#and i decided to take a cursory glance at the others

[luna-the-cretar]

I really wanna write a Jericho and Lethica oneshot—and I’m going to—but I have come to the realization that Jericho’s dialogue is going to give me a lot of issues for the same reason Gricko’s dialogue gives me issues.

I know the accent. I know the voice. I can hear it loud and clear in my head. The issue is that I just. DONT KNOW HOW TO FUCKING TYPE OUT HIS ACCENT.

I mean, Gawrsh is easy enough—thanks to Dreamlight Valley and typing out Goofy’s accent—but how the fuck am I supposed to type out Pertty? Like that? Or like Perty? Neither of them look right.

[adelliet]

Logan x f!reader

MEMORABLE RIDE

Summary: You went to the club with your friends and when it was time to go, you ordered a limo, but the girls didn't join so you took the ride alone, but this wasn't your only ride of the evening.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, age gap, strong language, fingering, nicknames (good girl, princess,…), unprotected sex (p i v)

A/n: Hello pookies! This is quite a short one-shot unlike the previous ones, but still there may be grammatical errors, for which I apologize. Also sorry if some parts don't make sense, English is not my native language! Thanks, enjoy <3

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"So are you coming or not?" you yell at your friends, trying to shout over the loud music. They were all sitting in a booth with their one-night stands, all dazed and drunk. They didn't hear you, despite their enthusiasm to have a good fuck today. Unlike them, you had no luck in finding a fuck-buddy. It wasn't that you weren't interested or didn't want to, but no one at the party was your type.

Your friends are into boys of the same age, while you prefer more mature men, older men who knows what they want. "Hey!" you yelled at them once more, at this point your throat started hurting. One of your friends finally heard you and gave you a cursory look. "No, we're not going, can't you see we're busy?" Julia said in her typical bitch tone, that you were already used to.

"But I already ordered a ride home" you furrow your eyebrows as you show her your phone screen. "So? Go home, we'll take care of ourselves" Kaylie said this time, making you realize they all heard you but just ignore you. They were just mocking you.

"Whatever" you breathed out and shook your head, deciding to leave. You love those girls, you really do, but when alcohol, drugs, and sex get into them, they're changed. Usually they apologize the next day and everything is back to normal, but sometimes you wonder if the ridicule is worth it.

When you finally squeezed through the crowd of people and nearly went blind from the beams of colored lasers, you stepped outside and took a deep breath. The club was incredibly hot and the air was thick in there, it was practically impossible to breathe, so the moment you stepped out, it was like a godsend.

You stayed on a spot for a while, just enjoying the clean air and the glowing lamps around you, until you noticed a black limousine on the other side of the sidewalk. That was for you. You quickly checked your makeup in your pocket-mirror, to see if you didn't look like a total mess and headed towards the limo.

On your way there, an old guy with a long gray beard and a black suit get out of the car. Even from a distance you could tell, that he's been gone through a lot in his life. He had a cute glasses on, his eyes squeezed, trying to read something in his phone. "Hi!" you said with a sweet tone and small smile.

You caught his attention immediately, making him groan annoyingly as he looked at you, but the moment he saw you, he needed to double check you. He carelessly scan you from the bottom up, his glasses sliding off his nose gently while he looked through his eye lids.

Before he could say anything you overtook him. "313, my code" you flashed him with your phone screen. He hastily blinked, his eyes watering from the brightness of your phone. He rudely took your phone and checked with a closer look. You awkwardly stood next to him until he hummed and handed you back your phone.

"Where are the others?" his voice was deep and grainy, showing his age. Hearing him for the first time made goosebumps all over your body and increased your heartbeat. "They...uh they're not coming, it's just me" you look behind your shoulder and glance at the club, remembering your friends words, before turning back.

He roll his eyes with a frustrated sigh. "Is that okay?" you asked him cautiously, automatically going to sit in the back of the limo, as he got into the driver's seat. "As long as you pay" you deduced, that hearing him talk is very rare thing and that was why it made it so special. Whenever he talks, his voice sends a sharp prick between your legs.

"Y-yeah I have the money..." you rummaged through your purse to check your wallet and you sigh with relief when you saw it there. The old man entered your location on the GPS and started the engine. The ride was quiet except for the songs on the radio, but you didn't mind, you watched things passing by from window. You could turn off your brain and relax.

"May I ask why you didn't take a taxi?" your rest didn't last long when you heard the wolf's voice again. It took you a while to recover and form a sentence in your head. "I guess I didn't think of that" you didn't want to tell the whole lore about your friends and how you naively thought you would drive all home together and enjoy the ride back, so you got a little carried away and spend a lot of money on a limo. All that so you are now sitting alone there and not didn't even enjoy the evening with some good fuck.

He was looking at you through the rear view mirror, sometimes you caught him and he swiftly looked back on the road. He could sense the dissapointment in your voice, but he didn't want to be intrusive, even though he was really interested in the story behind you.

"Aren't you cold?" another sharp hit into your core, when you heard his crisp voice. "Uhh no, it's fine, thanks" the thanks was almost inaudible as you looked down at your knees shyly. You honestly weren't surprised he asked, you were wearing a short top with a short black skirt. You hoped you don't look like some kind of slut, you wanted to impress him in a good way and if he told his friends about you, you didn't want him to call you a whore.

He nodded, quickly checking you in the mirror again before firmly focusing his attention on the road. That was his last sentence before the silence came again, broken by music from the radio and the sounds of cars outside. But it was soothing, the led lights were dark purple and before long your eye lids started being heavy and without realizing it, you fell asleep.

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Your body twitched and you instantly woke up, after you heard a sudden slam of the door. you rub your eyes and yawn tiringly, as you look from the window. You squinted your eyes when the lights of the gas station hit you, but after a while you got used to it, you try to orient yourself. When you wanted to check on the driver, he was gone. You tried to stay calm and not panic right away, as is your nature. You're only at the gas station, Logan must have gone to get gas or buy something, he doesn't want to bury you alive in the woods. Your paranoidness is really pathetic sometimes.

After a while, you heard a melody of door opening and immediately looked after the sound. Your eyes sparkle and your corners automatically lifted up when you saw him walking towards the limousine. Without realizing it, you felt a strange fluttering in your stomach when HE came into your sight. Feeling that you haven't experienced in a long time.

You watched his every step towards you, his serious expression still on his face with no sign of emotion. You sat back in the seat when Logan grabbed the handle and put his upper body into the car. "Hey...I was thinking you might want to drink something" he handed you one of his cups and gave you the cutest eyes you've ever seen. You though you were in a fever dream.

