything worse. That's easy as pie, right? Right?

Notes: I liked this one because it's not the typical Stiles travels back in time after everyone else in the pack dies. It's got a different premise, still somewhat canon compliant (maybe??? canon enough), and it's amazingly done. It's complete.

4. Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill

"There . . ." Stiles swallowed and looked down at the bottle in his grasp as he slowly swirled the amber liquid inside. "There's really nothing left. For me. Everyone is . . . gone, and it feels like I haven't thought of tomorrow in years." His words rang in the air like a gunshot, he took another heavy drink. "I would trade every last breath I take to just have another shot—not even a guarantee, just a chance to make things right and bring back even one of them." ----- The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

Notes: So good! Stiles is a traumatized bean and the Hales are just everything! It's complete.

5. The A Spark of Hope and the Butterfly Effect series by Phlinting

It's been eleven years since Scott was bitten by a feral werewolf and, despite his pack's many victories along the way, Gerard Argent's influence lives on. As the knowledge of the supernatural spread to the general population so did the hatred and fear of the unknown. The McCall pack has been picked off one by one and Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski, and Peter Hale are the only three left, on the run and barely surviving. But Stiles has found a spell. He has the magic, the spark, and his belief. He has his dad and Peter to help power it and he has the will and desperation to succeed. He's going back to the Hale fire and this time he's going to stop it ALL before it starts. It's the perfect solution. Too bad things never go quite according to plan...

Notes: The Sheriff and Peter are *chef's kiss* here! I really don't know how to explain all that happens here but it gets a little out of control in the best way. It's complete.

6. The The Long Way Round series by exclamation

A magical accident sends Stiles back in time. Now he's stuck in New York, living with Derek and Laura, and the only way to get back to his own time is to learn to use magic. Meanwhile, he must figure out how much he can tell them about their future. Can he warn them about the dangers they face? Can he change his own past?   And can he trust the creature known as Bookworm, who seems to know him better than he knows himself?

Notes: This series had me in a chokehold, I cried so much but it was absolutely worth it! Stiles doesn't plan to travel back in time on this one, this just... happen, and it all spirals a bit out of control. But don't worry! You may have no idea of what's going to happen, but the author certainly did and they did an amazing work. It's complete.

7. It’s Happening by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Derek stopped listening to him, brain going a mile a minute.   Derek, it’s fucking happening! Derek, please!   He would recognize that fucking voice anywhere. Two years. Two fucking years had passed, and now this little shit was standing in front of him, speaking his name, and grinning like an idiot. “It’s you,” Derek said, earning him a confused look from Stiles. “The phone call. Two years ago. It was you.” (SNYE - January 2nd - Time Travel)

Notes: This is not canon compliant. It's a whole other universe, actually, and it's so good. Good ol' Derek is losing his mind over here, but it's alright! Things work out just fine. It's complete.

These ones are not time travel, but dimensional travel. It’s similar enough so here you go.

8. The play it again series by metisket

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself. “Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggests bets have been placed.)”

Notes: I honestly don't know how to show the whole of my appreciation for this series. I think I've read this about five times since I found it last year. Stiles lands himself in a whole other dimension, where the Hale House fire never happened and Scott is human. It goes about as well as you can expect. It's technically not complete, but the main piece is.

9. The Home Across The Universe series by TricksterShi

You can lose your home and spend your whole life looking for it, sometimes you may even find bits of it again. But sometimes home goes out searching and finds you first. ~ The day he loses his father and his pack, Stiles is transported to a parallel world where his counterpart is nine years old and seemingly small changes have had a huge impact on the course of events in Beacon Hills. At first sticking to the shadows as a vigilante to protect his otherworld father and younger self, Stiles is soon drawn out into the light and onto a path that forces him to confront the traumas of his past so that he can make a place for himself in this new world.

Notes: Just. This absolute beast of a universe is seriously so well done, and so good. Imagine play it again, but much more depressing and waaaay longer. The angst is on point! The Stilinskis are the best in this one. And Derek and Laura have my heart, love my pookies. Stiles is not having the best times, but he'll be looked after, don't worry! Also technically not complete, but all the pieces in the series are done.

10. The Ley Lines series by forestofbabel

Stiles is back in town after many years, angry and bitter and disconnected from anything you might call pack. It might as well be a tradition at this point that he gets drunk and wakes up in the woods. Only, this time, something is different.  The ghosts that have weighed in his heart are alive and well, and Stiles gets to witness a life that could have been his. There is one thing he knows, though. No matter how much he may want to stay, he has to go home.  If the ley lines you should follow, and your dwelling at the end, and find your presence has been hollowed, your hereafter is to amend." *** Stiles is faced in this new world with someone he had been avoiding for a long time. Himself.  The Double Walker cannot survive where the Double Walker dwells *** Derek had an itch under his skin. There was something missing. He knew exactly what it was. Who it was. His regrets paraded themselves in a steady stream, and he had to watch as Stiles left time and time again, knowing it would be the only way to let the ley lines heal. That didn't make it hurt any less. Still, some part of Derek hoped.

Notes: I honestly just read the first part, but I thought I'd add the whole series so people know what they're getting into. The first part can be read as a stand alone, so if anyone wants to stop after that they absolutely can. The fic itself is a bit sad, but it has a happy ending! Stiles travels to another dimension, and shenanigans follow. The series is complete.

[nose-rice]

Guys I NEED to rant about my thoughts on Nuru because i love her <3 ramblings ahead

Like I feel like in almost every fic i read, she's just like, a side character that's there to make whitty remarks to Hugo and be the levelheaded one. If she has an insecurity or problem it's usually pretty surface level and solved quickly, or only mentioned once or twice. I think there are SO many aspects of her character that are so cool.

Okay first, I think we sometimes forget that she's a nerd just like the rest of the gang. Yes, on the outside she's definetly the most 'normal' one, but I think we should concider the fact that she's the only girl in the group, and she's literal royalty. She was raised with a completely different set of standards than the other three. I don’t think I've really ever seen anyone cover that. I feel like she would get called "mature for her age" when she's only 15/16, and almost always gets critisism when she talks back with her own ideas (like her concerns about the meteor shows for example). I feel like out on her journey, she would finally get the freedom to just be herself, and be a kid and be able to rant on about her intrests with the rest of the group. It could be a struggle at first, but it would be awesome to see her getting more comfortable with the group the longer they spend together! Nerds encouraging nerdy rants lol

Since she is a kingdom figurehead, you could also argue that she always has a lot on her hands (especially since she's very proactive when it comes to science and solving problems). This could bring up a need to be productive, or always feeling like she needs to make the right decision, even for the littlest things.

I also feel like a lot of the time she's potrayed as the "right" one, who is 100% right when it comes to stuff like arguing with Hugo. Since they're opposites when it comes to class, they often are compared through that lense. I think it's cool just having Nuru tell Hugo off for judging a book by its cover, but I feel like they have a lot more in common than they realize. I think it would be interesting to see Nuru judging a book by its cover too. Maybe not to the degree that Hugo does, but I feel like calling out both their judging would not only call out character flaws, but it also enforces that even though they hate eachother and would never want to be like the other, they have a lot of the same flaws.

Also, being sheltered in a palace her whole life, I think she might think kind of black and white sometimes, and while she knows when people are just being mean as an act, she might struggle when it comes to people like reformed criminals.

Maybe she's able to be meaner to Hugo because she justifies it by telling herself he's criminal, and therefore bad, possibly glossing over the reasons he might be like that (maybe it crosses her mind, but she tells herself it's not a good enough reason, because stealing is still stealing, and he literally steals EVERYTHING. Even little trinkets and stuff he definitely doesn't need!). When they find out about Varian's criminal history, maybe she reexamines her views on morality and how she used to see people, because by her standards, Varian is a 'bad guy' who's caused harm to SO many people, but he's also the kind, caring, helpful friend that she's been traveling with who would never willingly hurt anyone.

Moving on to Amber x Nuru, I honestly never find myself liking the ship because Amber isn't developed enough which is fine. I don't think every character has to be a magnificent work of art. Side characters are side characters, but their romance is usually written like: "wow that girl is cute! I have a crush now!" Which is cool, but then that's about as far as it gets, then timeskip! Or offscreen they're a couple now. I know it's a side couple so it won't have as much devlopment as something like Varigo, but I never really see their dynamic play out in different situations. Like I don't know how to explain it, but it feels like they solely exist to be a couple? Amber sometimes just feels like an extention of Nuru, and their relationship feels surface level a lot of the time.

I feel like too often she's just watered down to the nice, smart, grounded friend, and I don't know I just think there’s so much more to explore with her. She’s not just some side character. She's literally part of the main cast! Even in fanart I feel like she doesn't really get a lot of stuff besides funny art and just like, pictures meant to look pretty. Unlike something you get a lot with characters like Varian or Hugo.

And honestly I get it. Some characters you just don't take an intrest in. I know I find Varian, Hugo, and Nuru more relatable than I find Yong, but I feel like part of that is developing their characters rather than just seeing them on a surface level. Ofc there are exceptions and there are some stories that dive deeper into Nuru's character out there! I just happen to see this A LOT.

Wow i said "surface level" a lot didn't I 😭😭

Anyway thank you for reading my rant i wanna know what you guys think!!

[doumadono]

Hiiiii! I am squeezing into your inbox to

1. Congratulate you on your achievement. You deserved it sweetheart and I am so happy for you (maybe even a lil jealous! Hihi). Keep up the wonderful work and keep bringing joy and comfort to other people!

2. To request something!

I want some Vanilla-Mango ice creams in a cup with Maple syrup.

All of this for my one and only bunny Mirko! 🐇🤍I love ya girl!

Stay awesome!

A/N: thank you so much, honeypot! Your support means everything. I hope you'll like this short piece, and please forgive me if the character isn't quite right — it's my first time writing for Bunny Hero Mirko! ♥

5k FOLLOWERS EVENT MASTERLIST MY HERO ACADEMIA

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the city, painting the buildings with shades of gold and amber. You were walking through the park, lost in thought, when you spotted Mirko sitting on a bench, her prosthetic leg resting beside her. Her expression was distant, her eyes fixed on something far away.

Approaching her, you noticed the faint lines of pain etched on her face. You knew about her recent struggles with phantom pains, the cruel reminders of the limbs she had lost during the war. "Hey, Mirko," you greeted softly, taking a seat beside her.

She glanced at you, offering a small, weary smile. "Hey, Y/N," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

"Is everything alright?" you inquired, concern coloring your words as you noticed the faint lines of strain etched upon her face.

Mirko sighed, her gaze returning to the horizon. "Just another rough day, I guess," she admitted, her fingers tracing the contours of her prosthetic leg. "The phantom pains have been acting up again."

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rumi. That sounds really tough."

She looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. "It is," she admitted. "It's like… I can still feel them, you know? My missing arm and leg. Sometimes, it's like they're still there, and it hurts so much…"

You squeezed her shoulder gently, offering your support. "I can't even begin to imagine how hard that must be for you. But I'm here for you, okay? You're not alone. You never were, sweetie."

Mirko's eyes softened, and she leaned into your touch, finding solace in your presence. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You hurried to a nearby store to grab two bottles of water and some mochi. When you returned, you paused behind a large tree, watching Mirko.

She was someone you deeply admired, one of the few people who truly inspired you. Her toughness was unmatched, and secretly, you yearned to possess even a fraction of her spirit, to be as brave as she was. She was your role model.

You spent the rest of the afternoon with Mirko, talking, laughing, and sharing stories, sitting on that bench. You listened as she opened up about her fears and insecurities, her dreams and aspirations. And through it all, you were there for her, offering words of encouragement and comfort.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the park, Mirko turned to you, her eyes shining with gratitude. "You know," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "even on my darkest days, knowing that I have you by my side makes everything a little bit brighter."

You smiled, feeling your heart swell with warmth. "And you make everything brighter for me too, Mirko. You're strong, resilient, and incredibly brave. I admire you so much."

Mirko's smile widened, and she reached out, taking your hand in hers. "Thank you," she said softly. "That means the world to me. After Jaku and the war, things really shifted," she said, her brow creasing slightly. "It's not like it broke me, but I've been feeling more uncertain. About everything, really. Even my own abilities."

You met Mirko's gaze with a gentle smile. "Rumi," you began softly, squeezing her hand in reassurance, "you have no idea how many lives you've touched with your bravery. In the chaos of Jaku and the war, you were a beacon of hope for so many. Every leap you took, every punch you threw, they weren't just acts of courage — they were beacons of light in the darkness for all those who lost their hope. You saved countless lives with your unwavering determination and your indomitable spirit. Never doubt your abilities, my dear Rabbit Hero Mirko," you urged gently, your words a steadfast anchor amidst the uncertainty. "You are a hero in every sense of the word, and the world is a brighter place because of you. The echoes of your courage will never fade."

Mirko leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice tinged with emotion. "I think that's exactly what I needed to hear today."

[muiitoloko]

Chains of Command.

Summary: Bound by the strict hierarchy of military life, Frank and a troubled soldier find their lives intertwined in a struggle that challenges the limits of authority, loyalty, and human connection.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Mention of shooting, mention of death, guilt, insubordination, paternal negligence.

Author's Notes: Big thanks to @theheartwants-what-itwants and @evans23 for the awesome ideas! And don’t worry, @evans23, your bakery and cake are safe and sound over here 😅🍰

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Frank sighed heavily as he leaned back in his chair, the familiar creak of the old leather accompanying the motion. The weight of the day’s events had settled heavily on his shoulders, but it wasn’t just the stress of command that wore him down tonight. A quick glance at the clock on his desk told him it was already late—far later than he had intended to stay. He should have been home by now, but this day, of all days, was never easy for him.

Each year, he found himself in this exact spot, sitting alone in his office with a glass of scotch in hand, the amber liquid swirling as he tried to drown out the memories that surfaced with a relentless intensity. It was the anniversary of a friend’s death—a friend who would still be alive if not for Frank’s own decisions. The guilt had never truly left him, a gnawing ache that resurfaced despite the years that had passed. It was his burden to carry, and no matter how many drinks he had, it remained as sharp as ever.

He closed his hazel eyes, letting the silence of the room envelop him as the memories played out behind his eyelids—moments of hesitation, the sound of orders given, the aftermath. His hand clenched around the glass, the knuckles white from the pressure. Even after all this time, the guilt was as potent as ever, coursing through him like a toxin he could never quite rid himself of.

Finally, unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere of his office any longer, Frank pushed himself up from his chair. The room felt too small, too confining, and he needed air. He left the scotch glass on the desk, still half-full, and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair before making his way out of the office. The corridors of the barracks were quiet at this late hour, the usual hustle and bustle of the day having long since died down. The stillness was almost comforting as he walked, his mind lost in the past, replaying the decisions that had led to that fateful day.

As he walked, something caught his eye—a dim light glowing from one of the desks farther down the hall. Curiosity piqued, Frank altered his course, heading toward the source of the light. As he approached, he could make out the figure of someone hunched over the desk, deeply absorbed in their work. It didn’t take long for him to recognize you, the intense focus on your face illuminated by the soft glow of the desk lamp.

Frank cleared his throat to announce his presence, watching as you turned sharply, one hand instinctively moving toward your sidearm in a reflexive gesture of readiness. But the tension in your posture eased as soon as you recognized him. You quickly stood up, snapping to attention and offering a crisp salute, despite the hour.

"Sir," you greeted, your voice steady but tinged with surprise.

"At ease," Frank replied, his baritone voice carrying a note of something softer than his usual gruff demeanor. He let his gaze linger on the reports scattered across your desk before meeting your eyes again. "What are you doing up so late, Private? Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?"

You hesitated for a moment before replying, "Just working on summaries for the reports you requested, sir. I wanted to make sure everything was in order before the briefing tomorrow."

Frank nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful as he took in the tired lines on your face and the determined set of your jaw. You were clearly exhausted, yet here you were, burning the midnight oil to ensure that everything was perfect. It was a trait he had come to respect in you—this relentless drive to prove yourself, even at the expense of your own well-being.

For a moment, he hesitated, caught between his natural inclination to leave you to your work and the nagging sense that he didn’t want to be alone tonight. The decision was made before he could overthink it.

"Come with me," he ordered, his voice carrying the weight of command, but with a trace of something more—an unspoken invitation that was difficult to ignore.

You blinked in surprise but quickly nodded, gathering the reports and straightening them into a neat pile before following him out of the office. Frank didn’t say anything as he led the way back to his office, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet halls. You trailed behind him, your curiosity piqued but your expression carefully neutral, masking the questions that swirled in your mind.

When you reached his office, Frank held the door open for you, a gesture that, though small, felt significant in the context of your relationship thus far. You stepped inside, the familiar space now filled with the scent of scotch and the lingering tension of unspoken memories. Frank followed, closing the door behind him before walking over to his desk.

He didn’t sit down immediately. Instead, he stood by the window, looking out into the darkness beyond, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as if carrying a weight far heavier than the one visible to the naked eye.

"You ever have a day that you just can’t seem to get through?" Frank asked suddenly, his voice low, almost as if he were talking to himself.

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. Frank had never been one to share personal thoughts, let alone with someone of your rank. But there was something in his tone that compelled you to answer honestly.

"Yes, sir," you replied quietly, stepping closer to the desk but still maintaining a respectful distance. "More often than I’d like to admit."