"Oh! T-thank you" you took the cup and giggle nervously, before your fingers touched by the process and you swear a spark jumped between you. The eye contact was intense, strong, almost romantic and none of you wanted to break it.

You hold your breath as you try to read his eyes, what he was thinking about. He flicked from your eyes to your lips quickly and then decided to go back to driver's seat. "Wait!" you stopped him quickly.

He bent down to see your face again and waited for your words. You didn't even know what you wanted. You had to think fast. "Can you...can you sit here with me for a while? I don't want to delay you, I just...I don't want to go home" you chuckle awkwardly as a side-smile appeared on your face.

Logan was quiet at first, again, not a single hint of any emotion in his face, but he got in and sat next to you, as you wished. He keeps the distance between you respectful, even though you wouldn't mind if he scoops a bit closer. "Why's that?" he raised his eyebrow and turned his head to you, looking deep into your eyes. You sighed and looked down while playing with your fingers.

"Well...it's a long story" you look back up at him, smiling softly. "I got time" his interest in you really warmed your heart and your inner self screamed with joy. Even though you are not a very extroverted person, you felt comfortable with him so he didn't have to tell you twice to talk.

"Well, today was supposed to be a hen party and originally, more girls were supposed to be here with me, but as you can see, that didn't quite work out...just a pinch of alcohol and they act like animals" you scoff and shake your head, being really pissed. You remember what they told you, how they treated you and didn't even give a hint of gratitude for the fact that you tried to get them a ride back.

"Oh...well-" he wanted to comfort you somehow, but you didn't finish and decided to confide properly. You surprised yourself. "You know, I really like them, but sometimes they act like total whores who only think about sex and dicks, not that there's anything wrong with that, but they just don't have any self-respect for themselves or others, and then I catch their rude behavior…”

You were so fired up about letting it all out that you didn't even realize the effect it must have on this man. When there was an awkward silence after your speech, you checked on him. He looked a little shocked but immediately cleared his throat and composed himself, so that he could finally react somehow, but you didn't let him, again.

"I have a pretty boring life, I admit, maybe I'm old-fashioned but I'm not really the type to sleep with the first guy I meet in a club..., anyway the answer to why I don't want to go home is simple, I still want to enjoy the freedom before going back to my awkward and boring office-life" this was the final speech and you felt amazing after that. Those words slipped out of your mouth so easily and you haven't confided in someone like this for a long time.

You sip from your cup loudly as the outrageous silence became really disconcerting. Your conscience began to eat away at you quickly, and since you didn't accept any answer, your nervousness grew rapidly. You started tapping your foot and gradually the shaking spread to your hands, which were holding the cup. You started to regret confiding so much and wanted to say something and save yourself a little, but a man's voice caressed your eardrums before you could speak.

"You don't look like someone who has a boring life" from everything you said you were surprised that he reacted to THAT but on the other hand, you were probably grateful for that, if he only reacted to the sex theme, it would probably put you both in an awkward situation. "Oh believe me, I really have…I'm not special" you smiled at him, your dimples shine as you try to read through his eyes again.

He frowned, that was the first facial movement you saw from him, you are finally getting somewhere. "C'mon your boyfriend sure thinks you're amazing" you chuckle softly and shake your head. "I don't have a boyfriend" "Really?" he answered, maybe too quickly, a big surprise in his voice. You nodded and couldn't stop smiling.

"You're telling me that a beautiful lady like you doesn't have a boyfriend?" you giggle again as a reaction to his compliment and shake your head. You felt like a little girl getting compliments from adults, it was exciting. "Damn…" he leaned back in disbelief, looking really surprised. "That's a shame, boys must flock to you" his compliments started being overwhelming and every time he said something nice to you, there was that sharp kick right into your clitoris that makes your core pulsating. At first you were a little embarrassed to be turned on by such an old man's praise, but later you didn't care and just enjoyed the moment.

"Not really...I'm quite quiet" "I noticed" he gave you a smile, which almost made you faint. That cruel nasty man was gone and replaced by a nice gentleman with beautiful eyes. "I'm Logan by the way" he offered you a hand to shake which you took almost immediately and your smile grew bigger. Logan. His name kept repeating itself in your head. It was quite an unusual but unique name that sounded very nice and you would get used to screaming it easily, to be honest. "Y/n" you shake your hands and let go, feeling a bit sad when your skins stopped touching.

"Y/n..." he repeated your name to himself quietly, looking at you up and down, not caring if you notice or not. His confidence was really visible and that only added to his attractiveness. Although you just said that your friends sometimes act like whores who only think about sex and dicks, now you've turned into one of them. A million scenarios started forming in your head and your pulsating started being unbearable every second Logan look at you.

You had no idea what kind of magic it was that he was so extremely attracted to you, in fact you had no idea, except that you wanted to ride him till you can't walk anymore in this fancy limousine. As if he read your thoughts and subtly started bending closer to you. You hold your breath once again, as the distance between your lips started getting smaller, until it barely existed.

You were inches away from touching each other lips, no one had the guts to destroy the barrier until Logan gave up and finally kissed you. As if he was afraid of what your reaction would be, his lips barely touching yours, he was very careful. He didn't want to scare you, but you were the oposite. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and goosebumps surrounded your body when you felt his lips, but you wanted more.

That's why you headlessly grabbed Logan's neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Logan wasn't so careful anymore as your tongues battled for dominance and your hands encircled each other's bodies. At the beginning there were slow, peaceful kisses that quickly turned into a hungry and merciless ones.

You didn't last long on your place and slowly moved away from your seat to sit on Logan. He devilishly smirk into the kisses as he feel your ass on his lap, where his boner was already growing. He was exploring your body, every inch of you, he wanted to remember it. He traveled from your long hair to your ass, which he squeezed from time to time. You panties were soaking wet and your natural instincts took control. You started moving your hips back and forth, desperate for even a little friction.

Your movements made Logan groan and squeeze your ass even harder, making you moan. Your lips were still firmly glued to each other, even though you wanted to see Logan's face as you rode him through your clothes. His body is tensed as he tries to keep his voice quiet, even that he doesn't do it very well. He was as desperate as you, from the moment he saw you you were on his mind and he couldn't let you go. There's a reason your friends didn't go with you and you're actually grateful to them. Really fucking grateful.