Frank’s lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile, though it was fleeting. He finally turned to face you, his hazel eyes filled with a depth of emotion you hadn’t seen before—regret, sorrow, and something else that was harder to define.

"Today is one of those days for me," he admitted, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of pain. "It’s the anniversary of a friend’s death. A friend who wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for my own decisions."

You listened in silence, the weight of his words settling heavily in the room. Frank Benson, the man who had always seemed so unflappable, so in control, was opening up to you in a way that you never would have expected. And in that moment, you realized just how much he had been carrying all these years.

"I’ve spent every year since then in this office, drinking alone," Frank continued, his eyes locking onto yours. "Trying to drown out the guilt, the memories. But it never works. It’s always there, just beneath the surface, waiting to pull me under."

He paused, taking a deep breath as if steadying himself. "But tonight, for some reason, I didn’t want to be alone. So I asked you to join me."

You nodded slowly, understanding the significance of what he was saying. This wasn’t just about a drink or company—it was about sharing a burden, about finding solace in the presence of someone who might understand, even if only a little.

Frank gestured to the chair opposite his desk, silently inviting you to sit. You complied, feeling a mixture of gratitude and trepidation as you took your seat. Frank poured two glasses of scotch, the amber liquid shimmering in the dim light as he handed one to you.

"To the ones we’ve lost," Frank said quietly, raising his glass in a solemn toast.

You raised your glass in return, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you echoed his words. "To the ones we’ve lost."

The clink of the glasses was soft, almost reverent, as you both took a sip, letting the warmth of the scotch spread through you. For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. It was a shared silence, one filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect.

The silence between you and Frank lingered, heavy with the weight of unspoken memories and shared pain. You could feel the unasked question hanging in the air, your curiosity gnawing at you. You wanted to understand what had driven Frank to this moment of vulnerability, to know the story behind the friend whose death haunted him so deeply.

Taking a deep breath, you finally broke the silence, your voice soft, almost hesitant. “How did it happen, sir? Your friend... how did he die?”

Frank sat back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the glass of whiskey he held, the amber liquid reflecting the dim light of the room. For a long moment, he didn’t answer, as if he were lost in the past, reliving the events that had led him to this point. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, tinged with a sadness that hadn’t been there before.

“It was a long time ago,” Frank began, his baritone voice carrying the weight of years gone by. “Back when I was still a captain. We were in the middle of an operation, deep in enemy territory. Hostages were being held, and it was our job to get them out.”

He paused, taking a sip of his whiskey, the burn of the alcohol a small comfort against the ache in his chest. “We were outnumbered, outgunned, and the only way to succeed was to create a distraction, something that would draw the enemy’s attention away from the hostages. I had to make a decision—sacrifice one to save many.”

You could see the pain etched into Frank’s features as he continued, his hazel eyes dark with the memories of that fateful day. “I chose one of my men—Richard Black. He was young, eager, always ready to do whatever was needed. I sent him straight to a point where I knew the enemy would see him. I didn’t tell him that he was being used as bait. I didn’t tell him that he wasn’t coming back.”

Frank’s voice wavered slightly, and he took another sip of whiskey, trying to steady himself. “The plan worked. The enemy took the bait, and while they were distracted by Richard, we advanced with our attack. We saved the hostages, completed the mission. It was a success. But Richard... he died. He died because I sent him to his death, knowing full well what I was doing.”

He fell silent, the room heavy with the gravity of his confession. You could see the guilt etched into every line of Frank’s face, the weight of a decision that had haunted him for years. It was clear that the young captain Frank had been was a far cry from the man sitting before you now—a man who had come to realize the true cost of the choices he had made.

“At the time,” Frank continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “I didn’t care. I was satisfied with the success of the mission. Sacrificing one of my men meant nothing to me. But then... then I went to his wake.”

He paused, his hand trembling slightly as he set the glass of whiskey down on the desk. His hazel eyes seemed to lose focus, as if he were seeing something far away—something that had stayed with him for all these years.

“His whole family was there,” Frank said, his voice thick with emotion. “His wife, his two children... two kids who had no idea that their father had died because of me. They were so young, so innocent. And when they found out who I was, they ran to me, hugged me. ‘Dad talked a lot about you,’ they said. And in that moment, I felt it—the guilt, the shame. I was the reason those kids’ father was dead. I was the reason they grew up without him.”

The room was silent, the only sound the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Frank’s words hung in the air, heavy with the burden of a past that he could never escape. You could see the tears that glistened in his eyes, though he blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

“But I couldn’t just walk away,” Frank said, his voice rough with the effort to keep his emotions in check. “I couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves, knowing what I had done. So I took care of them. I made sure they had everything they needed. I became ‘Uncle Frank’—the man who was always there, who watched over them as if they were my own.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Frank’s lips, though it was tinged with sadness. “I paid for their schooling, their college tuition. Emily—she became a doctor. And Harry... Harry became an Air Force pilot. They’ve done well for themselves. They’ve made something of their lives, despite everything. And I like to think that, in some small way, I’ve helped them do that.”

Frank reached over to his desk, his hand trembling slightly as he picked up a framed photograph. He handed it to you, and as you took it, you saw the faces of two young adults smiling back at you. A young woman, her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun, wearing a white coat that marked her as a doctor. And beside her, a young man in a crisp Air Force uniform, his posture straight and proud. They were standing beside an a few years younger Frank, who had his arms around their shoulders, his expression filled with pride and a deep, abiding love.

“Emily and Harry,” Frank said quietly, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. “They’re my family now. The only family I have left.”

You looked at the photograph, then back at Frank, your heart heavy with the weight of everything he had shared. It was clear that the burden of Richard Black’s death had never left him, but it was equally clear that he had spent the years since trying to atone for it, to make something good out of the tragedy that had shaped his life.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, sir,” you said softly, handing the photograph back to him. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to carry that with you.”

Frank took the photograph back from you, his fingers tracing the edges of the frame as if it were a lifeline. He stared at it for a long moment, lost in thought, before he muttered to himself with a touch of derision, “I wish my own son had followed the same path. But Eli… Eli was always so damn stubborn.”

He smiled to himself, a wistful expression that was both sad and fond. You watched in silence, sensing that this was a rare glimpse into a side of Frank Benson that few ever saw. The smile faded as he placed the photo aside, his hazel eyes sharpening as he turned his attention back to you.

“I’m not telling you this for nothing,” Frank said, his baritone voice steady but tinged with a warning. “I’ve learned that there comes a time when you have to know when to stop. When to understand your own limitations, and when to take care of yourself. And you, Private, need to learn that lesson before it’s too late.”

You stiffened slightly, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. Frank’s gaze was piercing, his words carrying a weight that pressed down on you like a physical force.

“I see how you limp after standing for hours,” Frank continued, his voice growing firmer. “Even when I give you time to rest, you refuse to take it. Maybe you’re trying to prove something, maybe to yourself, maybe to others. But let me make this clear—you have to stop. You have to stop trying to prove something that’s long gone.”

The bitterness in his words cut deep, and you could feel your throat tighten as the implications of what he was saying sank in. Frank didn’t look away, his eyes holding yours with a mix of frustration and what almost seemed like concern.

“You’re a demoted soldier, Private. That’s a dishonor in this army,” Frank said bluntly, his voice unyielding. “You’re deceiving yourself if you think, even for a moment, that you can regain your position. You’ll be nothing more than a foot soldier, and you need to accept that.”

The words stung, piercing through your carefully constructed walls. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check, but the anger, the hurt, and the sense of injustice boiled within you. Your grip on the glass tightened, the edges digging into your palm as you fought to control the urge to lash out.

But you couldn’t hold it back. The dam broke, and the words spilled out, sharp and biting, laced with the bitterness that had been festering inside you.

“You know, I may never be a captain again,” you said, your voice trembling with restrained fury, “but at least I never had to sacrifice one of my own. I would never do that. I would rather sacrifice myself than send one of my men to their death. In my opinion, that’s much more dishonorable.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, your words hanging in the air like a challenge. Frank’s expression remained impassive for a moment, his hazel eyes dark and unreadable. You braced yourself for the inevitable backlash, for the anger that would surely follow such a direct attack on his character.

But instead of the explosion of anger you expected, Frank laughed. It was a low, bitter laugh, tinged with a sadness that seemed to come from deep within him. He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he looked at you, his eyes gleaming with a mix of respect and sorrow.

“You’re a lot like your father,” Frank said, his voice softer now, almost reflective. "Stubborn, attacking whenever contradicted."

The room was heavy with silence after Frank's reflection on how much you resembled your father. You could feel the weight of his words, the comparison to a man who had always been a source of both admiration and deep frustration for you. The Colonel had always been a hard, uncompromising figure in your life, a man who demanded nothing less than perfection and responded to any sign of weakness with scorn. The idea that Frank saw the same stubbornness in you stung, but it also made you laugh—a harsh, bitter sound that echoed in the small room.

"He's still like that, you know," you said, your voice laced with derision. "Still the same man who can’t stand being contradicted. The Colonel doesn’t change, no matter how many lives he tramples on."

Frank didn’t respond, but the slight narrowing of his hazel eyes indicated that he was taking in your words, weighing them as he so often did. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and the tension that had built over the course of the evening. Frank took a slow sip of his whiskey, as if considering his next words carefully, and when he finally spoke, his tone was probing, yet measured.

"That wound on your thigh," he began, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of curiosity that caught you off guard. "I’ve read your reports, Private, and there’s no mention of how you sustained it. It doesn’t seem to be the result of any mission in Afghanistan, at least not according to the official records."

You stiffened slightly, the question hitting closer to home than you were comfortable with. The wound on your thigh was a reminder of a moment you had tried to bury, to forget. The memories were raw, too personal to share, especially with someone like Frank. You dismissed the question with a terse reply, your voice colder than you intended.

"It was my fault, sir. That’s all you need to know."

But Frank wasn’t one to be easily deterred. He leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto yours, refusing to let the matter drop. "I shared something with you tonight, Private. I opened up about a part of my past that I don’t discuss with just anyone. I think it’s only fair that you tell me how you got that wound."

The request was delivered in a tone that was both firm and reasonable, but it grated against your nerves, pushing you closer to the edge. You set your glass down on the desk with a deliberate motion, the sound of it hitting the wood sharp in the quiet room. Rising to your feet, you met Frank’s gaze with a look that bordered on defiance, your patience wearing thin.

"If this session of feeling sorry for ourselves is over, sir, then I think I’ll take my leave," you said mockingly, your voice edged with bitterness. You turned on your heel, moving toward the door with the intention of putting as much distance between yourself and Frank as possible.

But just as your hand touched the doorknob, Frank’s voice stopped you in your tracks, his tone calm but carrying a weight of authority that made you hesitate.

"If you don’t tell me what happened and you walk out that door, Private," he said, his baritone voice steady, "I’ll have no choice but to order you to spend a few days in the brig for insulting your superior officer."

You froze, your grip on the doorknob tightening as his words sank in. The threat was delivered with a calmness that made it all the more chilling, and you knew that Frank wasn’t bluffing. If you left now, he could follow through on that threat, and the consequences would be severe. A demoted soldier, already struggling to regain a foothold in the army, being detained for insubordination—that would be a stain on your record that you might never recover from. It could even lead to your dismissal from the military altogether.

Frank finished his whiskey, the glass clinking softly as he set it down on the desk. He didn’t press the issue further, but the unspoken pressure hung in the air, urging you to comply. He had shared his pain with you, had let you into a part of his life that was clearly difficult for him to talk about. Now, he was asking you to do the same, and there was no escaping the fact that you owed him that much.

With a deep breath, you slowly released your grip on the doorknob and turned back to face him. Your gaze was hard, the anger simmering just beneath the surface, but you could see that Frank wasn’t looking at you with judgment or disdain. Instead, there was a quiet, almost resigned understanding in his eyes, as if he knew that what you were about to share wouldn’t be easy.

"It was my father," you finally admitted, the words bitter on your tongue. "He was the one who shot me."

Frank’s expression remained neutral, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes. He didn’t interrupt, waiting for you to continue.

"It happened in Afghanistan," you said, your voice steady but filled with a deep-seated anger that had been festering for years. "I disobeyed his orders to save a life—just one life. He didn’t like that. When he found out, he sent for me, confronted me about it. We argued, and… well, he pulled out his gun and shot me in the thigh. Then he ordered two of his men to take me to a nurse, as if that would make everything okay."

Frank remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he processed what you had just told him. There was no judgment in his eyes, only a cold, hard understanding of the kind of man your father was—a man who would do whatever it took to maintain control, even if it meant harming his own flesh and blood.

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out of Frank’s office, the door closing behind you with a finality that echoed in the silent room.

You walked as fast as your aching leg would allow, each step a painful reminder of that day, the searing pain in your thigh echoing the old wound that never truly healed. The cold night air whipped against your face as you left the barracks behind, but it did little to cool the anger simmering beneath your skin. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, swirling with the memory of your father’s voice, the harsh bark of his orders, the contempt that had laced every word.

His screams still echoed in your mind as vividly as if they had been hurled at you only moments ago. “You disobeyed a direct order!” he had bellowed, his face twisted with rage, the veins in his neck bulging as he loomed over you. “The mission comes first, above everything else! You don’t get to play the hero at the expense of the operation!”

But you had stood your ground, defiant, the anger you’d kept bottled up for so long finally exploding. “I’d do it again!” you had shouted back, your voice trembling with a mixture of fury and conviction. “All lives matter, not just the ones that fit into your fucking mission! That girl was innocent—she didn’t deserve to die because of your orders!”

Your words had only fueled his rage. The Colonel’s eyes had darkened with a hatred you had never seen before, and for a moment, you had wondered if this was the same man who had raised you. He had always been strict, always demanded perfection, but this—this was something else entirely. This was pure, unfiltered contempt.

“You were always a fucking disappointment,” he had snarled, his voice low and venomous as he took a step closer, his breath hot against your face. “From the moment you decided to join the military, I knew you’d never be able to hack it. You’re weak, soft, just like your mother. And now, you’ve proven it.”

You had stood your ground, the words cutting deep but not breaking you. You had known your father’s opinion of you long before that day, but hearing it spoken aloud, with such vitriol, had sent a chill through you. You had wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he was wrong, that you were stronger than he could ever understand. But before you could utter another word, he had done something that you had never expected.

With a sudden, violent motion, the Colonel had drawn his sidearm, the cold steel of the gun glinting in the harsh light of the makeshift barracks. For a split second, you had frozen, your mind struggling to process the reality of what was happening. But then, the world had exploded in pain.

The shot had been deafening in the confined space, the bullet tearing through your thigh with a sickening crunch of bone and flesh. You had screamed, the sound raw and primal, as you collapsed to the ground, your hands instinctively clutching at the wound. The pain had been excruciating, a white-hot fire that consumed your entire leg, radiating outward in waves that made it difficult to think, to breathe.

But even as you lay there, writhing in agony, your mind had been filled with one overwhelming thought: He’s going to kill me. You had looked up at him, your vision blurred with tears of pain, and seen the cold, unfeeling expression on his face as he stood over you, the gun still held firmly in his hand.

“You’re nothing,” he had hissed, his voice dripping with disgust as he pointed the gun at your head. “A worthless soldier, a worthless daughter. I should have ended you right here, right now, and saved myself the trouble of watching you fail over and over again.”

You had braced yourself for the shot, your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a frantic drum of terror. You had closed your eyes, expecting the darkness to swallow you whole, but the shot had never come. Instead, there had been a long, agonizing silence, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant hum of activity outside the tent.

When you had finally dared to open your eyes, the Colonel was still standing there, the gun lowered but not holstered, his expression one of cold calculation. For a moment, you had seen something flicker in his eyes—hesitation, perhaps, or the briefest hint of regret—but it had been gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Get up,” he had ordered, his voice flat, devoid of the rage that had fueled his earlier outburst. “Get up and get yourself to the medics. And don’t you dare tell them what happened. This stays between us, understood?”

You had nodded, too stunned, too broken to argue, and had struggled to your feet, the pain in your leg nearly causing you to collapse again. Two of his men had appeared then, their faces carefully neutral as they took hold of your arms and half-carried, half-dragged you to the medical tent. You had seen the looks in their eyes, the barely concealed pity mixed with something else—disgust, perhaps, or a grim understanding of the realities of the chain of command. They hadn’t asked any questions, hadn’t even looked at you as the nurse had patched up the wound with a brusque efficiency that left you feeling hollow.

The memory of that day burned in your mind as you limped through the darkness, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The pain in your leg was a constant reminder, a physical manifestation of the betrayal you had suffered at the hands of the man who was supposed to protect you, to guide you. But instead, he had shown you the depths of his cruelty, his willingness to sacrifice even his own daughter for the sake of his twisted sense of duty.

You stopped suddenly, your breath coming in sharp, painful gasps as you tried to push the memories back, to lock them away in the recesses of your mind where they couldn’t hurt you anymore. But it was no use—the pain, both physical and emotional, was too fresh, too raw. It was as if the wound had been reopened, the scab torn away to reveal the festering anger and resentment beneath.

You leaned against the rough bark of a nearby tree, your leg throbbing with every beat of your heart, and let out a low, frustrated growl. You had tried so hard to forget, to move on, but the past was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to ambush you when you least expected it.

And now, Frank Benson knew. He knew the darkest secret of your past, the one you had never intended to share with anyone. You had wanted to keep it buried, to pretend that it had never happened, but now that it was out, you felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that you hadn’t felt since that day in Afghanistan.

But even as the anger and pain threatened to overwhelm you, there was a part of you that felt a strange sense of relief. For so long, you had carried this burden alone, the weight of your father’s betrayal pressing down on you like a stone. But now, someone else knew—someone who had his own demons, his own scars. And while that didn’t make the pain any less real, it did make it a little easier to bear.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, the cool night air filling your lungs, and forced yourself to stand up straight. You couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, not now. There was still work to be done, and you weren’t about to let your father’s actions define you.

With a final, determined breath, you pushed away from the tree and began to walk again, each step a reminder of the strength you still had, the resilience that had carried you through every challenge life had thrown at you. You were a soldier, a fighter, and no matter what your father—or anyone else—thought of you, you knew that you were stronger than they could ever understand.

The road ahead was still uncertain, filled with challenges and obstacles that you couldn’t yet see. But you would face them head-on, just as you always had. Because no matter how many times life tried to knock you down, you would always get back up.

And that, you knew, was something your father could never take away from you.

The next day, Frank Benson walked through the corridors of the military compound with a purposeful stride, his expression unreadable, his hazel eyes sharp and focused. The morning sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor as he approached the office of Colonel [Your Last Name]. There was a tense silence in the air, the kind that preceded significant confrontations, and the few soldiers who passed him along the way offered quick, respectful salutes before hastily moving out of his path.

Frank’s mind was clear, his thoughts honed to a razor’s edge as he prepared for the conversation that was about to take place. He knew this wouldn’t be easy—confronting a man like the Colonel never was—but it had to be done. What you had revealed the night before had weighed heavily on his mind, and he could no longer remain silent. There was a line that had been crossed, one that even Frank, with all his years of service and understanding of the complexities of military life, could not tolerate.

When he reached the Colonel’s office, he paused briefly, adjusting his uniform and smoothing down his white hair before knocking once, sharply, on the door.

“Enter,” came the gruff voice from within, and Frank pushed the door open, stepping inside with the measured calm of a man who knew exactly where he stood.

The Colonel was seated behind his desk, his posture as rigid and imposing as ever. The room was dimly lit, with thick curtains drawn to block out most of the sunlight. The Colonel looked up as Frank entered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the sight of the Lieutenant General standing before him. There was a brief flicker of something in the Colonel’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or maybe suspicion—but it was quickly masked by his usual stoic expression.

“Lieutenant General Benson,” the Colonel greeted, his voice carrying a note of forced politeness. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Frank didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he closed the door behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. He then crossed the space between them with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze never leaving the Colonel’s. When he finally reached the desk, he took a seat opposite him, his posture relaxed but his gaze unyielding.

“Colonel,” Frank began, his baritone voice steady and devoid of emotion, “I believe it’s time we had a conversation about your daughter.”

The Colonel’s eyes narrowed further, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “I see,” he replied, his tone carefully measured. “And what, exactly, do you wish to discuss, Lieutenant General?”

Frank allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to touch his lips, though there was no warmth in it. He was aware of the power dynamics at play here—despite the Colonel’s bravado, there was no mistaking the fact that Frank outranked him, both in title and in influence. But Frank wasn’t here to flaunt his superiority. He was here to deliver a message, one that he intended to make very clear.

“I’ve recently become aware of certain events that transpired during your time in Afghanistan,” Frank said, his voice calm but with an edge that suggested there was more beneath the surface. “Specifically, events involving your daughter, now Private [Your Last Name].”

The Colonel’s expression remained impassive, though there was a slight tension in the way he gripped the armrests of his chair. “And what about them?” he asked, his tone dismissive. “She’s been dealt with, as she should have been.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his composure didn’t waver. “I’m not here to question the decisions made by military command,” he said evenly. “But I am here to address the manner in which you chose to handle a situation involving your own daughter—a situation that, by all accounts, involved not just a breach of protocol, but a severe violation of both military and ethical standards.”

The Colonel’s lips curled into a sneer, his eyes flashing with a cold, almost mocking disdain. “Ethics,” he repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. “You come into my office to lecture me about ethics, Lieutenant General? In war, there’s no room for sentimentality, no room for weakness. She disobeyed a direct order in a combat situation. She deserved to be punished.”

Frank’s gaze hardened, though he maintained his stoic exterior. “Punishment is one thing, Colonel,” he replied, his tone sharp and precise. “But shooting your own daughter—an officer under your command—crosses a line that even you must understand cannot be ignored.”

The Colonel’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he fought to keep his temper in check. "You think you can come in here and lecture me about judgment, Benson? After everything we’ve been through, after all the lives we’ve saved together?"

Frank’s smile widened slightly, but there was no warmth in it. "I’m well aware of our shared history, Colonel. And I’m also aware that respect is a two-way street. But what you’ve done goes beyond mere insubordination. It’s a betrayal of the values we’re supposed to uphold."

The tension in the room was palpable, a cold war of words and glances, each man carefully measuring the other. The Colonel’s eyes glittered with barely restrained fury, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his chair.

"So, this is how it’s going to be?" the Colonel spat, his voice low and venomous. "You think you can just waltz in here, throw your weight around, and tear down everything I’ve built? You’ve always been like this, Benson—always so high and mighty, acting like you’re better than the rest of us. But you’re not. You’re just another coward, hiding behind your rank and your rules."

Frank remained unfazed, his composure unbroken. He had expected this outburst, had anticipated the Colonel’s attempts to lash out in a bid to regain control. But Frank was no longer the young officer who had once looked up to this man. He had seen too much, endured too much, to be rattled by petty insults.

"I’m not here to tear anything down, Colonel," Frank said evenly. "I’m here to set things right. You’ve crossed a line, and there are consequences for that."

The Colonel’s sneer deepened, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction. "You’re a fool, Benson. You think you can intimidate me with your rank? I’ve seen men like you come and go, men who think they can dictate terms to someone like me. But let me tell you something—there’s nothing you can do to me that I haven’t already survived."

Frank’s smile didn’t waver. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his expression calm, almost amused. "You’re right, Colonel. I can’t intimidate you. But I can hold you accountable."

With that, Frank reached for the intercom on the Colonel’s desk, pressing the button with a deliberate, measured motion. "Sergeant, send in the men."

There was a brief pause, and then the door to the office opened, admitting two soldiers who entered with a crisp salute. They were young, their expressions neutral but their eyes sharp as they took in the scene before them.

The Colonel’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what was happening, but he quickly masked his surprise with a scornful sneer. "What’s this, Benson? Bringing in the muscle to do your dirty work? I thought you had more class than that."

Frank didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he addressed the soldiers with a calm, authoritative tone. "Sergeant, please escort Colonel [Your Last Name] to the brig. He’s to be detained for twenty-four hours on charges of insubordination and conduct unbecoming of an officer."

The Colonel’s face twisted with rage, his eyes blazing with fury as he shot to his feet. "You can’t do this! You have no right—"

"I have every right, Colonel," Frank interrupted, his voice cold and unyielding. "And I suggest you think carefully about your next words. Insubordination is one thing. Defying a direct order from a superior officer is another matter entirely."

The Colonel opened his mouth to protest, but the sight of the soldiers stepping forward, ready to enforce Frank’s order, made him hesitate. He glared at Frank, his hatred burning bright in his eyes, but there was a flicker of something else there as well—something that might have been respect, or perhaps recognition of the inevitability of his situation.

"One day, Benson," the Colonel hissed, his voice low and filled with venom. "One day, you’ll slip up, and when you do, I’ll be there to watch you fall."

Frank met his gaze without flinching, his expression as calm and composed as ever. "Perhaps," he said softly, his tone carrying the weight of years of experience. "But today is not that day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a military to run."

The Colonel’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides, but he said nothing more. With a final, hateful glare, he allowed the soldiers to lead him out of the office, his shoulders rigid with barely contained rage.

As the door closed behind them, Frank remained seated, his expression thoughtful as he stared at the space where the Colonel had stood moments before. He knew that this was far from over, that the Colonel would not take this humiliation lightly. But Frank had made his decision, and he would stand by it, no matter the cost.

With a weary sigh, he reached for the glass of whiskey Colonel had left on the desk, the amber liquid glinting in the morning light. He took a slow, deliberate sip, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat.

The battle lines had been drawn, and the cold war between him and the Colonel would continue. But for now, Frank was content to let the tension simmer, knowing that he had taken the first step in holding the Colonel accountable for his actions.

As he set the glass down, Frank allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The Colonel might hate being contradicted, but Frank Benson had never been one to back down from a fight.

And he wasn’t about to start now.

The barracks were abuzz with the latest news, the whispers and rumors spreading like wildfire. It didn’t take long before the entire compound knew what had happened—Colonel [Your Last Name] had been detained after a heated confrontation with Lieutenant General Frank Benson. The story had already taken on a life of its own, growing with each retelling, and as you made your way through the corridors, you could feel the eyes on you, the weight of their judgment pressing down on your shoulders.

But what cut the deepest were the snide remarks, the muttered insults that followed you wherever you went.

“Like father, like daughter,” one cadet sneered as you passed, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Guess insubordination runs in the family,” another added, his tone laced with contempt.

You kept your head down, refusing to acknowledge them, your jaw clenched tight to keep the retorts from spilling out. You had heard worse before—had endured far more cutting remarks from those who doubted your abilities, who questioned your place in the military. But today, the words seemed to dig deeper, their barbs sharper than usual. Today, they weren’t just attacking you; they were attacking the very core of who you were, the legacy that had been thrust upon you by your father.

You tried to push it all aside, focusing on the reports you had to complete for Frank, the mountain of paperwork that awaited your attention. But no matter how hard you tried, the anger simmered just beneath the surface, a constant, burning reminder of what had happened. The more you thought about it, the more your frustration grew, the resentment building inside you like a storm waiting to break.

Who did Frank Benson think he was? It was obvious that he had ordered the Colonel’s detention after you had confessed what had happened in Afghanistan. But you didn’t need his protection—you didn’t want it. Frank wasn’t your father, and he had no right to interfere in your life like this. You were more than capable of handling your own problems, of standing up for yourself, and the fact that Frank had taken it upon himself to act on your behalf only fueled your anger.

The reports sat unfinished on your desk, the words blurring on the page as your mind raced. You could barely focus, your thoughts consumed by the events of the day, the lingering resentment that gnawed at you with every passing moment. You wanted to confront Frank, to demand an explanation, but a part of you knew that it would only lead to another confrontation—one that you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Instead, you threw yourself into your work, forcing yourself to focus on the details, the numbers, the facts that you needed to compile for Frank’s review. But even as you worked, the anger simmered just beneath the surface, a constant, burning reminder of everything that had happened. You couldn’t escape it, no matter how hard you tried.

The hours dragged on, the day slipping by in a haze of frustration and resentment. You barely noticed when the sun began to set, the light outside your window fading into darkness as the barracks grew quiet. The reports were finished, neatly stacked on your desk, but the sense of satisfaction you usually felt at completing your work was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was only a hollow emptiness, a gnawing feeling that something was deeply wrong.

And it was all because of Frank Benson.

You couldn’t avoid him forever, no matter how much you wanted to. The thought of facing him again, of seeing that calm, collected expression on his face, filled you with dread. You knew that you would have to confront him eventually, to address what had happened, but the very idea made your blood boil. How could he have taken such drastic action without consulting you first? How could he have presumed to know what was best for you, to make decisions that would affect your life so profoundly?

He wasn’t your father. He had no right.

With a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself to stand up, pushing the reports to the edge of your desk. You couldn’t avoid it any longer. You had to confront him, had to make him understand that you didn’t need—or want—his protection. You weren’t a child, and you weren’t going to let him treat you like one.

As you made your way to Frank’s office, your heart pounded in your chest, each step heavier than the last. The corridors were mostly empty, the few soldiers you passed offering you nothing more than a quick nod or averted gaze. They knew better than to get in your way tonight.

When you finally reached Frank’s office, you hesitated for just a moment, your hand hovering over the doorknob. But the anger inside you wouldn’t let you back down now. With a firm twist, you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Frank was seated at his desk, his attention focused on a set of documents spread out before him. He didn’t look up as you entered, his white hair catching the light of the desk lamp, casting sharp shadows across his face. For a moment, you were struck by how composed he appeared, how completely in control. But that only made your anger flare hotter.

“Lieutenant General,” you began, your voice sharp and cutting, barely masking the fury that simmered just beneath the surface. “I need to speak with you.”

Frank finally looked up, his hazel eyes meeting yours with that same calm, unreadable expression that had infuriated you so many times before. He set the papers aside, folding his hands neatly on the desk as he regarded you with a measured gaze.

“Go ahead, Private,” he said evenly, his tone as composed as ever. “What’s on your mind?”

The very casualness of his response was like a slap in the face, and you had to clench your fists at your sides to keep from shouting.

“You had no right,” you said, your voice trembling with barely restrained anger. “You had no right to interfere like that, to detain my father. I didn’t ask for your help, and I certainly didn’t need your protection. You’re not my father.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded with all the emotions you had been trying to suppress. For a moment, Frank said nothing, his expression remaining unreadable as he watched you with those sharp, discerning eyes.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but there was an underlying steel in his tone that sent a chill down your spine.

“I’m aware that I’m not your father, Private,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. “But as your commanding officer, it’s my duty to ensure the safety and well-being of every soldier under my command. What happened today was not about protection—it was about accountability.”

You felt the anger rising again, threatening to boil over. “Accountability?” you repeated, your voice rising despite your best efforts to keep it under control. “Since when does accountability mean overstepping your bounds and making decisions that affect my life without even consulting me?”

Frank’s gaze hardened slightly, a flicker of impatience crossing his features. “This isn’t just about you, Private,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “What your father did—what he’s been doing—affects more than just you. It affects everyone under his command, everyone who has to live with the consequences of his actions. I made the decision to detain him because it was the right thing to do, not because I’m trying to be your father.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. You had been so consumed by your own anger, your own sense of betrayal, that you hadn’t stopped to consider the broader implications of what had happened. But now, standing here in front of Frank, you could see the truth in his words, the cold, hard reality that you had been trying so hard to ignore.

But that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

You took a step back, your shoulders slumping slightly as the fight drained out of you. “I don’t need your protection,” you repeated, though the words sounded hollow now, lacking the conviction they had carried before.

Frank studied you for a long moment, his expression softening just a fraction. “Maybe not,” he said quietly, his voice losing some of its edge. “But this isn’t just about protection. It’s about doing what’s right, even when it’s hard, even when it means making difficult decisions. Your father crossed a line, and I couldn’t just stand by and let that go unchallenged.”

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it was mixed with something else now—something that felt uncomfortably like guilt.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Frank replied, his tone gentler now, almost sympathetic. “But sometimes, we don’t get to choose our battles. Sometimes, they choose us.”

There was a long silence, the weight of his words hanging heavily between you. You felt drained, exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day, and the last thing you wanted was to continue this conversation. But you also knew that there were still things that needed to be said, things that couldn’t be left unspoken.

“I’m still angry with you,” you admitted, finally meeting his gaze again. “For what you did today, for how you handled it. I can’t just forget that.”

Frank nodded, his expression understanding. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But I hope you’ll come to understand why I made the decision I did, and that it wasn’t made lightly.”

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders slowly easing as you tried to process everything that had happened. There was still a part of you that wanted to scream, to lash out at the unfairness of it all, but you knew that wouldn’t solve anything. You were a soldier, and soldiers had to deal with the realities of their situation, no matter how painful or unfair they might be.

“Is that all, Private?” Frank asked, his voice calm, almost gentle, as he watched you carefully.

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you. “Yes, sir,” you replied, your voice quiet but steady. “That’s all.”

Frank gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of the emotional toll this conversation had taken on you both. “Dismissed,” he said simply, his tone neutral but not unkind.

You turned to leave, your mind still a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. But just as you reached the door, Frank’s voice stopped you once more.

“Private,” he called out, his tone softer now, almost hesitant. “If you ever want to talk—about anything—I’m here.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the doorknob, the offer hanging in the air between you. For a moment, you considered taking him up on it, letting go of the anger and resentment that had been festering inside you for so long.

You dropped your hand from the doorknob, still facing away from Frank as the words slipped out before you could stop them. "I'm tired, Frank," you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion. "I'm so tired."

The weight of everything that had happened—your father, the whispers, the anger—pressed down on you like a physical burden, and you could feel the tears welling up, burning at the corners of your eyes. You tried to hold them back, tried to keep your composure, but it was a losing battle. The dam broke, and a single tear slipped down your cheek, followed quickly by another.

You heard the soft creak of the chair as Frank stood up, his footsteps quiet but deliberate as he approached you. His presence was a comforting weight behind you, solid and reassuring, and when you felt his hand on your shoulder, gentle but firm, it was like a lifeline in the midst of a storm.

"Come here," Frank said softly, his voice low and steady, a tone that held no command, only an invitation.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you turned toward him, your vision blurred with tears. The next thing you knew, you were wrapped in his arms, your face buried in his chest as the sobs you had been holding back finally broke free. Frank’s embrace was strong and warm, his body a solid wall of comfort as he held you close, one hand gently stroking your back as you cried.