Logan was getting tired of touching you only through your clothes, so he lifted your skirt up a bit and touched your folds through your soaked panties. He chuckled at the feeling and let go of your lips, looking into your lustful eyes. "You're so fucking wet" he growled and started creating pressure between your legs that increased with every movement he made. You could finally throw your head back and enjoy his fingers, which for an old man were damn nimble. He definitely has a lot of experience.

Your pelvis automatically moved along with his hand as your palms rested on his chest. You throw your head back and started unbuttoning his pants, making him giggle. "Someone is impatient" you smiled, intensely focused on his pants until he made an illegal move. Your eyes shut and head drop, when he put your panties aside and finally touched on your bare wet folds. He was enjoying the view of you, how your face was squeezed and your quiet whimpers started echoing throughout the limousine, you were perfect.

He couldn't resist and had to thrust both fingers into you at the same time, forcing you to throw your head back and drop your jaw wide open. You felt so full when he was expanding your walls but that was just the beginning. His fingers started curling into you, smooth steady motions that were throwing you closer to your orgasm. “Logan” you were wailing his name over and over again as you started ride on his fingers. Your nails sank into his thighs but he barely felt it.

One of his hands was on your waist trying to keep you still at least a little bit, while the other was fingering you with no mercy. He noticed how you started clenching around him and even your moans started being cut off. You didn't need to tell him twice that you are about to cum right on his fingers, he knew it very well. You felt the weird feeling to go pee and your stomach started clenching, just a few more movements and you would cum, but he stopped.

He pulled his fingers out of you and you immediately look at him confused, sighing at the lost. He smiles, sucking his fingers and looking in your eyes while he taste you. He rolled his eyes and growls loudly. "Fuck you taste amazing" this sentence makes you wet again and your core pulsates even more than before. Logan let go of your weist and started clumsily taking off his pants. You quickly get up so you won't not to get in his way, and the moment his pants along with his boxers touched his ankles, he didn't hesitate for a second. He grabbed your hips harshly and eagerly forced you to sit on him.

You adored his impetuous behavior and how much he was craving for you, for your body, for the fuck. Even though he looked two hundred years old, he had an outrageous amount of energy in him and his body was bursting with adrenaline. You, on the other hand, weren't much different. Your horniness knew no bounds and the passion you felt was irreplaceable.

Your only focus was on Logan, you didn't care if anyone caught or heard you, you wanted him inside you no matter what. You look down at his penis, veiny, unshaven and huge. You gasped a little as the thought that this would all be inside you besieged you, but your excitement was much greater than your fear. "Surprised baby?" the craspy voice rang in your ears and you immediately look in front of you, his myschivious grin makes your core pulsates even more and the lust for orgasm was incalculable.

Your mouth filled with saliva and you weren't going to hold on to the anticipation any longer. You slowly started lowering yourself, your breath stuck in your throat as you felt his tip touching you. "Good girl, nice and slow..." Logan was looking down at the part where you two are going to connect, his strong arms still holding your hips and subtly forcing you to take him.

His words soothed and excited you at the same time, which is why his intrusion wasn't as painful. You groan loudly as his tip was fully inside you, already feeling full but that still wasn't the end. You change your hand placement to his chest, squeezing his boobs without realizing it, but Logan loved every moment of it. He decided to help you and slowly lifted up his hips, pushing further into you. Before long he was all inside you, you couldn't believe how full you were and how he was stretching your walls much more than before with his fingers. Your juice was already dropping on his cock, that was hard as a stone inside you.

He waited a while for you to get used to his length and during that he grabbed your neck and kissed you aggressively. When your hips started moving instinctively, he deduced that you were ready. With his hands still holding your hips, he was forcing you to move back and forth, heating up and creating pressure, like some type of foreplay. Your lips were still glued to his until you couldn't take it anymore and had to pull away to catch your breath. Your head dropped as your whining grew louder and louder.

“Yeah that's it princess…” he growled as he watched your face, still holding you tightly. His pelvis started moving along with yours, his pulse increased and his breathing slowed down. “Such a good girl” the endless compliments only helped to bring you closer to your climax and he was well aware of that. You look up through your eye lids, seeing him intensely focused with furrowed eyebrows send a chill down your spine.

You gradually began to pick up your pace and strength, each movement bringing you both closer and your moans getting louder. The car was starting to smell like sex and the atmosphere around you was getting thick. Logan wanted more, so he makes your hips go up and then thrust down. You scream his name as he did it again, but this was exactly what you both needed. He helped you a bit but after a while you could jump on him by yourself, the incredibly lust to reach your orgasm made you forget about exhaustion.

Logan dropped his jaw and shut his eyes as your ass was clapping against his thighs. His dick was twitching inside you, hitting that sweet spot of yours. That spongy sensitive spot calling the cervix sends incredible waves of pleasure whenever he hits it. You both were sighing in a rhythm as the juicy sounds started getting louder. “That's it baby…that's it” with a struggle he praised you again and banged you, desperately trying to finally reach his orgasm.

You knew you won't last long anymore. The overwhelming tense feeling started shutting down all your senses. Goosebombs jumped on every part of your body as you squeezed his breasts hard, making him chuckle. "C'mon baby, give it to me" this was the last straw when he gave you this green flag to cum. You put all your strength and energy into your hips and into finally achieving what you longed for. You slowly throw your head back again and just whimper quietly, as your hips took on the incredible speed of light.

When the feeling of going to pee and release finally washed over you, your entire body tensed and you shiver. You were paralyzed and your hips stopped moving when you finally reached your golden orgasm. But Logan didn't stop and when he felt how hard you clenched around him and saw your cumming face, he lost his control in hips and cum just few seconds after you. He emptied his balls into you, not missing a single drop and grunted very VERY loudly as he nearly crushed your hips. When you both calmed down a bit, the only thing that could be heard was your heavy breathing.

"Fuck you were...incredible" you breathed out and Logan chuckled, nodding as a acceptence of your compliment. "You too sweatheart" you looked into his eyes with a surprised expression. He gave you those nicknames during sex, that's why you were shocked when he told you after it too. Your corners lifted up and your heart melts, making it hard for Logan to resist and he needed to kiss you one more time. But this time it was a long, romantic kiss that you hadn't received in decades.

When he pulled away, leaving just a tiny space between your noses, your teasing mood started setting in. "You lasted quite long for an old guy" he furrowed his eyebrows but smiled, as he sensed your teasing behavior. "Oh really?" he tsks before he asked ironically and you just hummed. "Say that again and you'll regret it" he warned you but you knew it was just a part of the teasing-play you had going on. "Okay, sorry, grandpa" you devilishly smile as you said the last word.