It had been so long since you had been held like this—since you had allowed yourself to be vulnerable, to let someone else shoulder even a small part of your burden. And as you clung to Frank, your fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform, you couldn’t help but notice the way his chest felt beneath your cheek, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to forget the rank, the uniform, the tension that had defined your relationship. In that instant, he wasn’t Lieutenant General Frank Benson, your superior officer—he was just a man, a strong, reassuring presence in a world that had become too chaotic, too overwhelming.

And Frank, despite everything, was still a man. A handsome man, with those sharp hazel eyes that had softened as he held you, with a baritone voice that rumbled through his chest, soothing and firm. There was a scent to him, something clean and earthy that mingled with the faint scent of his cologne, a combination that made your head swim. You could feel the strength in his arms, the way they enveloped you, protective and grounding, and it stirred something in you that you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a long time.

The tears came harder then, not just from the exhaustion, but from the realization that you had been denying yourself this kind of connection for far too long. The touch of a man, the warmth of his body against yours—it was something you had pushed away, something you had convinced yourself you didn’t need. But now, as Frank’s hand moved in slow, comforting circles on your back, you realized just how much you had missed it, how much you had needed it.

Frank held you as your sobs gradually subsided, his touch never faltering, his grip on you steady and sure. His chin rested gently on top of your head, and you could feel his breath against your hair, warm and even. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough, a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone, that you didn’t have to carry this weight by yourself.

As the tears finally slowed, leaving you feeling drained but strangely lighter, you hesitated to pull away. The warmth of Frank’s body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear—it was too comforting, too grounding to let go of just yet. But eventually, you knew you had to. You took a deep, shuddering breath, your fingers slowly releasing their grip on his uniform as you leaned back just enough to look up at him.

Frank’s hazel eyes met yours, and in them, you saw something you hadn’t expected. There was no judgment, no pity—just understanding, and a quiet, unspoken connection that went beyond rank, beyond the roles you both played. He raised a hand, brushing a tear from your cheek with a tenderness that made your breath catch, his thumb lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

"You’re not alone in this," Frank said softly, his voice a low, reassuring rumble that resonated through you. "You don’t have to be."

You swallowed hard, the last of your tears drying on your cheeks as you held his gaze. There was a warmth spreading through you, something deep and comforting that eased the lingering tension in your chest. Frank’s touch was gentle, his eyes filled with a softness that belied the stern exterior you had come to know so well.

And in that moment, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what you had needed. A reminder that you were more than just a soldier, more than just a rank—that you were human, with all the complexities and emotions that came with it.

Frank’s hand moved to your cheek, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine. It was such a simple gesture, and yet it felt like so much more—a connection, a shared moment of vulnerability that made your heart skip a beat.

For a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to let go completely, to lean into the warmth of Frank’s touch, to close the distance between you and press your lips to his. The thought sent a thrill through you, a spark of something that had been buried deep inside, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. But before you could give in to the temptation, you reminded yourself of who you were, of who he was, and the reality of your situation.

You were a soldier, and so was he. There were boundaries, lines that couldn’t be crossed, no matter how much you longed for the comfort, the connection that his touch promised.

So, with a soft, almost reluctant sigh, you stepped back, breaking the contact between you. Frank’s hand fell away from your cheek, and you saw the brief flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment, perhaps, or maybe understanding. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of the line you had both chosen not to cross.

But even as you put distance between you, the warmth of his embrace lingered, a memory that you knew would stay with you for a long time.

"Thank you," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but filled with genuine gratitude.

Frank gave you a small, reassuring smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. "Anytime," he replied, his tone warm, comforting.

With one last look, you turned and left his office, your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between you and Frank—a connection, a shared understanding that went beyond words.

And as you made your way back to your quarters, the warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin, a reminder that even in the midst of the chaos, there was still room for moments of connection, of comfort, and of understanding.

Frank Benson packed his things with methodical precision, each item carefully placed in his briefcase as his mind wandered back to the moment that had just transpired in his office. It had been a long time since he had held a woman so close—since he had allowed himself to feel anything beyond the rigid discipline that had defined his life for so many years. The memory of your warmth, the way you had fit so perfectly in his arms, lingered with him as he finished gathering his belongings.

The drive home was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the engine as he navigated the dark, empty streets. The city lights blurred in the distance, but Frank’s thoughts were elsewhere, focused on the fleeting but intense connection he had felt in his office. It had been years since he had experienced anything like that, not since his wife had passed away. The loss had been a heavy burden, one that Frank had carried with quiet dignity, never allowing anyone to see the depth of his grief.

His hand instinctively went to the ring hanging around his neck, the cool metal resting just below his uniform. He had worn it there since the day his wife had died, a silent tribute to the love they had shared. Frank had loved her deeply, and after her death, he had convinced himself that any desire for companionship, for intimacy, had died with her. He had buried those feelings, focusing instead on his career, on his duty, never allowing himself to entertain the thought of someone else.

But tonight, holding you in his arms, Frank had felt something stir deep within him, something he hadn’t felt in years. The warmth of your body pressed against his, the way you had fit so perfectly in his embrace—it had awakened a longing he thought he had buried for good. A part of him had wanted to hold you longer, to savor the feeling of your softness against him, to let his hands wander just a bit further, to explore the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips.

Frank shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts that had taken root in his mind. He couldn’t afford to think like that. You were younger than him, and more than that, you were under his command. There were boundaries that couldn’t be crossed, lines that he had sworn never to blur. And yet, the memory of you in his arms, the softness of your body against his, lingered like a tantalizing whisper in the back of his mind.

He clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept coming back, each one more insistent than the last. The feel of your cheek against his chest, the way your breath had hitched when his hand brushed against your back—it had been intoxicating, a reminder that he was still very much a man, with desires and needs that hadn’t simply disappeared with the loss of his wife.

Frank’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as he forced himself to focus on the road ahead. He couldn’t let himself go down that path, no matter how tempting it might be. You were a soldier under his command, a woman who had already been through more than enough. He couldn’t add to that burden, couldn’t allow himself to indulge in the thoughts that had been plaguing him since you left his office.

But as he pulled into his driveway and parked the car, the thoughts refused to leave him. The image of you, vulnerable and yet so strong, your body fitting so perfectly in his arms, played over and over in his mind. He could almost feel the warmth of your skin beneath his hands, the softness of your hair against his cheek, the way your breath had quickened when he had held you close.

Frank sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the seat, his eyes closed as he tried to gather his thoughts. He had to be strong, had to maintain the distance between you, but the memory of your body pressed against his, the way you had fit so perfectly in his arms, was a temptation that was hard to resist.

It had been so long since he had felt a woman’s touch, since he had allowed himself to even think about such things. But tonight, with you, that desire had come rushing back, a tidal wave of emotions and sensations that he hadn’t been prepared for. He had wanted to hold you closer, to feel the warmth of your skin against his, to let his hands roam over the curves of your body, to explore the softness that he had only just begun to touch.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Frank sighed again, finally opening his eyes and stepping out of the car. He knew he had to keep his distance, to push these thoughts aside, to focus on his duty, on the responsibilities that came with his rank. But as he walked into his house, the memory of you in his arms lingered, a reminder of a desire that hadn’t died with his wife, but had simply been waiting, dormant, until tonight.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he made his way to the bedroom, but the image of you, fitting so perfectly in his arms, refused to leave him.

And as he lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, the ring around his neck a constant reminder of the woman he had lost, Frank couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, it was time to let go of the past, to allow himself to feel again, to let the desire that had been awakened tonight take root and grow.

But for now, he would sleep, and try to push those thoughts aside.

At least until the morning.

The next morning, Frank Benson started his day slowly, as he always did on Fridays. The alarm clock buzzed at precisely 6 a.m., and he reached over with a practiced motion, silencing it before it could disturb the quiet of the morning. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the remnants of the night’s thoughts drift away like smoke in the cool dawn air. The events of the previous evening still lingered in his mind, but he pushed them aside as he swung his legs out of bed and stood up, the floor cool beneath his feet.

As always, Frank made his bed with military precision, smoothing out every wrinkle, tucking in every corner with care. It was a habit he had never let go of, even after all these years—a small ritual that gave him a sense of control in a world that so often seemed chaotic and unpredictable.

He then moved to his dresser, where his neatly pressed uniform hung, the deep green fabric gleaming faintly in the early morning light. Frank ironed the creases with methodical care, his movements slow and deliberate, taking his time on this particular Friday. There was no need to rush—his schedule allowed him to come in later, and he intended to savor the quiet moments of the morning.

With his uniform prepared, Frank headed to the bathroom, stripping off his nightclothes and stepping into the shower. The water was warm, almost too warm, but he let it wash over him, closing his eyes as he stood beneath the spray. His hands moved over his body, lathering the soap across his skin, his fingers tracing the familiar ridges of old scars—reminders of battles fought and survived. His hand lingered for a moment on the slight swell of his stomach, the new weight that had crept on over the years, and he sighed, the sound barely audible over the rush of water.

But Frank didn’t dwell on it. He had more important things to think about than a few extra pounds. He finished washing and turned off the water, the sudden quiet of the bathroom almost jarring after the steady hum of the shower. He stepped out, reaching for a towel and wiping the steam from the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, the lines on his face a little deeper than they had been years ago, his hair now more white than gray. But his eyes—those sharp hazel eyes that had seen so much—were still the same, still piercing, still full of the quiet determination that had carried him through a lifetime of service.

As he brushed his teeth, Frank’s eyes caught the glint of his wedding ring, dangling from the chain around his neck. It was a familiar weight, one that had been with him every day since his wife’s passing, a reminder of the love they had shared and the life they had built together. He brushed his teeth with the same care and precision he applied to everything in his life, his thoughts drifting back to the past as the bristles moved in steady strokes.

When he finished, Frank set down the toothbrush and reached for his razor. He lathered his face with shaving cream, the scent of it clean and sharp, and then began to shave, each stroke of the razor slow and deliberate. He had always preferred a clean-shaven look—there was something about it that made him feel more in control, more prepared for whatever the day might bring. As the blade moved across his skin, he watched his reflection, focusing on the task at hand, letting the familiar routine calm his mind.

Once his face was smooth and free of stubble, Frank rinsed the razor and splashed cold water on his skin, the shock of it waking him up fully. He stood there for a moment, staring at his reflection, his hand resting lightly on the sink. The thoughts from the night before threatened to resurface, but he pushed them down, focusing instead on the day ahead.

Frank dressed in his uniform with the same methodical care he applied to everything else, buttoning the jacket and smoothing out the fabric before he fastened his belt. The final touch was the ring around his neck, which he tucked beneath his shirt, close to his heart. It was a small, private gesture, one that no one else would see, but it meant everything to him.

With a final glance in the mirror, Frank nodded to himself, satisfied with his appearance. He was ready for the day, whatever it might bring. The thoughts from the previous night would have to wait—there was work to be done, and Frank Benson never let personal matters interfere with his duty.

As he left the house, the cool morning air greeted him, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the shower. He paused for a moment, breathing it in, feeling the familiar sense of calm that always came with the start of a new day. The world was quiet, the city still waking up, and for a brief moment, Frank allowed himself to enjoy the peace before the day’s demands took over.

Today would be another day of challenges, of decisions that had to be made, of responsibilities that could not be ignored. But Frank was ready, as he always was. He was Lieutenant General Frank Benson, and he had a job to do.

And whatever thoughts lingered from the night before, whatever desires had been stirred, they would have to wait. Because duty came first, always.

Frank drove through the quiet streets, the early morning light filtering through the trees as he made his way to the bakery. It was a small, unassuming place, tucked away in a corner near the barracks, but it had become a part of his daily routine—a little indulgence he allowed himself. As he pulled into the parking lot, the familiar scent of freshly baked goods greeted him, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. This was one of the few places where he could let his guard down, even if just for a few minutes.

The bell above the door jingled softly as Frank entered, the warmth of the bakery wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. He made his way to the counter, where the owner, Mrs. Talbot, greeted him with a warm smile.

“Morning, Lieutenant General,” she said, already reaching for the plate she knew he favored. “The usual?”

Frank nodded, his smile widening just a fraction. “Morning, Mrs. Talbot. Yes, please.”

She set a slice of rich chocolate cake in front of him, followed by a steaming cup of black coffee. “Here you go, sir. Fresh out of the oven.”

“Thank you,” Frank replied, his voice warm as he settled onto the stool at the counter. He pushed away the nagging thought that perhaps this daily indulgence was contributing to his slightly expanding waistline. It was a small price to pay for a bit of comfort, and he wasn’t about to give it up.

As he took his first bite of cake, savoring the rich, velvety chocolate, Frank reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small portable radio. It was an old model, well-worn from years of use, but it had never let him down. He tuned it to the barracks channel, a familiar mix of news, history, and the occasional interview with soldiers. It was his way of staying connected to the pulse of the military, even during these quiet moments.

The familiar voice of the radio host filled the bakery, a steady, soothing presence as he introduced the day’s program. Frank sipped his coffee, letting the warm liquid chase away the last remnants of sleep, his mind drifting as he listened to the news about the royal family and the latest developments in world affairs. But then, something caught his attention—a voice that was both familiar and unexpected.

“And now, we have a special guest with us today,” the host announced, a note of excitement in his voice. “Private [Your Last Name], who recently joined us at the barracks. Welcome to the program!”

Frank nearly choked on his coffee, his hand freezing mid-air as he processed what he had just heard. You?On the radio? He hadn’t expected that. He leaned forward, his attention fully focused on the radio now, curiosity piqued.

“Thank you,” came your voice, a little too bright, a touch too cheerful—the way you always sounded when you were nervous. Frank could practically see you sitting there, trying to hide your anxiety behind that trademark humor of yours.

“So, Private,” the host continued, “I hear you have a rather interesting background. Care to tell us a bit about your studies before you joined the military?”

There was a brief pause, and Frank could almost hear you taking a deep breath before you answered. “Well, I studied history and philosophy at university, which, as you can imagine, comes in really handy when you’re trying to figure out how to survive basic training.”

There was a soft chuckle from the host, and Frank found himself suppressing a smile. He had come to expect your quips, but it was still amusing to hear them, especially in such a public setting.

“Philosophy, huh?” the host continued, clearly intrigued. “That’s not something we hear every day in the military. How does that help you in your day-to-day duties?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” you replied, your tone light, but with an underlying seriousness that Frank had come to recognize. “Philosophy teaches you how to think critically, how to question everything—even when it’s coming from a superior officer. Though, uh, I wouldn’t recommend doing that too often. Gets you in trouble more times than not.”

This time, Frank couldn’t help but smile, his amusement growing as he listened to the banter. There was a sharpness to your wit, a quickness of mind that he admired, even if it did sometimes land you in hot water. He took another bite of cake, the rich chocolate melting on his tongue as he listened to the conversation unfold.

The host laughed, clearly enjoying your humor. “I imagine that must keep things interesting. But what about history? Does that play a role in your work here?”

You hesitated for a moment, and Frank could almost hear the gears turning in your mind as you considered your answer. “History is… well, it’s like a roadmap. It shows you where you’ve been, the mistakes that have been made, and, hopefully, how to avoid making them again. In the military, that’s pretty important. Knowing the past can help you make better decisions in the present.”

Frank nodded to himself, impressed by the depth of your answer. There was a wisdom in your words, a maturity that belied your years. He had always known you were intelligent, but hearing you articulate it so clearly, so confidently, added a new layer to his understanding of you.

“But of course,” you added, your tone turning playful again, “it also means I get to be the one who points out when someone’s using the wrong historical analogy. Which, by the way, happens a lot more than you’d think. Seriously, Hannibal crossing the Alps has nothing to do with our morning runs.”

The host laughed, and Frank found himself chuckling along with him, the sound echoing softly in the empty bakery. He had to admit, your sense of humor was disarming, a way of putting people at ease even as you tackled serious subjects. It was a rare skill, one that Frank had come to appreciate more and more.

As the interview continued, Frank listened intently, the radio forgotten as he became more engrossed in your words. You talked about your experiences, the challenges you had faced, and the lessons you had learned along the way. There was a sincerity in your voice, a passion for what you were doing, that Frank found deeply compelling.

And yet, there was also a vulnerability there, a hint of the struggles you had faced and the doubts that still lingered beneath the surface. Frank could hear it in the way your voice wavered slightly when you spoke about your demotion, the way you deflected with humor when the questions got too personal. It made him see you in a new light—not just as a soldier under his command, but as a person with hopes, fears, and dreams.

By the time the interview ended, Frank was left with a strange sense of… something. It wasn’t quite admiration, though that was certainly part of it. It was more a deepening interest, a desire to know more about you, to understand what made you tick.

He finished his cake and coffee in silence, his mind still turning over the things he had heard, the way you had spoken, the way you had carried yourself. There was so much more to you than he had realized, so much more beneath the surface. And as Frank paid for his breakfast and made his way back to the car, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had only just begun to scratch the surface of who you really were.

For the first time in a long while, Frank felt a flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years—a curiosity, a desire to connect, to understand.

And as he drove back to the barracks, the memory of your voice still fresh in his mind, Frank knew that this was only the beginning.

[chouxsardine]

Mariner's Complex -- Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: "Look for the lighthouse when you are lost, it will always bring you home. May the light in your soul guide you, may the love in your heart keep you strong." -- Jake is nervous before going on stage. You know just the right way to calm his nerves.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 2532

Warnings: 18+! minors be gone, mention of alcohol, mention of anxiety, public sex, unprotected penetrative sex, soft Jake (please let me know if I missed any!)

Genre: Smut, hurt/comfort (kind of)

Author's note: This piece is inspired by the gif above. I am smitten upon seeing it. This is my first time writing smut. It's about vulnerability, about receiving and giving love, lots of love. It is my fictional way of hoping that Jake is reminded of being one of the best guitarists out there and that he is loved by us. Deepest thanks to the wonderful @sacredjake for beta reading and for inspiring and encouraging me to pick up writing and post this. Please do yourself a favor and read her works; they're awesome beyond words. Enjoy!!

🎧: songs that pair nice with this piece: Lost at Sea by Lana Del Rey and Rob Grant; Mariners apartment complex by Lana Del Rey (can you tell I'm bad at titles now?)

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There’s just something about the air in the stadium before the concert; it feels like with every inhale, it immediately turns into adrenaline. With its graininess accentuated, one can almost sense the atoms buzzing in the air, like a shoal of sardines forming a bait ball, enclosing him, a cyclone where he is the eye. Is this what Josh means when he writes “carbon dancing through time” ?

His mind is racing a million miles a second; it’s like hoping onto a car with broken brakes, he’s bound to hit something in the hazardous terrain——

Knock knock. “Jake?”

As if someone pulled the switch, he is snapped back to reality. He immediately recognizes the voice of his lover. The sweetest sound in the world. His shoulder visibly relaxes, the corner of his mouth turning up, and his heart feels tender. He has always appreciated this—forever so considerate and thoughtful, always respecting his privacy even though they have already been together for so long.

“Come in!”

As expected, his lover’s face came into view, the familiar smile.

“I got you the salad you wanted!” You said, raising the white plastic bags in your hands.

You can tell he is anxious the moment you push open the door. Years of a committed relationship must have formed some kind of telepath between you two. You can almost sense it in the air. Is it a thing though? Like the service dogs that can smell it when their owner’s heart is beating too fast. Well, you know someone’s heart is certainly racing now.

You can’t quite figure out where his anxiety is coming from. They boys are at the middle leg of this tour. Is it from the traveling? Or maybe it has to do with his string snapping during soundcheck earlier? Or it could just be his brain playing tricks on him. And you respect that, even amazed or amused because you know it’s from the very same place where all the amazing melodies and witty remarks are born.

You spotted the glass on the vanity. Amber liquid barely covering its bottom, corresponding to the proportionate empty space in the newly-opened bottle of whiskey right next to it. You know Jake is never one to get plastered before going on stage. The alcohol is just a pacifier for his nerves. You follow his gaze to the white roses sitting in the vase. He’s remained quiet all this time, not even trying to hide his feelings, only giving you a smile through his reflection in the mirror. The comfortable silence hangs mellowly like willow branches, a mute radiation of his trust and vulnerability.

You set the bag aside and squat down in front of him, thumb brushing the back of his hand. You know better than to ask questions like “are you okay”. You know that right now your physical presence is already a comfort for him. You’d rather let him take the lead for the rest.

Jake tilts up your chin—a silent cue for kisses. You happily oblige, feeling his lips forming a smile upon contact with yours. He releases a contented sigh, pulling back after a moment. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah? You’ve got me now.” Now sitting across his lap, your hand rests gently on his cheek. Jake immediately leans into your touch like a cat, turning his head and pressing kisses into your palm.

“They already double-checked it. I’ll ask them to pay extra attention before the show starts, just to make sure.” You said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, revealing the little hoop dangling.

Jake hums, knowing you are referring to the snapped string earlier. Stupid mistake. His throat feels dry, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I——”

“Shh,” you give him a peck on the lips, “none of that. You don’t have to explain anything. Those feelings are valid. And they are temporary.”

Then a brilliant idea strikes you.

“We’ll take a walk, alright?”

“Here?” He cocks his head in slight confusion.

He immediately recognizes that you are giving him a taste of his own medicine. Well, in a good way. He knows you are talking about one of those “mental health walks” that he proposes when you are engulfed by the noises inside your head. But the backstage is not street gardens or some hiking trials in a park, how will that work?

“Yeah, you have time. Right?”

There’s indeed at least a good half an hour before the last sound check. He can’t argue with you. By the way, when were he ever able to say no to your invitations? This little genius mind of his lovers, constantly conjuring up the most amusing and endearing words and ideas like the hat of a magician. With a resigned smile, he caves in, placing his hands in yours.

“Come on, up you get, you lazy butt.” You step back and pull on his arm.

“Hey, you love this butt!” He protests in feigned grievance.

“Yup, can’t deny it’s a nice one.” You jokingly smack his ass as you follow him out of the dressing room, feeling happier hearing his banter, seeing him slowly getting back to himself. He’ll get there, you will make sure of it.

The corridors are generally quiet around this time, allowing the artists to rest before the real frenzy starts. Occasionally, stage crews pass by, rolling equipments boxes down the hall. You two swiftly move out of their way, hand in hand, strolling as if window shopping in the mall. You are entertaining Jake with a funny little incident you saw on your way to buy him food.

“You should’ve seen it, really,” you snort out a laugh recalling the scene, “that poor lady is struggling so hard and the shopping cart is just running away from her, loaded with two cases of Guinness!”

Jake is laughing with you, slightly shaking his head in disbelief. You turn to admire his profile, the apple of his cheek rising, the wrinkle to his nose deepening, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. There’s nothing you love more than seeing Jake smile and laugh, it never fails to create that fizzy feeling in your heart, like a bubble approaching the surface of a cream soda.

Having jumped out of your storytelling, your attention diverts back to the feeling of Jake’s arm snaking around your waist. Now his hands are sliding up your sides, from the small of your back to the sweet spot on your flank.

He turns to look at you. Upon meeting his gaze, you immediately pick up the implicit plea. His caramel eyes full of admiration, the edge of his iris grows fuzzy. His eyelashes flutter as his gaze falls to your lips.

You cover the distance between you with a kiss. This one is different from the one in the dressing room. The tip of his tongue tickles your bottom lip with small licks before him pulls back a bit and mutters under his breath, “Want you, want to be close to you.”

Once again, you are more than willing to indulge.

It’s just so convenient that you happened to be near the corner where a pilaster protrudes enough to hide you from the passersby. As your back hits the wall, your fingers are already tangled in Jake’s hair, holding him close. You are circled by him, his freshly applied cologne lingers, now well adapted to his skin, bergamot wrapping the hidden notes of pepper and cedar. Jake kisses along your jawline and traces downwards, creating a dotted line of kisses across your breasts and hovering over your navel. His hands tugging on the waist of your pants. As he unzips it smoothly, he dives back in with more kisses, nibbling on the material of your underwear.

“No,” you mumble, tugging on his elbow motioning him to stand up, “I want you in me.” You loved it when he goes down on you, but not now. Now you need it to be about him, you know he needs it too.

There is a halt in his movement, suddenly his eyes a shade darker.

“Yes, let it out, Jake.” You hold your forehead against his, making sure he hears every word certain and clear. Whatever it is, a much-needed release, a claim of territory, an outlet of his bundled nerves. “Use me. Fuck me.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Jake sucks in a breath.

You smirk, tilting your head back against the wall and surrendering more of your body to his arms. Jake’s hands on your thighs cover the coolness of your skin as your pants pool around your ankles. His knuckles tracing your heat through the fabric, the ghostly touch making you squirm.

“Please, Jake.” You loop your arms around his neck, raising up a leg pressing it into the side of his waist.

“So wet for me already, angel.” With frantic eagerness, he takes out his length and pulls your underwear aside. Your slickness draws his hard cock inside as he bottoms out in one firm and steady thrust. Jake was looking down as he enters you, his eyebrows creased in concentration, eyelashes throwing shadows under his eyes. He never fails to marvel at the way your bodies connect, it catches him in awe every time no matter how many times you have fucked, just as you are exploring each other’s bodies for the first time. When his gaze meets yours again, it’s like moonlight spilling behind clouds. You are the only object of his vision.

“Yes!” You mouth silently as he starts moving, him picking up the pace almost instantly as if placed in a running wheel. Jake’s head nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot breath radiating and him lapping up at whatever area of skin he comes in contact with. His arm goes under your knee and finds leverage on the wall, the other hand holding onto your pelvis, pinning you in place. The rough texture of the brick wall rubs against your back along each shudder, magnifying the titillation deep inside you.

You feel like with each thrust his insecurity and anxiety ebbs away like the snaky morning fog, replaced by his confidence and charming self: the one you know will work his magic on stage tonight just like ever, the one that will make the entire stadium shake and roar just by his fingers moving across six strings, the one that proves both to the world and to himself again and again that “it could be done”.

You can feel him swell and twitch against your walls, you squeeze you thighs and clench, knowing he’s getting close. The spasms of his cock tickling that particular spot to the point of no return, the ecstasy washing over you like a cascade. The whines and screams rolling and tumbling in your chest like a pot of boiling water, threatening to jump out of your mouth. You roll your eyes back and swallow them down, releasing only one suppressed moan of “let go, baby” against Jake’s ear, and that is enough to send him over the edge.

With one jerk of his body, he cums hard. You can feel the additional thickness of his release almost dripping down your crotch. Jake’s whole weight falls towards you with the hunch of his shoulders. His chest presses firmly against your body, its rise and fall teasing your still hard nipples.

You hold his head against your chest as he comes down from the high, fingers brushing away the naughty strands of hair that have flown into the corner of his mouth and stuck to his cheek.

“As much as I would like to stay here forever, you really have to get going. They must be looking for their rockstar everywhere.” You chuckle while shimmying out of your rumpled underwear, using it to clean up.

“Damn.” Jake leans back against the wall as he watches you, still on cloud nine and short of words. For a moment, all he can do is look at you.

“Stop staring.” You nudge him, unable to stop blushing facing his caramel eyes filled with unadulterated adoration. You bet if you could reach into them, you would find a handful of stars. Plus, Jake looks exceptionally beautiful post-fuck, the upturn at the corners of his mouth accentuated the curve of his cupid’s bow. The smug smirk is counterbalanced by the rosy blush on his cheekbones, a tell-tale sign of his satiated desire. Good. That’s what you’d expected and what you’d like to see.

Jake cups your face in both of his hands as he leans in for a kiss. This time, almost childish, his pouted lips pepper all over, the bilabial “mwah” is especially pronounced, causing you to giggle again.

“Quite the walk, huh?” You insinuate.

“Well, now I prefer to call it the ‘mental health fuck’,” Jake slowly straightens his back, resembling a cat stretching after a content nap. “Catch you on the flip side, my love.”

He was already a couple of strides away when he rushes back to kiss you again, catching you in surprise. Aggressive and fervent in his actions, but oh so gentle when his mouth meets yours. This is the type of kiss where he takes the lead, and you are completely at his mercy. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, and his teeth softly bite your lower lip. It’s a kiss that steals your breath and your heartbeat away for tits entirety . “You know you are my lighthouse, yeah?” He stares right into your eyes, his voice low and husky. “ You always guide me back when I’m lost at sea. My Leucothea, my Lady of Luck.”

You feel a lump in your throat, and every word goes straight to your heart. The feelings there are so overwhelming that they rise and swell like tidal waves. It;s so much love that it makes you want to cry.

“Gosh, Jake, such the poet.” That all you manage to say.

“Because you’re my muse, my angel,” Jake smiles again as he steps back one last time. “And now it’s time for me to set sail again, yeah?”

“Aye aye,” you blow him a kiss, “Fair Winds, Captain.”

You watch as he leaves. The Starcatcher symbol on his back standing tall and proud. The crystal embellishments on his jacket scintillate, jet crystals and glass beads shimmers, reflecting the lights like a thousand stars falling onto his shoulders. He is the warrior that breaks their fall, wearing them proud as a crystal armour. You watch as he marches forward, carrying on his shoulders the weight of dreams. Your dearest rocker, the bravest captain.

For Jake, the atoms are still buzzing, but now he can feel them moving rhythmically, like the joyful wings of a hummingbird or the secret dance of bees. They delivering a yet undecipherable but nonetheless auspicious message. Soon he will be going on stage, carrying a heart full of love from his lover, so he can give all his love to his fans out there. And he knows if he looks, he will find you among the crowd, a cluster of flame, a powerhouse of love.

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Thank you so much for reading!! :) any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated.

The description of Jake's jacket is heavily relied on this post

kudos to who spotted the TLSP reference hehe

If you are in need of some fluff, feel free to check out my another Jake pieces: Permission to Fall || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones

[yutxsgf]

Kirishima fucks up and Bakugou and Kaminari are there to sweep up the mess and fix you out of your feels.

Cw; fluff, Café worker au, light hurt/comfort.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

You and Kirishima had been friends throughout middle school, and it stayed that way. The light and happy feeling of being with your best friend. The soft smiles and the silly laughs, it felt great. Heavenly even. That was how it was.

Until you introduced them.

"Hey, I'm Mina Ashido! I've seen you around before, haven't I?" She said with a bright smile before sticking her hand out to the blank spikey haired boy.

Kirishima froze before clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck with a smile, "O–Oh, yeah! Nice to meet you, I'm Eijiro Kirishima." He replied with a sheepish grin.

You watched silently at the greeting, smiling at the smooth greeting, it seemed pretty nice. You were somewhat excited, you were thinking of being the awesome trio at Mustafa Private Middle School.

But that wasn't the case. Not at all. You never expected to be the one left out on hangouts let alone left behind. You never thought you'd be the one to feel that prickling pang of jealousy and pain as you watched your bestfriend and your other friend laugh and share a popcorn bucket at the movies. You were stuck on the end side as both of them sat by eachother, laughing and giggling at the movie loud enough for several people to give them dirty looks.

It wasn't as fun when you were on the butt end of it, was it?

This went on and on, and each time, you felt little bits and pieces of your enjoyment that was there before, shatter and fly away. It hurt, so bad, more than anyone could imagine. And it didn't help that you liked your bestfriend too.

You sighed before getting up off of the round, metal Café chair and grabbing your belongings. You had been mulling and thinking too much. People had offered you several little snacks when they caught you shedding a couple tears, which made you feign a smile. But the thankfulness and prick of gratefulness didn't last forever, which is why you decided it was better to just sulk at home and not embarass yourself.

You were about to ditch the Café before you heard someone yell. You whipped your head back at the voice, which was apparently the Café counter.

"Hey, you." A blonde guy called out with both palms on the counter as he looked at you. You glanced around before pointing at yourself and slightly tilting your head.

The worker nodded and grinned, "Yeah, you, c'mere." He motioned for you to come closer before dipping behind the small glass panel that slightly hid the drink he pulled out from behind it.

You slowly walked closer, clearly confused on why you were called out. Maybe it was because you stayed too long. You really didn't hope so, you were definitely in no mood to get an earful.

"On the house, hate seein' pretty people like you sob in here." The blonde said before sliding a [Favorite drink] to you with thin caramel lining that made up a small happy face.

You stared at him for a brief minute before pursing your lips, trying to decide if this was worth your smile right now or not. If you could even muster up one.

But, after a couple seconds, your body decided for your as a warm smile tugged at your lips causing an instant reaction from the blonde boy as his grin got wider.

"I– T.. Thank you." You said softly, taking the drink and pulling it closer before taking a sip and immediately feeling a tad better than you had before.

He tipped his little worker visor before flashing his amber eyes down at you with a soft smirk. "The names Kaminari. Denki Kaminari." He said softly.

You chuckled quietly, "[L/N], [F/N] [L/N]." Kaminari perked up before snatching an order paper and grabbing a pen from the table and writing down his number.

He slid it against the table towards you with a soft grin, "Use it however you please." He mumbled softly before making soft eye contact with you.

"Dunce face, God damn it! You better not be flirting with another customer again." A voice boomed from the back before a loud slam was heard. Everyone, including you and Kaminari whipped their heads over to whatever made that noise.

Another worker came from behind the wall before his eyes instinctively met the front of the counter, soon finding their way up to your slightly flushed, puffy face and just as puffy eyes.

He sucked his teeth before dipping back behind the wall and coming out with a duck themed sugar cookie and sliding it across the counter before stopping right in front of you.

"Damn Bakugou, didn't expect you to be the–" The darker blonde was quickly cut off with a cough as the other worker shoved an elbow into his abdomen, effectively shutting him up.

"Don't be goin' to a Café just to mope around n' not buy anything. That's just bs." The ash-blonde mumbled the last part before going back behind the wall with his hands shoved in his Café designed apron.

Your eyes followed him until he was no longer in sight, you were clearly slightly baffled with the mixed signals. Your attention was quickly snagged away from the ash-blonde to the Darker blonde that was clutching onto his stomach.

"Don't mind him, he's always like that." He wheezed out, giving his best attempt at a grin as he stared at you for a moment.

You chuckled for a moment before clearing your throat and straightening up as your expression took one of worry and concern, "Are– Are you.. alright?"

"Don't worry, 'm fine– He always does this." He spoke before coughing and straightening up. He cleared his throat before smiling warmly. "What I think Bakugou over there was tryna say is, don't be upset, everything's gonna turn out fine. Well, whatever youre goin' through will be." He shrugged with a hum sounding like the words 'I don't know.'