"That's it" Logan grabbed you and threw you gently on the floor of the limousine, making you smile. He started kissing you aggressively with his dick still deeply inside you.

"You won't be able to walk after this"

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[moonstruckme]

i'm obsesseeeed with dr. rem and i have a request for him if you're up for it!! <33 maybe reader gets into an "accident" (nothing serious) while working and remus finds out when he sees her in the hospital? like she didn't have time to call him and let him know so he suddenly just sees her and freaks out for a bit before realizing she's okay? thank you so muchhhh 💗

I'm obsessed with him toooo it's bad ! Thanks for requesting sweetheart <3

cw: minor head injury

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Your eyes water, but you do your best to keep them open as the girl in scrubs points her light in each one. 

“Your pupils look alright,” she decides, clicking the light off and giving you an apologetic smile when you blink in relief. “Have you felt nauseous at any point since it’s happened? Dizzy?” 

You shake your head no to both, wincing a bit as the clear bag of ice you’re holding to the back shifts slightly. 

“That’s good.” She nods encouragingly. She seems young and somewhat green, probably one of those pesky residents Remus is always griping about. Though she’s trying to project the same seasoned calm as the other doctors and nurses moving about the A&E, there’s a quiet anxiety about her that you recognize. It’s the same one you carried during the first month at your job, the possibility of getting in some kind of trouble seeming to loom over you constantly. She’s pretty, you think, and she seems nice. Like she genuinely cares, a massive improvement over the woman at the front desk who’d given you a look so judgemental that it’d made you feel even more embarrassed for being here. “And you’re sure you didn’t lose consciousness at any point? Even for a second?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. “I mean, I would have noticed, right?” 

She squints like she’s not quite sure what to do with that, and then you perk up as a familiar rhythm gets your attention. You wouldn’t have guessed you could do it outside of your shared flat, but you pick out the sound of Remus’ footfalls a second before he comes into view. He’s striding briskly across the room, skimming something on his clipboard, and he gives the swath of curtained rooms little more than a cursory glance as he passes—until his eyes flare, snagging on you.

You raise your hand in a sorry wave. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, doubling his pace to get to you. His attention moves to the bag of ice you’re holding to your head. “You’re hurt?”

“I bumped my head at work,” you explain with a shrug. The resident looks between you like she’s unsure if she should continue, clearly outranked by the other doctor in your little room. “It’s not bad, but my boss said I had to come here.” 

Remus’ lips tug downward, taking the ice from you and tilting your head so he can see it. “You hit your head and you didn’t call me?” 

“It’s nothing,” you promise him. “My boss just made me come in as a formality. For liability reasons, you know?” 

Remus remains uncomforted. He murmurs a quiet direction to the resident so the poor girl steps back from you. You shoot her an apologetic look as your boyfriend takes your head in both hands, prodding at the tender spot on the back. You wince, and he makes a very unprofessional cooing sound, stroking his thumb next to the nonexistent wound. 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Even his dubious tone is gentled for you, the pinch of his mouth more worried than vexed. 

“It hurts,” you admit, “but only like any bruise would. It didn’t even break the skin, Rem, I’m totally fine.” 

He looks at the resident. “Any symptoms of a concussion?” 

“No,” the girl chirps nervously. You wonder that anyone could be nervous around Remus, but you suppose he is sort of like one of her bosses. “Pupils are normal, no dizziness or headaches, no reactions to light or noise, and no signs of confusion.” 

He nods, still frowny. You think he could stand to show her some appreciation, but this may not be the time to bring it up. “Alright, you can go. I’ve got this one.” 

“Thank you,” you say after her, and she flashes you a tiny smile before Remus eclipses your vision, taking your face in his hand. 

“You were fully honest, right?” he asks you sternly. “Didn’t downplay anything?” 

“I didn’t.” You summon your most placating tone, reaching up to wrap your fingers around his wrist. “I’m really fine.” You rub your thumb into his pulse point. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, everything was just moving so quickly. I wouldn’t have tried to keep it a secret or anything.” 

Remus lets out a long exhale, leaning forward so that his nose rests on your forehead. “I know you wouldn’t,” he murmurs. “But do you have any idea how scary it is to see someone you love in A&E, where you work, when you thought they were just going about their day unharmed?” 

Your heart contracts as the severity drains from his tone, replaced by a dull rawness. “I don’t.” You slide your touch up his arm to his bicep, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry. But I am unharmed, see? It’s all good.” 

He grunts fondly, kissing your forehead as he straightens. “Who drove you here?” 

“Marcus.” You’ll have to make your coworker some cookies or something as a thank-you gift, though you’re sure getting a half hour off work to chauffeur you here wasn’t an entirely unwelcome break. 

“And where is he?” 

“Back at work. He dropped me off.” 

Remus brow puckers. “He left you here?” 

“Well, it wasn’t like there was anything he could do,” you say, shrugging. You feel a bit sheepish, though you’re not sure why. 

“Still.” His jaw ticks. “Okay, I get off in less than an hour. Do you think you can sit tight until then? I’ll have someone bring you some fresh ice.” He levels your sloshy bag of ice with a disapproving look you want nothing to do with. “And did you eat lunch before your shift?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say. “But I don’t need you to drive me home, Rem. There’s a bus stop right outside of here.” 

He scoffs. “I don’t care if you don’t have a concussion, I’m not letting you take the bus after you’ve just hit your head.” He squeezes your shoulder, thumb pressing into your collarbone. “I’ll have someone bring you a snack.” 

“It’s just a bump,” you argue, but Remus ignores you. 

“Try to leave, and I’ll be very cross with you,” he threatens as he walks away. “Cuddles are a privilege that can be revoked.” 

[fuctacles]

<<😺😺😺😺 | 😺😺😺😺😺😺>>

if i didn't respond to your comment it's bc desktop tumblr didn't let me, I still love and appreciate y'all

Maybe tomorrow he'd bring his book here, and keep the cats company while he reads. Would they like it if he read it out loud?

Oh lord, the crazy cat lady energy must be rubbing off on him already.

The cats certainly are. He looks down at his black attire now speckled with cat hair, and sighs. He should have asked Steph where the lint roller was before she left. With great effort, he stands up from the comfy couch, vowing to himself to only do a cursory search with no unnecessary peeking. 

The entrance seems like an obvious start since people like to de-hair themselves before leaving the house. The dresser next to the door is cluttered with typical things - sunglasses, hand lotion, chapstick, some loose change, and jewelry. No roller in sight. So he goes to the kitchen instead, because kitchen is where everything goes. The cats are watching him curiously from their chosen perches around the house.