You smiled softly before nodding, "If that's the case, send him my thanks." You gave a farewell nod before turning around and making your way towards the Café doors.

"Will do." Was the last thing you heard before the small bell at the top of the double glass doors rang. You felt lighter than before, a little out of the dumps. You glanced down at the drink and little snack with a soft smile before taking a sip.

Maybe today wasn't going to be as bad.

And from that day on, you became a regular, always going back to that same Café to see those very blondes. At one point, they began to memorize your favorite drinks almost by heart just by simple glance at your expression.

You'd always pick the table closest to the counter so they'd always have the chance to start up small talk at times, and Kaminari took all the chances he could get.

Bakugou on the other hand, acted as if he didn't want you there which would normally hurt– if he didn't occasionally sneak you a couple cookies and small cups of whip cream.

"So how is our lovely regular doing today?" Kaminari asked with a soft grin as his chin resting in the palm of his hand for support atop the soft beige marble counter.

"I'm doing okay." You replied, making your way to the blonde as your other favorite blonde walked around behind Kaminari while making drinks for the other stray customers.

"Glad to hear." He beamed you a closed eye grin before spinning on his heel and making his way over to the drink station. Presumably to make your drink.

"Whaddya think you're doing, idiot. Go talk to them, I'm making the damn drink already." A harsh whisper was heard from Bakugou as his hands quickly worked at what looked to be a latte.

Kaminari silently mocked him before rolling his eyes and walking back to you. His expression shifted to one of softness as he saw you glancing up at their temporary sanrio menu.

"Thinkin' of buying one of those chibbi thingies from our menu today?" He asked, placing both of his palms on the edges of the counter as he leaned forward ever so slightly.

You pursed your lips in thoughts before smiling softly and nodding, "Yeah, can I get a... [Favorite sanrio character] themed bubble tea? Along with a [F/S/C] sugar cookie?"

"Coming right up beautiful." He responded with a wink before dipping in slightly behind the wall and shouting your order to Bakugou. Whom responded with a very vocal, "Don't yell at me, damn extra!"

You chuckled before glancing behind you at the sound of the little bell ringing as people entered. You were always a nosey one.

And then, your heart dropped.

You watched in slight horror and both Kirishima and Mina walked inside the Café arm in arm with cheerful smiles. You practically froze in place as you slowly turned your head towards the counter, praying to every deity there was that they wouldn't recognize the back of your head.

"Woah, what's wrong with you?" Kaminari questioned, cocking a brow as he stared at you with your sugar cookie in hand. His expression started to lace with concern as you remained silent and frozen.

"[L/N]–" You quickly shut him up before he could finish calling out your name by sending him a death glare that could send a small shiver down Bakugou's spine.

Kaminari quickly stayed silent before hesitantly glancing behind you to welcome the new customers before he too, froze in place.

He laughed nervously before pursing his lips, "Oh– Uh, hey! Your shift started 5 minutes ago [False name], come on." He ushered you over to the little gate stiffly, and you quickly complied.

You quickly, yet semi cautiously made your way over to the gate before pushing your body into it as it allowed you inside. You booked it behind the wall that always hid the rest of the small storage area only to be met face first into a thick pole.

"What the hell?! The fuck're you doin' back here? And watch where you're going!"

You glanced up at said pole that had two drinks up in the air as he beamed you a confused scowl. You quickly backed up before placing a hand over his mouth and glancing behind you where Kaminari stiffly took the pair's order.

Bakugou stayed still for a moment before placing both drinks on a nearby counter and grabbing your wrist. "What the fuck is going on." He said in a harsh whisper.

"The– Youknowthosepeopleitoldyouaboutthatleftmeforeachotherafteriintroducedthem?yeahwelltheyrehereandkaminarihel–"

"God damn it– Slow down idiot!" Bakugou said as he covered your mouth with his hand. He sucked his teeth before slowly retracting his hand from your mouth.

You remained silent for a moment before taking a calming breath and looking up at him, "Remember when I came in here crying?"

"Yeah, you looked like a fuckin' pimple with all that puffiness." He teased with a grin before clearing his throat and allowing you to continue.

You gave him a sharp look before huffing and continuing, "Well that reason why I was crying is here and talking to Kaminari."

Bakugou thought for a moment before pursing his lips in hesitancy. His expression of thought quickly turned into a narrow one as he shoved you out of the way and left from behind the wall.

You watched in terror as Kaminari tried to hold Bakugou back from blowing the whole counter along with Kirishima and Mina away. If this was a clean show, all you'd be hearing was that annoying beep.

"Bakugou– C'mon bro, fuck! Calm down!" Kaminari shouted, holding Bakugou by his the crooks of his neck as the ash-blonde's hands started sparking and popping. All you could hear was loud, violent I'll kill yous and Bastards along with streams of something that sounded like it could come out of Satan's mouth himself.

"Bakugou.." You said under your breath, walking slightly towards the chaos behind the counter. Both blonde's heads whipped towards your direction and froze.

What you didn't know, was that you walked a bit too far and you were now in view for both Mina and Kirishima to spot you and also freeze.

By now, all customers either began recording or scrambled away as far as they could from the very lively Café. But that was the least of your worries the moment you heard his voice.

"[Name]..?"

Your head whipped towards the voice with an expression that could break a man's pride. And well, it did. Throughout all Bakugou's stream of curses, all you could hear was Kirishima's small curses about how crazy your blondes were.

You stared at him as if he were crazy, insane, an outcast, like he didn't belong, like you didn't know who he was, like you disgusted by him, like you hated him. At this point, you could care less about the terrified Mina behind him, the only thing that went through your mind was the betrayal and the fact Bakugou lashed out on someone on his shift. For you.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out."

"[Nam]–"

"Get. OUT."

All eyes and phone cameras were on you now, your shout having gained the attention from everyone. You pointed towards the double glass doors and sent him a glare of despair and hatred.

Kirishima recoiled at your sudden volume before Mina stepped in front of him and looked at you with confusion and sorrow. "[Nickname], what's going on with you..?"

You ground your teeth within your mouth briefly before turning away from her and walking behind the wall again. All you could hear afterwards was Kirishima beginning to call your name before getting stopped by a loud slam on the counter and a loud "Get the fuck out."

You sat quietly on a chair in the corner as you stared blankly at the wall infront of you. You counted atleast 104 cracks in the wall and about 3 faded ash marks on that very same chunk of wall.

"[Name]."

You flinched at the sound of your name before instantly calming down at the sight of Kaminari and Bakugou standing by you.

"Are you– Are you okay?" Kaminari said softly, coming closer to you and placing a warm hand on your shoulder as his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

Bakugou came closer before shoving his hands in his pocket and leaning against the wall in front of you with a soft scowl. "If you're worried about those bastards, I scared 'em off 5 minutes ago. Damn extras are so damn persistent."

You chuckled softly for a second at his last remark before clearing your throat and glancing up at both Kaminari and Bakugou. You slowly nodded before sighing, "Yeah.. Yeah, I'm okay. But, I just– I just wanna thank you both for what you did back there.. Helping me and stuff.. Just– Thank you. I really appreciated it."

"Don't be getting all sappy on me now, [Name]." Kaminari teased before ruffling your hair and grinning softly at you. "Plus, it was the least we could do for our favorite customer. Don't tell Amari I said that, she always tips me an extra five bucks whenever she comes here."

You laughed for a moment before smiling softly at both of them, "Noted." You let out another content sigh, feeling lighter than you did during the scenes of drama.

"Tch. Whatever, they deserved it. Wasn't like I was doin' it for you anyway, I got a lotta pent up rage dealing with those damn complaintent customers." Bakugou scoffed before turning his head away to look off to the side. "N' don't worry bout the Café cause I know damn well you will. Our manager will deal with the shit that comes with our mishap."

You couldn't help your smile as it widened at Bakugou's choice of words. After becoming a regular and always speaking with the two, you've come to learn what Bakugou truly means with his words. And this one meant, you're welcome and it's okay.

You stood up slowly before turning towards Kaminari and standing in front of him, just keeping eye contact before wrapping him up in a tight hug.

He grunted quietly in shock before grinning and instantly wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. "God, I thought I'd never be able to do this." He whispered.

After a couple moments of content, you slowly pulled away and grinned at Bakugou, who was scowling harder than he was earlier.

You laughed before leaping forward and wrapping your arms around Bakugou's neck in a warm, happy hug. Bakugou grunted as well, a little louder than Kaminari before scoffing and hugging you back tighter with his arms around your waist.

"You're welcome nerd." He whispered in your ear as he leaned his head towards the crook in your neck.

Kaminari stood there with his hands on his hips, giving Bakugou an I-know-you-feel-it-too look before straightening up and clearing his throat as Bakugou glared at him.

You and Bakugou had a little bit of a longer moment as you both hugged in silence before you pulled away. He took the chance to ruffle your hair before shoving his hands in his pocket and leaning back against the wall.

"So.. whose up for a festival night?" You ask with a soft grin.

[cdreamscumrag]

“Oooh c!slime is autistic so saying it’s weird to ship him is ableist ohh” that is a whole ass mob… that is a creature pretending to be a guy? Ableism is the least of our problems right now? That is a fucking… goop?

Like put aside how thirsty you guys are to ship someone extremely naive with a self-made torturer and manipulator… can you guys just not fucking? Read? Pretend he’s autistic as you want doesn’t change the fucking streams? Like sure ship what you want but don’t pretend you’re in the right here honey.

[alessiathepirate]

Resident Evil 4: Seperate Ways

THE FLIRTING GAMES: Luis Serra x fem!reader

Summary: It sounded like an easy job - get in, grab the Amber and get out... Yet it became pretty complicated the moment she met Luis Serra.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Guess who's back in her RE4 obsessed era!

Warnings: swearing, mentioned death, Ada is our bestie, Leon and Wesker cameo

•••

Meeting Don Quixote

The footsteps sounded awfully loud in the room as Luis Serra danced around to a beat only he knew and no one else.

She looked at him through the thin material of the white dress Ada had put on her, before sending her off to find this Luis Serra while she kept the castle halls clean from monsters.

Serra had a handsome face, nice legs and awesome dance moves with a hint of elegance.

Ada had said that Luis was a clever researcher, who had the Amber. Well, he was good looking too and he was a good dancer with great fashion sense. That part Ada had left out of her report on Luis.

She looked aside, smiling as she appreciated what she was seeing, and hit her two 'friends' on the head with the lantern she was holding. She then kicked their burning bodies aside as she took off the white dress to finally look at the man in front of her without any distraction.

Luis looked at her, his eyes moving up and down on her body, and suddenly she was very thankful that Ada had full control over her closet.

Luis had a beautiful smile. It seemed playful and charming - and the thought that he was most definitely a ladies' man slowly occured in her brain.

"Luis Serra?" she asked as she tilted her head, letting her gaze rest on his body. "Nice moves you got there."

Luis stepped toward her with the same amount of elegance he used for his dancing, his hands were almost touching her waist. Their faces were pretty close, their eyes met, both pair having the same amount of playfulness.

"Muchas gracias, señorita." the way his lips moved while speaking Spanish stirred something inside her - something warm.

"Perhaps you'll teach me some one day."

Luis' face turned a light shade of red and she felt pride appear in her chest. She managed to make him blush.

"It'd be my pleasure." he tilted his head. "Did you bring something for me?"

"Oh." she reached inside her pocket and showed him the pack of cigarettes she was carrying around. "Ada said I should give you these."

Her fingers moved quickly as she took a single cigarette from its box and put it between Luis' lips. Before his hands could move to get his lighter, she already reached into her pocket once again. This time she had a cheap, plastic lighter in her hand and she carefully lit Luis' cigarette.

She saw something change in his eyes and her stomach was stirred again.

"Just the kind I like." said Luis, after he was holding the cigarette between his fingers.

They kept their eyes on the other as the cigarette slowly burned away -- until a gunshot could be heard from upstairs. Her whole body went rigid as she remembered why she was in the cell and who was waiting for her.

She stepped away, breaking the trance Luis' presence had put her in.

"Where's the Amber? Ada said you'd have it."

"I had it." Luis confessed. "But I had to stash it right before I got caught. I can lead you to it though."

She smiled as his flirty act broke.

"Lead the way then."

Luis stepped out of the cell and threw the cigarette aside. Then he bowed as if he'd be the perfect gentleman waiting for his lady to make the first move.

"Ladies first."

She had to surpress a grin.

"And they say chivalry is dead."

•••

A gentleman in trouble

"Are you angry?" Luis asked as he walked around awkwardly, not really finding his place when he was talking to an upset Ada Wong. "You're angry... Listen, there's this one thing I have to do before I can recover the Amber."

She was watching him from her place against a table. She watched his movements, she listened to his voice - and she had to say, he was absolutely perfect.

They were great acquaintances by then.

Luis had contacted her more times then she could count on both of her hands, and she answered his calls each and every time. It didn't matter that she had to put Wesker or Ada on hold for it. Luis was more fun, more important. He was the playfulness she had always been missing from her life.

Ada's movements seemed dangerously slow.

"Before?" she asked.

Luis didn't answer and the room turned quiet. This time around even she could feel the upcoming storm and she was standing confidently on her feet by the time Ada pointed her gun at him.

Luis seemed shocked and scared - he raised his hands as if they could protect him from Ada's gun. She felt a sense of fear run through her veins too. She didn't like Luis' situation and she didn't want him to get shot because of the stupid Amber Wesker wanted so badly.

"This isn't a negotiation, Luis. So choose your next words wisely."

She stepped between Ada's gun and Luis quickly. She could clearly see the confusion in Ada's eyes as she realized she was no longer pointing the weapon at Luis, but at her own partner.

"Whoa, Ada! There's no need for this." she argued.

"We're wasting time here. You know he doesn't like it when we're wasting our time."

"Since when do we care about what he likes?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "The only way he's getting the Amber is through Luis. And threatening him or shooting him won't make our job easier."

Ada looked her in the eyes. Their gazes met without a single blink. Then, after a few seconds, something close to understanding ran though Ada's eyes and she lowered her handgun.

She tilted her head in a silent question only they could understand - and when she nodded Ada gave her a sad look full of pity.

They were in the same boat.

"What do you need to do?" Ada asked instead of threatening to shoot Luis again.

She could feel him relax behind her. And finally she could breathe again.

"Someone needs my help."

"Leon and Ashley?" she asked as she turned around to look at him.

Luis just nodded and she could feel rather than see Ada's body freeze. She tried to push back a sad smile - oh yes, they were in the exact same fucking boat.

"They are both infected." Luis explained and she felt a small amount of sadness run through her - she always liked Leon, and Ashley Graham seemed like a nice, young girl. "And you know me-- always the good Samaritan! They need this medicine and I can make it. I know it works, because... you see, I used it-- on myself."

Her lips curled upwards.

Luis was a nice guy. Someone who wants to help and make his past mistakes right. She could understand that; she could respect that. She liked him a lot more because of that.

"Why should I care?"

She almost rolled her eyes in annoyance. Denial didn't look good on Ada Wong at all.

She cares. She has always cared - especially about Leon Kennedy.

"Because you too are infected..."

Fear was a long forgotten feeling for her, yet in that moment is overcame her like a strong wave. She looked at Ada in shock, silently begging her to say something; to deny it.

Yet Ada stayed quiet. Which meant that Luis was right. Which meant that she was slowly loosing herself.

"It's what I researched for all these years, Ada. And I see the symptoms already showing in your eyes." fueled with anger from the fact that Ada didn't tell her about her being infected, she took a close look at her eyes and Luis was right - thin, tiny, black veins were running along in Ada's eyes, making them look sick and dark. "You must already feel the effects, ey?" Luis asked as he slowly began to walk around in the room, until he stopped above a trapdoor. "The medicine will stop them for a time. Just-- trust me. You have a lot to gain and nothing to lose."

She turned to look at Ada again, who seemed to accept her fate with a cold expression.

"Ok." she said. "We do this first and then the Amber."

While Luis let Leon know that he'll give them the medicine what'll help them with the infection, she kept on looking at Ada. She looked at her calm face and stern expression.

Ada was always confident with an added elegance what made her even more pretty and desirable. But despite her confidence, someone had to worry about her well-being too. And that role was hers.

Ada Wong won't be dying in Spain anytime soon - she told herself as Luis opened the trapdoor.

Ada was the first one who jumped down the hatch, and she was about to follow her, when Luis grabbed her wrist.

She looked up at him, feeling a strange sense of shyness as his hand touched hers.

"Thank you." he said with a small, honest smile - without his usual charming grin. "For helping me."

"You have nothing to say thank you for. Especially because you're the one who'll help us."

She was about to try and jump down again, but Luis' grip on her wrist tightened.

"Why?"

She raised her eyebrows in confusion. "'Why' what?"

"Why did you help me?"

She tilted her head slightly, not daring to look him in the eye.

Why? That's a good question, isn't it? A question only Ada knows the answer to.

"I like you, Luis." she confessed as she looked him in the eye, smiling when she found endearment in them. "I want to get you out of here." her lips curled upwards as she decided to make the moment 'them'-like. "Besides... You're too handsome to let a bullet wound destroy your pretty face."

She waited until he fully understood her words and the light shade of red took control over his face. She liked to see him blush. She liked to make him blush even more.

She jumped down the hatch before Luis could have a chance to say anything charming to her. She landed on her feet and when she stood up she could see Ada standing not so far away with a patient, knowing smile on her face.