"Stop it. This is all your fault."

He finally finds what he's looking for on a windowsill next to a dead fly. He starts cleaning his clothes there, next to the fridge, and its colorful display catches his attention. 

There's an Ewok magnet that looks handmade, holding up a birthday card, and a few holiday photos, capturing smiling people in swimming costumes. Some of them look older, like the photo of a kid in a wizard robe, or a pair of bloodied-up teenagers in sailor costumes, which must be a very obscure reference because Eddie hasn't seen it at any costume party before. 

The caption under the photo reads BFF but someone added a circle of smaller F's all around the photo, turning them into a frame. Which, if Eddie's connecting the dots correctly, would imply that it's Robin and Steph. The quality isn't the best, but at first glance, he's assumed it must be a family member, maybe a brother, but he remembers her saying she's an only child. 

He tracks the other photos, but most of them are new, of the Steph he already knows. There might be more around the apartment, though. 

But he's already rolled his shirt and he'll be back tomorrow morning anyway, so he quickly works on his pants' legs, gives the cats a wave, and leaves. 

While walking back, he's apparently so lost in his thoughts, he gets startled by his own uncle.

"The cats still alive?"

"Do you want?! Me?! To die?!" Eddie screeches, eyes wide and a hand on his heart, the other holding him upright against the wall. "Why the fuck are you sitting there in the dark?!"

Wayne looks pointedly at the lamp next to him, then to his nephew. Aside from his reading nook in the corner though, the living room has no other light sources right now, but Eddie just throws his hands in defeat, deciding not to argue. Especially not when his uncle finally folded and was reading Blade Runner. 

"Must have been thinking some guilty thoughts, huh?" 

"Excuse me?" Eddie takes a step back from his course towards the kitchen. His uncle was flipping a page in his book, clearly not reading but not looking up from it either. 

"To get scared like that. Did you do something bad, son?" He finally looks up, and Eddie doesn't like it. He looks exactly like his friends just before teasing him about something. "Saw something you shouldn't have?"

Eddie folds his arms and sticks his nose up, hoping the evening darkness hides his warming cheeks. 

"I don't know what kind of panty raiding you do up there, but I'm not a pervert."

"Panty riding, huh?" Wayne raises his eyebrows in interest. "That what you boys do in college these days?"

"Do you want a sandwich? Some tea maybe?" Eddie has already turned his back to him and is switching the light on in the kitchen. "And the cats are fine, thanks for asking!"

"Yes and yes. Thank you!" 

Eddie prepares them sandwiches and teas and grabs his own book so they can read in silence waiting for the evening news. It's nice to have this, a break from busy and loud college life, just sharing silence and love for books with his uncle. 

That is, of course, until Wayne looks at his watch and puts the book down to exchange it for a remote. Eddie likes to keep his nose in the book until the news become too distracting or he catches something interesting being reported on. His uncle has other plans for him this time. 

"You know it's alright to like her, right?"

Eddie lowers his book, slightly incredulous that Wayne is still talking about it. He looks at him with wide eyes.

"You really want me to fuck your neighbor, huh?"

Finally, his uncle gets a taste of his own medicine, almost choking on the tea that he unfortunately decided to sip on at that moment. Eddie: one, Wayne: zero.

But later, the score evened out again, as all Eddie could think of while trying to sleep were the pictures on the fridge, and plowing his uncle's neighbor into her mattress until she screamed. 

The next morning, with not enough sleep under his belt, Eddie skips two sets at a time, because he totally absolutely royally forgot about the fucking plant. 

He fumbles with the keys, can hear the inquisitive meows on the other side of the door, and once he's in he takes a beeline to the kitchen, ignoring the little creatures following him like they have been starving on the streets and he was a fresh batch of tuna factory waste.

The plant looks normal, the same as it did 24 hours ago, and he waters it as per instructions while trying not to even brush its leaves because he truly believes his touch might kill it. His track record with plants indicates so. Only then does he turn to the meowing bunch at his feet. 

"Hello, little demons. Time to feast."

The cats are fed, their mouths making unpleasant wet noises against the equally wet food, and Eddie has a moment to take a curious walk around the place, in search of more photos.

He finds a wedding photo, with Steph in a pink dress and stunning make up dancing with a man with curly hair. There's one from a barbecue, where Steph is being hugged by a tall man with a mustache. She's wearing jean shorts and a sweater in this one, and somehow, looks a bit off. It looks older than the wedding one. 

But a true treasure chest is the huge frame he finds above a small bookcase.

It's a collage titled 'The fucking journey' that seems to be a collection of Polaroids from a multitude of workplaces, with the same two people present. Year after year, one job after another, until they got where they are today. 

It starts with a 1983 and the sailor costumes he's already seen. They are less bruised and more tired in this one. Knowing where to start, Eddie's eyes track from one photo to another, observing Stephanie's features, her wardrobe, and her hair change until she becomes the woman she is today. 

There was no boy in that photo on the fridge. It's always been her. Growing into herself. 

Is this what his uncle was talking about? Well, not talking, but being annoyingly vague about it, like he wasn't sure what he was talking about himself. 

Fear not, Uncle Wayne. Eddie's going to pick up every pamphlet and every zine he can put his hands on, to educate them both about who their neighbor is, how to navigate the topic and respect her the way she deserves.

ko-fi

[philistiniphagottini]

Take Me in Your Arms Part 2

Thank you to everyone who helped me come up with this second list. I appreciate the help and the love that you have shown to this silly little series. I really hope you enjoy the second part. Comments and reblogs would be highly appreciated if you want me to do a third part :D

cw. fluff, established relationships, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

Featuring: Topaz, Wriothesley, Zhongli, Boothill, Aalto, Yinlin, Gepard, Jiyan & Xiao

Part 1

Topaz:

Topaz invited you to morning tea, consisting of hot drinks and expensive, delicious pastries. You joined her everyday around the same time, without fail. You found her sitting at the table, a piping hot cup of tea in one hand while she looked at the digital tablet placed in front of her. Without even casting a cursory glance in your direction, she pats the empty spot beside her, inviting you to sit down and join her for your regular tea time break. You accepted her cordial invite and went to sit next to the empty spot beside her, completely missing the mischievous little smirk that painted her lips when you looked away from her. A small squeak was wrenched from your plush lips as she snagged her arm around your plump waist and drew you into her warm lap, your thick thighs draped over hers as she held you close. 

“Topaz” you sputter, swallowing around the nervous lump in your throat as you squirm in her lap. “I’m too heavy to be sitting on you.”

Topaz shot you an incredulous look. “Nonsense” she scoffed. “You’re not heavy at all.”

Her words made your cheeks burn with the force of a raging sun and you struggled to come up with a coherent response, pressed so close to her that you could smell the scent of her flowery perfume lingering on her skin. Her grip around your soft waist was firm, indicating that she wasn’t going to relinquish her hold on you easily as she reached for one of the delicious cakes sitting by its lonesome on the table. 

“These treats are delicious, you have to try them.”

She offered it to you, holding the sweet treat against your lips until you were tempted to have a bite. You spent the rest of the morning like that, having Topaz feed you delicious cakes while you sat pretty in her lap. Numby eventually decided to crawl into your lap, allowing you the honour of pampering him with ear scratches and chin rubs as you enjoyed your snack time with your girlfriend. 

Wriothesley:

You were sitting in Wriothesley’s office while he filled out a stack of paperwork. You were sitting on his couch, flipping through a fantasy novel while the phonograph softly played music to fill the void of silence. Your fingers tapped along the spine of the book to the gentle sway of the music. You were so engrossed in your reading that you didn’t notice that Wriothesley had stopped writing until you were engulfed in his shadow. You paused in your reading, casting your wide, doe eyes up to him with a hint of curiosity sparkling in their depths. A small smile played on his lips as he politely bowed before you, a hand placed over his heart as he offered his other hand out to you.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, a hint of playfulness to his voice. 

Your cheeks felt warm as you awkwardly cleared your throat. “I have two left feet” you explained. “I’ve never been taught a proper waltz.”

Wriothesley’s patient smile still tugged at the corners of his lips as he wriggled his fingers, trying to entice you to take his hand. “I can teach you. Just stand on my feet and I’ll do the rest.”

His suggestion makes you quickly shake your head from side to side, a timid look passing over your features as you shyly avert your gaze. “I’ll just squish your toes” you lamented. “I’m too heavy.”

The despondent tone of your voice only makes him worry. With the patience of a saint, he slowly reaches for your hands, making you drop your book as he wraps his large hands around your wrists and pulls you to your feet. Your surprised squeal quickly pivots into warm laughter bubbling up your throat as Wriothesley twirls your plump figure in a circle, strong arms catching you around your plump waist and pulling you closer until your chests are touching. You have to crane your neck back to look up at him, his ice blue eyes glimmering like crystals as he stares back at you. His thick arms wrap around your soft waist as he easily lifts you and hoists you until your feet are planted firmly on top of his. You shuffle awkwardly, scared that you’re too heavy to be standing on top of his toes like this but Wriothesley casts all doubt from your mind.

“You’re not a burden. Just follow my lead. You’ll be fine.” 

His strong arms squeeze your plump waist as you reach up and coil your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the baby hairs lining the nape of his neck as he leads you in a close, intimate dance. His heavy boots tap rhythmically against the floor as he slowly dances with you along to the soft melody, a smile playing on his lips as the tension slowly eases from your shoulders. Your soft body squishes under his touch as he spins you in place, eliciting a warm smile from your soft features. Only for you to erupt with laughter as he suddenly dips your body before wrenching you upright once more. 

“See look at that, you’re a natural” Wriothesley chimes as he spins you once more. 

You hum softly, eyes occasionally glancing at the placement of your feet. “It’s because you’re a good teacher.”

Wriothesley softly snorts in response, holding you closer as you both indulge in the dance just a little longer. 

Zhongli: 

You were dead tired after a long, hard day at work. A warm bath soaking in essential oils was a welcome treat and you simply melted into a warm puddle of goo as you relaxed your weary, plump body in the warm waters. Zhongli joined you as well, but not in the tub. Instead, he sat by the porcelain rim, helping to wash and detangle your hair of any knots. He even helped wash your back as you recounted the day's events, his deep voice calm and soothing to your ears as he washed your hair of any remaining soap suds. 

“And the worst part?” you added at the end of your story. “I get to do it all again tomorrow.”

A warm chuckle breezed past Zhongli’s lips, his rich voice sending a pleasant tingle down your spine as he carded his fingers through your damp hair. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the side of your temple and making you purr in content as the firm touch of his hands eased the aches and pains in your sore muscles. 

“You’ll survive, dear” he replied. “You’re strong.”

You lapped up his attention eagerly, practically glowing with content. You soaked in the tub for a little longer, only considering getting out when your skin started to prune from being in the water for so long. Zhongli noticed too and he stood up to fetch your towel, his voice echoing off the tiled walls as it cut through the wisps of steaming stemming from your bath. 

“I believe it's time for you to get out now, dear.”

You hummed in agreement as Zhongli’s shadow fell over you, small ripples dancing along the water’s edge as you tucked your knees closer to your chest. It wasn’t that you were reluctant to get out, but your legs felt like the consistency of jelly and you didn’t know if you’d be able to stand without some semblance of pain lancing through your nerves. 

“I don’t think I can get up” you said. 

You were only half joking. You really weren’t sure. You still weren’t keen on getting out. But Zhongli did not scold or reprimand you, telling you that you were exaggerating or rolling his eyes at your antics. He pursed his lips as he hummed thoughtfully, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled past his elbows to expose the gold and amber engraved into his strong arms. 

“Then I’ll just pick you up myself.”

You only just registered his words as he reached into the tub, arms looping under your armpits when he was suddenly lifting you. With a surprised squeak you followed his movements, standing on shaky legs only to have them swept out from underneath you in the next instance. Your head was slightly dizzy as your plump thighs rested over Zhongli’s arm, the other looped around your soft middle as he effortlessly lifted you out of the tub, water sloshing and spilling over the lip of the tub to wet the tiled floor below. You knew Zhongli was strong and he had picked you up several times before, but it never failed to make you swoon when he handled you like your weight was not a burden to him. You were dripping wet in his arms but he didn’t seem to mind the contact of your soft body as he placed you down on an old, wooden chair that was seated in the corner of the bathroom. You were only shivering for a few, brief seconds before Zhongli wrapped your big, fluffy towel around your plump body, placing another on top of your head as he assisted you with drying your hair.

You stayed nice and still for him as he ran the towel through your hair, massaging his fingers through the damp strands as he scratched a pleasant itch along your scalp. You peeked up at him beneath the towel once he was done, a little smile dancing on your lips as your eyes shimmered with amusement. He cocked his head to the side, waiting patiently for you to speak.