Luis landed not so far away from her. Their bodies were almost touching the other's, and this time Luis seemed to collect himself and regain his usual charm.

His right hand touched her face gently as he put a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I can't wait for you to get me out of here, so we can have that dance, guapa."

Luis waited until the pink color appeared on her cheeks, then he let go of her hair and started to play with his lighter as he began to lead the way toward his laboratory.

Ada gave her a headtilt.

"Oh, shut up!" she said with a pout, even though her face was burning.

•••

La asistente

She looked at the blue butterfly she was holding, her thumb gently stroking its wings.

So pretty, yet so fragile... Just like humanity itself. It got harder and harder to keep it together and save it from harm. Save it from people like Wesker...

If Wesker wants something, it's because the thing is powerful. Powerful enough to destroy billions of people, if not humanity itself.

Wesker wanted to be a god, that's why she disliked him so much. She never liked a man whose ego was bigger than his bookshelf. Yet Wesker was a paying customer - and in today's economy money was everything.

Then why did she feel so guilty about helping him? About giving him power so he could give her money?

Maybe-- maybe if Luis is trying to do the right thing after all those years working for Umbrella, then she could try to follow his steps too.

A quiet noise got her back to reality, and she put the butterfly away - making sure it was safe in the small black bag attached to her left thigh -, so she could answer the call. It was from Luis; and the fact itself made her smile - or rather grin like a schoolgirl.

"You rang?" she asked sweetly, enjoying the smile she could see on Luis' face.

"Just wanted to make sure my favourite asistente is doing okay."

His favourite asistente. How sweet. Perhaps taking the job offer was a good thing - thanks to that, she met Luis Serra. She'd miss him from her life if she didn't know him.

"Your asistente has just finished her task, doc." she said. "How's Ada doing?"

"She already has the red ink." answered Luis.

"One more to go then." she sighed, but moments later her wide smile was back on her face. "Do you think she can handle the last ingredient by herself? We could share a break together perhaps..."

She could see Luis smirk through the bad quality of the transmitter.

"Or perhaps we could make dinner plans, ey?" Luis stopped talking for a while, he seemed to be deep in thought. "Tell me, señorita, have you ever tried salmorejo?"

"I can't say I have."

Luis chuckled.

"Well, then you will, after we get out of here." he explained, not taking 'no' for an answer. "And then I'll take you dancing."

She felt the need to twirl her hair around her fingers like a girl - and she almost did. Almost.

But then she decided to just widen her smile instead.

"It's a plan." she agreed and she could see the happiness in Luis' eyes. "So, where should we meet up?"

After, as she put her transmitter away, she decided that she'd try. She'd try to do better. For Luis.

•••

Becoming the blue butterfly

She finished painting the red 'This way!' sign on the floor, just in time, because Luis finished scribbling his letter down to Ada as well. The man let the letter rest on the desk, hoping that Ada'll be the one who'll find it.

She put the red spray paint in her bag, then she sighed loudly.

Ada was in the trouble the last time they've seen her. The medicine Luis had given her was working slowly, therefore she seemed weak, barely standing on her two feet. Still, Ada wanted her to go with Luis - so she did.

She just hoped that her gut was right about Ada Wong and Spain won't become her grave.

"Ready?" Luis asked and she nodded. "Well then, let's go and find Sancho, ey?"

She appreciated his attempt at humor, she really did. But in that moment Ada and her well-being was all she could think about. The worst thought was that she was in serious danger, a danger Wesker could overcome in seconds - he just chose not to. Ada wasn't worth it for him - heck, she wasn't worth it for him.

"Princesa..." Luis began again as he stepped toward her, his fingers touching her hair. "Ada will be okay. Deep down you know that."

He tried to be comforting, even if he himself had his doubts. She could see it in his eyes; the small amount of fear, the 'what if...' questions... Still, she was thankful that he tried.

"I know." she chuckled sadly. "Hell, I'm pretty sure the only person who can kill Ada is Ada." Luis gave her a weak smile. "It's not just the infection, or Ada, or Leon... it's just-- everything. This damn mission, I can't fucking do it, Luis. I can't take the Amber. If I do, people will die. Lots of people. I feel like all my life I've been doing bad things, and only bad things. And I wanna make them right, I do, I just don't know where to start..."

Luis gently held onto her shoulders, his thumbs touchings her neck slightly. He had the most understanding look on his face she has ever seen. He seemed calm and collected - and so, so beautiful.

"I know the feeling, guapa. Believe me, I really do. I've done things, many things, I'm not proud of and I, too, want to make them right."

"Well, where do we start?" she asked, her lips trembling.

"We have to start small, don't we?" Luis asked and she nodded. "Well then we go and find Leon. We give him the medicine so him and Ashley will feel better. After, we'll lead them to my laboratory and you'll help me remove the plaga from them. How does that sound?"

"Good." she smiled. "Like the best job I've ever had."

Luis let go of her shoulders and she already missed his touch.

"It's a good thing you're my best asistente."

She chuckled at his words, then licked her lips so they wouldn't stay dry. She could feel the small cut on her lower lip with her tounge.

"Luis?"

"What is it, princesa?"

"Just so you know..." she began as she took an unsure, careful step toward Luis, and put her hand on his chest, her fingers playing with his jacket's zipper. "You are the best part of this damn job."

She leaned in to close the gap between them, but Luis was quicker.

His hands landed on both sides of her face, his thumbs drawing gentle circles into her skin - then he pulled her close and suddenly his lips were touching hers.

She sighed as he began kissing her, his mouth swallowing her every noise. The kiss wasn't at all fast or rough; no, it was slow, sweet, yet so full of passion she had to dig her fingers into his leather jacket, so her knees wouldn't buckle.

Damn, Luis Serra was perfect.

He was charming, smart, sweet, funny and he could kiss her to death in a heartbeat.

In those moments, as their tounges were dancing together, not at all fighting for dominance, she swore she'd do anything to start over with him.

She pulled away to breathe, her chest raising and falling quickly.

"Well princesa," Luis began with a grin. "I'm glad the feeling is mutual."

•••

Cheating fate

She was holding onto Luis tight as they both landed on the ground. She could hear her bones crack as she landed on the hard floor, and soon her muscles began to burn from the pain.

She looked at Luis' face, what was so close to hers she could feel his weak, shallow beaths on her skin. His face was pale as small droplets of blood ran down his lips.

In her eyes Luis was beatiful - he had all those emotions he wasn't afraid to show; happiness, joy, calmness, sadness... Still, her favourite was when his lips curled upwards, forming a charming grin as he said something flirty.

In that moment the only feeling she could see on Luis' face was pain. And she absolutely hated that.

A quiet squelching sound could be heard, and Luis' eyes widened. Krauser pulled his knife out. He pulled the damn knife out! She felt panic take over as she tried to climb out from under Luis' arm. God damn it, he's going to bleed out!

"Major Krauser! What-- why?" she could barely hear Leon's words as her panic took over.

"Recovering stolen goods." Krauser took the Amber from Luis' jacket, and stepped onto her hand when she tried to push herself up to see how bad Luis' injury was. "And killing a few rats along the way."

She groaned in pain. In reality she wanted to scream. She wanted to kick and claw; she wanted to shoot Krauser to death or stab him until he was a bloody mess.

"Easy work." Krauser stood up and walked toward Leon, finally leaving her alone.

"Ashley... it was you."

"You catch on quick."

Her hands were shaking as she tried to take a good look at the wound on Luis' back.

Thankfully she noticed the suspicious shadow behind Luis right before the knife hit him - she had to thank Ada for her great reflexes. The knife still got him deep and bad, but it luckily avoided his spinal chord.

The wound was under his right shoulder, next to his arm. She hissed as she looked at it and quickly tore her dress, then took off Luis' jacket so she could put pressure on the wound.

She dumbly noted that Leon was having a one on one fight with Krauser.

"Princesa..." Luis mumbled as she sat him up.

"Sh, don't talk." she managed to say as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. "Don't-- you need your strength."

"I-- we need to help Leon."

She turned to look at Kennedy who successfully avoided Krauser's attack, and pushed the larger male on the ground. He was handling it just fine.

"No. No, he's fine. Leon's fine." she argued as she tied pieces of her torn dress together, so she'd be able to tie the thing around Luis' body, hoping it'd keep enough pressure on his wound while she took him off the damn island. "And you'll be fine too. You have to be. This will keep pressure on the wound until we get out of here and--"

"Princesa." Luis said again, looking up at her weakly through hooded eyes. "I think we have to change our plans."

She shook her head; no. A thick, heavy tear fell from her eye and many more were following it.

"No!" she finished her makeshift dressing as the word broke out of her - the dressing seemed fine, blood wasn't pouring out of his wound anymore, and it seemed strong enough to hold out until she found some thread and a needle to stitch him up. "Don't you say that, you hear me? You promised me a dance after we get out of here. You promised we'd have salmorejo for dinner, because I've never tasted that before... So don't you change our damn plans! You promised, Luis Serra, and a gentleman always keeps his promises..."

Luis smiled at her weakly.

"Just so you know, guapa... You're the best thing that happened to me."

She pushed her lips together, forming a thin, angry line.

"Don't you say goodbye! Don't you fucking--"

Quiet footsteps could be heard from behind and she grabbed her gun before turning around, thinking it'd be Krauser she'd see. To her surprise Ada was the one standing in front of her with an emotion she couldn't read.

Ada looked at the wounded Luis, who was smiling up at her through the blood in his mouth; then she looked at her and her teary eyes.

"Did you stop the bleeding?" Ada asked and she nodded. "Good, then give him this." Ada gave her a strange, green and yellow colored mixture. "It takes a few moments to kick in, but it'll help with the pain."

Ada waited patiently until she forced the mixture down Luis' throat, who started coughing, but slowly turned less and less pale.

"Ada--"

"Now listen to me-- I'll help Leon and after the fight's over, you'll get out of here with Luis. There's a boat on the western coast. Use it and get out."

She blinked her tears away.

Get out. She knew what Ada meant. She was giving her an out - a way out of this life, a chance to live a happy, long life with Luis, far away from people like Albert Wesker.

"But..."

"Get out of here, Y/N. And safely. I'll handle Wesker."

Ada leaned down and kissed her forehead, showing her a sign of love she never knew she had.

Soon, Ada shot Krauser's knife out of his hands - just in time, since Leon's luck slowly began to run out.

While Ada talked to Krauser, she leaned down and gave her lover a kiss on the lips. It was barely a peck, yet Luis seemed to appreciate the gesture.

"See, Luis?" she asked with a smile. "We'll have that dance one way or another."

•••

Defying a god

Ada watched as her ex-partner in crime helped Luis into an elevator, while Leon went on his seperate way to find Ashley Graham and get the parasite out of her by using Luis' laboratory.

She smiled when Luis leaned against the elvator's wall and held onto his girlfriend's hand, kissing her knuckles.

Just because she and Leon have to go their seperate ways, they don't.

She called Wesker right after all three of them were out of sight.

"I really hope you have good news."

"Y/L/N is dead." Ada said without a single emotion, knowing fully well how good Wesker is at reading people. "She died trying to protect Serra, who was attacked by Krauser. They are both dead. Krauser has the Amber now."

"Good. She has always been a dead weight anyway. An extra problem, too weak to act like she should've... She was always too emotional. And you-- I suggest you hurry. You know that I don't like to wait around. Get me the Amber!"

Ada ended the call and put the transmitter away.

She never thought of her as dead weight. She liked her. She was humane even with a job like theirs. She was way better than Wesker in her book.

Ada really hoped she'll have a great life - a life she herself envied, yet knew she'd never have.

[boymanmaletheshequel]

Crystals for Apollo

Hello tumblr witches, wizards, Druids, and magical beings! I’m starting a new series today entitled “crystals of the gods”. I am a geologist and have been collecting minerals and gems for over 15 years, and seeing as how intrinsically connected to divinity and magick crystals are, I thought I’d look into what crystals are representative of the many gods and goddesses across the worlds pantheons. For my first post, I want to try and represent a god that although I do not personally worship yet, I am in awe of: Apollo/Apollon. Let’s begin!

• Citrine

Citrine is a gemstone of wealth and positivity, and nobody meets that standard in my eyes like Apollo does! They are full of joy and character, and shine like a beacon of yellow light that citrine encompasses so well.

• Brucite

A bit of a lesser known, but gorgeous mineral, brucites Scalenohedral crystal habit reminds me of the radiance of the sun! And it’s unbeatable bright yellow color is emblematic of Apollo’s connection to the lemon like color it holds, which facilitates much joy and pride in oneself.

• Pyrite

A mineral of subtle, but positive arrogance, and a touch of pride, pyrite might be called fools gold, but it’s not foolish at all! It’s incredible natural geometry is full of the character that Apollo radiates, and it’s literal reflective properties are a perfect metaphor for how the god represents hubris, but also character and personality that makes him so unique and adored!

• Muscovite

This powerfully flashy gem, a variety of Mica, is emblematic of Apollo’s more sensitive side that is often portrayed so beautifully, and often encompassed in acts of homosexuality. Muscovite is soft, only a 2-2.5 on the MOHS scale, but that’s not a negative thing! it’s color, and it’s personality, is among the strongest gold there is!

• Scapolite

Sharp and shiny, scapolite is the perfect stone for a glossy, muscular god like Apollo. It’s yellow hues are bold and sharp, and represent his strength in battle.

• Heliodor

Named after the archetypal god of whom he is a cultural descendant of, Helios, heliodor is the definite stone of the sun, and an ancient symbol of Apollo. Beryl was prized as a luxury to the ancient Greeks and Phoenicians, and heliodor was quite rare, this is an extravagant gift that he will surely be in awe of!

• Sunstone

This should be a no-brainer, but sunstone, a species of plagioclase feldspar, is somehow even more sunny than heliodor. It’s iridescent flakes of color remind one of the divinity of the sun, and it’s epithet, Apollo. Every Apollo devotee should offer the god some sunstone if they can get their hands on it!

• Amber

Warm and joyous, amber is perfect for Apollo. It’s honey like appearance, and beautiful deep warmth evokes Apollos radiance and pride. It is ancient, like they themself, and is a perfect idol of a god of sun!

• Topaz

Orange or imperial topaz, mined in the deserts of Utah and northern Mexico under a constant sun, is the domain of Apollo! It’s juicy colors are bold and rich, and remind one of Apollo’s intense personality.

• Peridot

Beloved by Cleopatra, mistaken by her for emeralds, peridot is like the spicier, more masculine version of emerald culturally. Often found in metamorphic rock around historically active volcanic sites, it’s no wonder that Apollo is attributed to its hot and spicy nature.

• Pyromorphite

In Greek mythology, Apollo was the slayer of Python, a massive serpent whom he dispatched of in a show of strength in Delphi. Pyromorphite, with its hopper like crystal structure resembling that of snake skin, paired with its serpentine color, is a great symbol of this historic accomplishment of the great Apollo!

• Tremolite

Similarly to pyromorphite, tremolites electric green color brings serpentine energy to a shrine dedicated to Apollo, and its a rare stone that feels like a perfect symbol to his awesome strength and power!

Well, there’s a good place to start! What crystals do YOU associated with Apollo?

[undeadfvckgirl-base]

Important for anyone who was a part of Introject Island!

If you are just waking up this morning to find the server gone the admins have deleted the server after being called out about their behavior towards their mod team and shit talking members behind their back, many of you would not have seen these screenshots as it was deleted almost instantly I was one of the mods. If you dont recognize me I am Rubik and introject island was a horrible experience with the admin team. The server was fantastic and the regular members were awesome. I loved all my conversations with all the members even the ones where you didn't quite get it the first time. The admins however were very lacking in their ability to take care of situations and often didn't do anything at all. One day the admins went to meet up together and gave the mods admin roles thus giving us access to a channel for the two of them by accident where they openly shit talked their mod team and other members they thought we might disagree on shit talking and claimed they hated their mod team. As a mod who was told I was great and that they were so happy to have us on the team it broke my fucking heart to realize they didn't give a fuck about any of us. I loved being a mod and being included in the server but its gone now and its because the admins refuse to take responsibility for their actions. Me and some of the old members plan to remake a server to try and get everyone back if you know anyone from that server please direct them here about the server and wait for the new one to be up with the former mods and former members.

My dms are open for the invite to the replacement server

Below the cut is screenshots we have of the admins owner channel and my response to the whole thing.

Important Disclamer: This post is not a call out post and even if it was I do NOT condone harassment or hate twords these people. Leave them alone. I will not be responsible for your choices to go after people when a situation is over with and I wish to move on. This is for the people who lost their friends suddenly and unexpectedly this week and a way to reconnect and not lose everything. Not to hurt someone. But they have a right to know what caused this.

Small fact about this. Evie and Peonies are dating. They also lies to us and said they would accept purgatorys application. We are also not dating we are qpps which is something else entierly to us

Here is graveyard shit talking Cyn (amber) and not even bothering to call null a mod but a "new member" not incriminating but kinda just rude. Also venting in journals wasnt a rule stated until after this

This screenshot speaks for itself (context Cyn left randomly due to mental health problems and came back shortly after and this is what the OWNER had to say about it)

I hope this explains everything about the situation and id be happy to elaborate more

[chloessleepystories]

Chocolate Fog

Mind control, Drugged, Male/Female, Male Dominant

This was sparked by a patron's three-word prompt: Airplane. Eyes. Chocolate.