“Can you carry me back to bed too?” you asked.

It was more of a suggestion. A hopeful suggestion. And to your delight Zhongli nodded along, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“I can do that, little love.”

Boothill:

You noticed that you had been gaining weight recently. And that revelation made you feel miserable. Boothill started to notice your shift in mood as well. It was particularly concerning to your cyborg space cowboy when he noticed you picking at your food one day, a sullen look weighing down your features as you poked and prodded your food with the tip of your fork. He was sure he hadn’t seen you take a bite yet.  

“What’s wrong, darling?” Boothill asked, mechanical voice whirring with concern from the other side of the table.

Your gaze flickered over to him, the chair he was sitting in creaking when he leaned forward. You shook your head as your gaze travelled back to your plate of food. 

“It’s nothing” you denied, voice despondent. 

“Ah fiddlesticks, don’t say it ain’t nothing darl. You’ve barely touched your food. Come on, you can tell ol’ Boothill what’s got you so down in the dumps.”

So you tell him. You lament to him how you’ve noticed your recent weight gain and how it is making you feel miserable. You can’t bring yourself to eat. Food doesn’t bring you joy anymore. Eating just means you’re going to gain more weight. Boothill only interjects when you start comparing yourself to other people who have perfect, flawless bodies and how you could never hope to achieve something like that.

“Hold up doll” Boothill said, brows pinched together in a fierce look. “Has anyone been saying something about your weight? Because I’ll go and get the muddlefudger and give ‘em a real good shake down.”

And you reply that no, no one has been saying anything to your face about it. But Boothill could still see the sadness lingering in your stare and it made him draw you into his arms. You resist at first when he tugs on your wrists, but with enough gentle coaxing you get up from your seat and make your way over to Boothill. You fall into his lap as he loops an arm around your plump waist, his other metal hand resting on your back as you balance yourself on his knee. 

“Hey sweet pea, you’re not doing yourself any favours by stressing about it” Boothill said, his voice soft. 

You hummed in response, still weepy eyed and looking miserable. It only made Boothill want to coddle you further. He tipped your chin in his direction, the cold bite of his metal fingers on your warm skin only stinging briefly before the cool touch started to heat up from the warmth of your skin. 

“Now I know I could tell you not to worry about it until the cows come home and you’ll think I’m full of hogwash. But you’re the prettiest person I know and ain’t nothing gonna change that. It doesn’t matter to me if you gained a little weight. Hell, you need me to pick you up like last time and prove that I can still toss you around?”

His words eventually started to sink in the more he talked and that last part made you snort a little. Boothill was beaming that he finally was able to at least make you smile a fraction. He squeezed your soft waist, running his hand along the ridges of your spine as you settled more comfortably in his lap. 

“Come on darl. You’ve got to eat. And if you’re still upset about all this later? We’ll work something out, I promise.”

Aalto

You had been feeling down a bit lately and Aalto started to notice your sullen mood. When he asked you what was wrong one day, on a warm spring day where the flowers were just starting to bloom once more, you told him what was wrong. 

“I think I’ve been gaining weight again” you lamented, eyes downcast and shy as you avoided looking at your boyfriend. 

A thoughtful hum stirred in the back of Aalto’s throat as he peered at you beneath the rim of his sunglasses. “Are you sure? Here, let me check.”

You barely register his words in your head, a soft “huh?” falling from your parted lips as Aalto waltzed over to you, wrapped his arms around your plump waist and lifted you up. You barely had time to brace yourself, hands scrambling for purchase on his sturdy shoulders as he held you aloft with ease, arms hugged tight around your soft waist as he flashed you a cheeky grin. 

“Nah, you weigh the same to me” Aalto replied. “Light as a feather.”

A soft snort stirred in the back of your throat and you started to smile at his goofy attitude. Aalto was obviously impressed with himself, preening under your attention as you fondly shook your head, rotten thoughts dispelled as you pinched his cheeks until they were cherry red. 

“You’re such a charmer” you playfully bit. “And a bit of a dork.”

Aalto playfully wriggled his eyebrows as you cupped his warm cheeks. “Yeah, but I’m your dork, hun.”

You couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him stupid.

Yinlin

Yinlin’s lap is reserved for you and you alone. Whenever you’re having a particularly bad day or whenever you start complaining that you’re just a tad too heavy, she’s immediately pulling you to her lap to coddle you. She babies you a little as she wraps her arms around your plump waist and balances you on her knees. She means well as she pinches your chubby, round cheeks between her fingers and tugs until you are smiling at her, giggling shyly as you playfully swat her hands away. Yinlin is good at weaving her words, validating your feelings and making you feel desired despite your complex relationship with your body image and weight. You feel pleasant tingles run along your spine as her fingers dance along your back, drawing soothing patterns into your body as she gives your soft waist a squeeze. 

“Don’t beat yourself up, sweet thing” she coos. “I think you’re perfect, just the way you are. And no one can tell you otherwise. Not even you sweetie.”

You give her a bashful smile and nod, playing with the long strands of vibrant red hair as you silently start to knot braids into the silky smooth wisps, making yourself comfortable as Yinlin let you stay in her lap for a little while longer. 

Gepard

You were running through the streets of Belobog, very, very late to a meet up with Serval. You were hoping, praying, that you weren’t going to be scolded for your tardiness as you rushed through the streets, dodging and weaving past people as you rushed to her workshop. Unfortunately for you, just as you reached the front door, you slipped on some ice in your haste, the heels of your boots making a terrible, shrieking noise that grated against your ears as you skidded. But fortunately for you, you ran straight into Gepard just as he left his sister’s workshop and if it wasn’t for his quick thinking, you would have smashed your face into the pavement. 

Your head was spinning as Gepard caught you and saved you from a nasty fall, his strong arms wrapped tight around your plump waist as he held you aloft and completely halted your momentum. You swear you went cross eyed from the abrupt stop, your gut lurching and you felt like you were about to choke on the raggard breath that got lodged in your throat. You were panting like you were currently fighting for your life, your legs aching something fierce from having sprinted all the way from the other side of Belobog just to get here. You groaned in pain and squirmed in Gepard’s hold.

“Woah easy there” he said, arms squeezed tight around your soft waist as he continued to hold you. “Slow down and take a deep breath.”

You were both stunned from what just happened and unbeknownst to you, Serval was snickering at you both from the doorway, subtly reaching for her phone to take a sneaky picture of you two both in the moment. You absentmindedly pat Gepard’s arm as he helps to put you the right way up, yet he still refused to let you go easily as he examined you head to toe for any sign of injury.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine, Gepard. Thanks for catching me.”