***

The setting sun was glaring through the little airplane window, so Amber, squinting, lowered the shade halfway. She was a pretty white girl in her early 20s, blonde, with a thin sweater stretched over generous breasts. Her seatmate had noticed them – noticed her beauty – but hadn't been creepy about it, and she appreciated that. They were only an hour into their 4-hour flight, and she didn't want to feel creeped out the whole time.

He seemed like a gentleman. Older man, with dusky skin and a trim white beard. Dr Suresh or something like that, he'd said, with just a hint of an accent, as he'd smiled and exchanged pleasantries before takeoff. She got a warm feeling from him – partly from his nice smile, partly from his rich, deep, soothing voice, but mostly from his eyes – they sparkled with warmth and mischief, and there seemed to be golden flecks in those kindly, chocolate-brown eyes.

The snacks and drinks trolley was coming down the aisle. She found she was really looking forward to that little packet of peanuts. She pulled down the little tray, moving her paperback to the empty seat beside her. How fun air travel was! And how cool that the flight wasn't fully booked, so she had room to spread out. Dr Suresh had spread out too – he'd laid a small case on the seat between them when he first sat down. So that was nice – a shared space, but also a buffer.

She ordered her peanuts and a Diet Coke from the nice stewardess.

"There you go. And for you, sir?"

"A scotch and soda, please. Neat."

"That's all?"

"That is all. Thank you. Oh – a blanket, perhaps, when you have the chance."

Amber leaned over, once the stewardess had moved on. "No peanuts? I think the peanuts are my favorite part. For some reason, peanuts on a plane just taste better than peanuts anywhere else!"

He chuckled in his throat, as she giggled. "This is true. Perhaps someone should do a study as to why. Me, I do not need them, for I bring my own snacks." He patted the small sample case between them. "The finest chocolate bars no one has heard of – yet. New, from my company."

"Wait – you make chocolate?? That's awesome! What are you, Willy Wonka?" He laughed again at her little joke. She liked his laugh. "Wait a second, I thought you said earlier you were a scientist?"

"This is indeed true. I am a scientist," he said, and his eyes twinkled. "There is a lot of science that goes into making good candy. Did you know this?"

He was already opening the case, so she decided he didn't mind talking about it. "So what's special about it?"

The bars were packaged more like an extra thick Hershey bar than a Snickers or 3 Musketeers – a dark-brown sleeve around a foil wrapper. The sleeve said "Chocolate Fog."

"Our chocolate is made from a very special bean just recently discovered deep in the Amazon rainforest," he said in his rich, melodic voice. "Its flavor is unlike any other kind of chocolate previously tasted outside of Peru. In our labs, it goes through a special process designed to enhance its unique properties, until we arrive at what I believe is the best chocolate bar ever created."

He peeled open one end of one bar to show it was segmented. He broke off a chunk and held it out. "You will have a taste, and you will agree, yes?"

Well, how could she refuse free chocolate? She popped the thick square in her mouth, and her eyes lit up at the explosion of taste on her tongue. "Mmmm! It's so rich, and ... nutty? But also there's a softness, like ... almost a little nougat in there?"

"That is what gives it its ‘fog,' I believe," he murmured. "That airy quality."

"It's amazing!" she said, and drooled a little speaking around a mouthful of chocolate. "Could I ... Could I have a little more?"

"You may have the whole bar, dear lady," he said, and the golden flecks in his eyes sparkled as he smiled. "I have plenty more ..."

Half an hour later, the plane interior was much darker. The sun had finished setting, and people were dozing, or watching movies with their headphones. Only a few overhead pinpoint lights lit up the interior gloom.

Amber had a tummy full of chocolate. She'd finished the bar in a surprisingly short time, and had been allowed to devour a second too. Now, she leaned back in her seat, feeling the gentle rocking of the plane and hearing its dull roar, and feeling ... lulled. Lulled into a repose.

Lull, lull, lull. What a funny word, she thought. Lol. Lull. Lulllllled ...

She looked over at Dr Suresh, with a dopey smile and lidded, glazed eyes. "Thasss so good ..." she whispered. "Bess chocklit ever ... It makes me, like, happy ..."

The chocolate taste coated the inside of her mouth. It felt like was coating her brain, too, which was sluggish. Thoughts were moving slowly through the rich, chocolatey fog in her head.

"I am very glad to hear that," said her seatmate. "You look like you are enjoying it thoroughly."

He raised his armrest and, moving his sample case and the blanket he'd gotten from the stewardess, slid into the seat beside her.

"I am always interested in learning more about the special properties of these special beans. So I do enjoy finding more test subjects. Tell me – and please be honest, this is for posterity – how do you feel?"

She giggled, quietly. "I feel ssoooo goooood ..." she whispered. "Like, rosy! Like no worries, no stress, all the tension I was feeling in my body that I didn't even know I was carrying, has melted away! Like every cell in my body has gone on a happy lil vacation!!!"

"Well, that does sound delightful," he said, making a few notes on a small pad.

"Whadid you ssay was in there?"

"A mild sedative to slow the limbs, dopamines and opioids that produce a gentle euphoria, similar to being pleasantly intoxicated. Some components of the bean that inhibit activity in the prefrontal cortex and make you highly suggestible, that we have ... enhanced. And of course some pretty damn good chocolate."

He smiled, and his teeth seemed to shine in the dim light of the plane interior. She could see his eyes glittering, almost like a cat's.

"... Huhh?" she slurred. There was a bit of chocolate-brown drool at one corner of her mouth. She seemed to be having trouble focusing on him.

"Now," he went on. "Here's my question. I know the chocolate makes you happy. Makes you dopey. And it sometimes can be addictive. What I don't know is ..." And he leaned closer. "Does the chocolate make you horny?"

She blinked, and focused a little bit, looking deeply into his eyes. "H-horny?"

"Yes. You can feel it now, can't you? You can feel the rich, melting pleasure coursing through you, from your tongue up to your brain, and down through your whole body ... Melting away your inhibitions, covering your objections with flavor and pleasure." She was captivated by his eyes, dancing and sparkling. She hardly had to listen to his words. "The chocolate fog fills your whole body, making your nipples erect, yes? Your tummy tingle. Your arms and legs are like lead, heavy with the weight of their happiness, and your pussy ... oh, your pussy is singing, and buzzing, drinking in the rich, chocolatey heat. It's getting so aroused, so needy. Why, if you think about it – and it is hard to think, isn't it? – but if you think about it, you can feel your whole body, and all your mind, melting into your needy, foggy pussy. If only you could lift your arms, you would be desperate to pinch your nipples. Desperate to rub your clit. As it is, you can't help but squeeze your thighs together, around that heat, that aching need ... Isn't that right? You're squeezing right now, aren't you?"

She couldn't look away from his eyes. She could barely blink. Her eyes were watering. She nodded. Her whole body was consumed with hunger – no longer for chocolate, but for sex. For carnal pleasure. For cock. Yes! She needed to be filled with cock! That's what she craved now!!

She whimpered, quietly, in that dozing, dark plane filled with unknowing passengers, staring into the eyes of her kindly seatmate.

He moved the blanket over her lap without breaking eye contact, and pressed his hand into her crotch under its cover. He raised her skirt and stroked a finger along the moist heat of her panties-covered mound. She moaned and twitched, her mouth falling open, staring into his eyes.

"Please ..." she whispered. "Please, I'm so horny ..."

"My only question," he said, smiling directly into her eyes, "is whether you would have gotten so horny if I hadn't suggested it. Did I implant that thought into your suggestible brain? Or does the chocolate actually make you horny by itself?"

He moved her panties aside, and stuck a finger deep into her wetness. Her eyes filled silently with gratitude, already dreaming how she wanted to spend the whole weekend with him, letting his fingers and his cock and his chocolate do everything he wanted to with her.

"Every time, I tell myself I'm going to just wait and see," he went on, stroking her sex, already bringing her close to her first mind-breaking orgasm. "I won't say a word, just observe. But every time ... well ... I can't help it. I tell you how good your body feels. And it does."

She grasped his strong arm in both her little hands, and gasped in ecstasy, trying to be as quiet as possible and mostly succeeding.

"Six times now, and every time, I ruin the experiment. I just can't stop talking! It is a failing. I am a bad scientist."

He grinned.

"But you forgive me ... Don't you?"

And his eyes sparkled.

[thatdeadaquarius]

i swear, i WAS going to leave you alone for the rest of the day. I thought 'oh no, you've bothered them enough for the day, wait until tomorrow' (they did not, in fact, wait until tomorrow) however i had thoughts and wanted to share them with you! 😊

concept: I was scrolling through some of your previous posts for a second time today (still all very cool and awesome btw) and the one about the reader saying swear words without knowing what they are kinda stuck with me.

So lets reverse it! You, the creator, fall into teyvat and CAN speak the common language there, while also still remembering your own native language. and so your native tongue becomes super holy to them (eg. 'omg, the creator is speaking in their holy tongue, lets all listen and nod')

Unfortunately, this has its drawbacks, especially because the majority of the times you speak in your native tongue you are cussing out everyone.

3 potential scenarios have stemmed from my brain because of this.

You getting annoyed at your worshippers and yelling at them, then afterwards they all thank you for blessing them

Swearing so often that the people around you start to pick up on the words and now all of your worshippers are parroting swear words at really important events, while you try and keep a straight face

Accidently teaching one of the kids swear words and then klee starts saying 'fuck' all the time and the adults are all like 'thank you for teaching klee one of your divine words, it truly is a blessing. what does it mean though?' and you're just sitting there like 😅

also thanks for being so nice about my shenhe post :) i love her so much <33

NOO dont worry abt it!! Ill just answer whenever i got the time!! I definitely dont mind multiple asks from the same person dw bby 👍✨️

Here, a cookie for ur time 🤲🍪 PSPSPSSPSPS ITS WORKING THEIR COMING IN, I ALSO HAVE CAKE AND DRINKS!! :D

So this is gonna sound demanding,, BUT SHARE YOUR CONCEPTS AND IDEAS WITH ME ALWAYS YES YES I WANT TO BE THE FIRST TO SEE IT YALL R FEEDING MY SOULLL 🛐

This reverse is so much funnier than the OG way, you have such a BIG BRAIN👏👏

Those scenarios had me fucking laughing my ass off, the BLESSING THEM 😭KLEE 😭 PLEASE-

Also this might be ass writing bc I can’t get rid of my headache rn :/

___________

Look what you've done.

It was so harmless at first, teaching Amber a word or two there bc she was curious abt ur accent,

The reveal that Teyvat's language wasn't your native language.

But that was still manageable, that was still okay

From Amber, to Eula, to Venti, to Kaeya, to Rosaria, to Diluc, to Jean, that information spread slowly but surely

After all, you didn't use it often, no one here in Teyvat even vaguely recognized it (not even a vague similarity from one of the other countries even)

It wasn't like,, shocking to the majority of Mondstadt's residents that you had a different native lang. (nor any of the other countries once they realized you were here, and had a diff native lang.)

I mean, you were the Creator,

why wouldn't there be some ancient powerful holy lang. that only you (or along with some lucky priest/vessel/follower) could understand?

.

..

However, it did become a problem when you, as the human experience dictates, got irritated 

You see, Teyvat isn’t an easy world to get used to, from the elemental reactions, the huge amount of hostile/active flora and fauna, there was a lot of room (even as favored as you were as the Creator) for accidents

You had already had a few mishaps, asking the waiter to bring you some salt bc ur table didnt have any on accident, bumping into the allogenes who wanted to walk around with you that day when they stopped abruptly

...

But now you can confidently say you can pinpoint the inciting incident in hindsight.

You had been traversing Liyue, and of course, it’s very rocky, even the well beaten paths outside Liyue Harbor were littered with pebbles and stones

So bc theyre respectful sweethearts, Shenhe, Xiao, Zhongli, Ganyu and the rest of the Adepti wnated to have a calm brunch at Cloud Retainer’s Abode w/ u <3

On the way up, bc u insisted normal walking was fine- no Xiao you want to see the sights teleportation isn’t necessary right now- nO Shenhe, really, the walk will be good for you, you don’t need to be carried-

Zhongli. 

You are supposed to be a mortal these days, not a 60 meter/feet long dragon- 

WHAM (u were so busy telling them to quit it that u werent watching ur path, aint none of their thousands of years old reflexes good enough to save u from being a clumsy fuck)

and your on ur ass.

“Fuck, ow,” immediately Shenhe has swept you up, Ganyu is rambling nervously, Xiao jumped but hasn’t said anything, but you can feel his worry from how tense he is, Zhongli’s hands are hovering, unsure if he should touch, and Shenhe- Shenhe- you can’t breathe- 

“Fuck guys stop, I’m fine-”

They;re eyes widen, Zhongli looks a little happier?? wtf all u did was-

oh no.

...

Now, everytime you have dinner with any of the Liyue characters they bow their heads, and in unison “Fuck guys stop I’m fine”

...

And it just got worse.

Bc you spent a few weeks in Liyue, and you had a lot of events to attend, little incidents like this happened everywhere

“Shit!” you drop a tea cup

“Damnit” some miner guy in town dropped his pickaxe loudly

You blame Zhongli and Ningguang.

Fuckers wanted to make sure they showed you utmost respect, so they both remembered every. single. word. of your language you have ever said around them.

Between Zhongli’s memory and elegant appearance, and Ningguang’s influence, your cuss words spread overnight

Families are now sitting around their dinner and thanking you for Teyvat’s bounty of food, “Thank you Creator for our meal, fuck guys stop I’m fine.” the kids and everything 💀

Liyue literally has become the most dirty mouthed city overnight, and they look SO PROUD OF IT  😭 😭

u never telll any of them LMAO

It’s a little rough, but I hope u got smth nice outta this, ur idea was so good I didn’t even wanna add anything but I wanted to show my appreciation for sharing those with me lol 

TYSM FOR SHOWING UP AGAIN!!

Cheers,

🌒🌊🌧Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

[imtotallynormalmhmyes]

Simon in a Speedo??

Ghost x Transmale!reader

Chapter 1:

The beach. Awesome. Sand everywhere, lobster-red skin, and stares. It's always the stares, but who couldn't stare when you have two jagged scars framing the bottom of your pecs. Every time your shirt comes off, you seem to become a spectacle to grandmothers and toddlers alike.

Your older brother, Johnny, had lured you in with promises of margaritas and shirtless men, but as he rolls into the driveway of his captain's beach house, you begin to feel nerves fluttering in your stomach. You're meeting Johnny's team. Big, tough, military men and totally not intimidating at all. Especially when you feel like you're hiding a secret under your shirt.

Deep breaths. You're determined not to let what others think dictate your life.... or at least your beach trip.

Johnny interrupts your train of thought when he thumps your chest with his hand, "Just gonna sit here?"

"I might," you deadpan.

"Get your arse out of the car."

You huff and open the passenger door, and your nose is met with the mingling of the salty Yorkshire air and a distant barbecue down the road. Each step towards the house made that nervous fluttering grow, and it reached its peak when Johnny swung the door open and presented you to his team. Your eyes take in the imposing group, first seeing the older, warm-faced man who introduces himself as "Price." You then shake hands with a dreamy, brown-skinned man nicknamed "Gaz" and almost melt into a puddle at the touch. Maybe this trip won't be so bad after all.

"And, this is ol' Ghost," Johnny redirects your attention, having to hold back laughter at how you so easily swoon. As you turn, you're met with the tall, stoic figure of Simon "Ghost" Riley. Johnny had talked about him before, how skilled he was, how cold he could be, and how much liquor he could handle, but none of that could prepare you for this. His impressive physique was intimidating enough, but the way he seemed to pick you apart with just a glance made your stomach lurch. The man observed you in a way that made you feel like an exhibit rather than a new acquaintance. His appraisal is abruptly ended with a curt nod. A nod of approval? Hopefully.

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

After a few hours of lounging around the beach house, Johnny knocks on your door, pulling you out of the light nap you were taking, "We're goin' arsehole, get up." He leaves before you can give him a snarky reply, leaving you to ponder what you would wear. Summer clothing was never your thing because of the dysphoria that made any slightly revealing tee shirt feel like a torture device.

Staring down at your open suitcase, you cringe at your clothing choices. Floral button-up shirts? Pink board shorts? Polka-dotted pajamas? Truthfully, you loved those clothes, but the prospect of dressing like a toddler on his first vacation in front of fucking soldiers? Not the best idea. However, you have to make a choice, so you don a blue Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts: the least obtrusive pairing you could come up with.

Everyone meets outside before piling into the rental car. The fit was tight, and you find yourself squeezed between Ghost and the absolute dream boat, Gaz. And here comes the butterflies. Everything from the way his shirt contours his massive biceps, his amber skin that glows in the sunlight, his-

"Oi, Y/N, stop ogling," once again, Johnny snaps you out of your daze, "You're cool with the local pub, right?"

"I- um, yeah, sure. Yeah," you sigh before cursing at the burning heat in your cheeks as the fire is fueled by the chuckles of the other men. The little shit just had to say "ogling" didn't he? You soon realize that the embarrassment wasn't the only thing prickling your skin. You felt it again. That gaze slices you open like a scalpel, and you can't help but feel that he knows precisely what's running through your mind.