“You need to be careful. You shouldn’t be running through the streets like that” Gepard lightly reprimanded. 

You opened your mouth to say something but you swallowed your words when you realised that he was still holding you off the ground in his big, strong arms. It was like your weight meant nothing to him and you were starting to swoon from the sight. Your head was spinning again for a different reason. 

“Um, hey Gepard?” you asked, interrupting his small tirade about safety as you timidly licked your lips. “Can you please put me down?”

It took a long moment before Gepard realised just exactly how he was holding you and that you were a tad flustered because of it. He immediately apologised, stumbling over his words as he carefully placed your feet back on the ground. You hummed in appreciation, sparing him a sheepish smile as you straightened your clothes out. Serval snickered from the doorway again, a little louder this time and you both heard it this time as she playfully waved her phone, the screen displaying the awkward moment in clear, high pixel resolution. She crowed about it the entire week, calling you the cutest couple she had ever laid her eyes upon.

Jiyan

“Is something the matter?” Jiyan asked. 

His question caught you off guard and the first thing to fall from your mouth was a very undignified:

“Huh?”

He’s not perturbed by your response. He actually thinks it’s a little endearing the way you had been caught in a seemingly peaceful daydream as you blinked owlishly up at him, the flutter of your lashes over your round, chubby cheeks an adorable sight that he smiled fondly at. He politely cleared his throat and started again. 

“I’ve noticed you stealing glances at me for quite some time now” he explained. “Is everything alright?”

You feel your cheeks get warm under his soft gaze and you can’t help but fiddle with the flaking skin around your nails as a small distraction. You obviously hadn’t been subtle enough with the longing glances you had sent his way, staring at him for longer than was probably appropriate but given how intimate you already were with the General, he didn’t take offence to it. It looked like you had something on your mind as he patiently waited for you to carefully pick the words out of your brain and form a coherent response. 

“I was just thinking…” you started. “I…have a request.”

You stole another glance at him, feeling your cheeks get hotter by the second as you squirmed on the spot and let your thoughts come tumbling out. 

“I…Can you-Could you please pick me up in your arms?”

Jiyan stared at you in mild surprise, the request not at all what he was expecting. Before he even got the chance to respond, you immediately cut him off, waving your hands in the air as you tried to swat the words out of the air and dismiss the request. 

“I’m sorry, that probably sounded a little weird. It’s just I let my thoughts wander but you don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable” you rambled, going off on a tangent like you needed to give a satisfactory explanation for your behaviour. “Just ignore it, I know it’s a strange request and you-”

You only stop short when you realize Jiyan was standing right in front of you and bundling you into his arms without a second thought. You squeaked loudly, every muscle in your body locking up as Jiyan easily picked you up in a bridal carry, your plump legs thrown over his arm while he hooks the over around your soft waist. You stared up at him in a daze, words stuck in your throat as you stared at his handsome face as he offered you a kind smile.

“Like this?” he asked. 

You swallowed the nervous lump in your throat as you started to nod your head vigorously in agreement. He made it look so effortless and you felt weightless being held in his arms like this; a complete dream come true.

Xiao

“Are you coming?” Xiao called down at you from atop the roof of Wangshu Inn.

You nodded in response as you slowly climbed the winding branches interwoven throughout the humble inn. Dusk was just settling in and tonight was going to be a clear night. Perfect for sitting under the stars and gazing at them for hours on end. A small huff puffed passed your plump lips as you reached for the next branch, pulling yourself up as you neared the shingled rooftops. Xiao stared down at you from above, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line as he took keen observation over your footfalls. You insisted that you could climb up here yourself and that Xiao didn’t need to use his teleporting capabilities to whisk you up. It was partial because whenever he did use that ability on you, it left you feeling nauseous for several, terrible minutes. 

He was only able to stand watching you clamber up for barely a minute before he vaulted over the edge and decided to help you up himself. It’s not that you couldn’t do it by yourself, you were capable. It’s just he couldn’t think of all the possible cuts and splinters you would get, blemishes on your soft body that he highly adored. The thought irked him enough that he decided to help you the rest of the way. He wordlessly landed beside you and before you could get a word out, Xiao wrapped his arms around your plump waist and hoisted you up before he took a mighty leap and landed back on the rooftop. 

Your head was spinning but in a pleasant way as Xiao slowly lowered you back down until you were standing back on your feet. You offered him a shy smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The sunset was gorgeous from where you were standing and as you admired the view, Xiao gently grabbed your wrist and guided you to sit down. Only for you to fall into his lap as he purposefully tugged you down on top of him until you were firmly seated on top of his legs. You figured Xiao must have been in a good mood if he was being so bold with you and the thought made you feel a little warm and fuzzy on the inside. He silently wrapped his arms around your soft waist once more, tugging you closer as he hooked his chin on your shoulder and watched the sunset with you.

[ghcstao3]

Ghost is being discharged after his luck ran out, now partially deaf with a knee he needs to watch.

At the ceremony is families of other soldiers getting ready to take them home. All cheering and happy to have their loved ones back. Among the crowd someone Price seems to recognise and smile at.

Once it's all over, Ghost is getting ready to leave when he notices the lone man talking to the others. Eventually coming over to him.

The scot is from the mechanics department, unable to enlist due to be partially deaf from his family. He's there to just talk to everyone leaving and hopefully give them a good moment before leaving the life they've grown used to. Ghost being one he wants to talk to as well.

Ghost wants to refuse the offer of a drink, but he's intrigued by this stranger so decides to take it.

Being alive for the end of his military career is something Ghost had stopped planning for a very, very long time ago. Yet here he stands, medically discharged with a bum knee and shit hearing, just wishing he could go home.

Price had claimed the socialization would be good for him ("Can't become a recluse in retirement, Riley"), and that it wouldn't hurt to give himself some proper closure, but Ghost begs to differ—he's exhausted, his leg hurts, and even just talking with his former captain has begun to feel draining.

So it's a great relief when the din of conversation begins to die down and Price reluctantly gives him the green light to leave—but it's at this point that, upon casting a cursory glance around the thinning crowd, the captain spots who Ghost must assume is a friend, by the smile and curt wave Price throws over Ghost's shoulder.

Curious, Ghost turns to follow Price's line of sight across the room, his gaze falling on a man he hadn't noticed prior, nor that he recognizes. The man raises a hand in acknowledgement of Price, his face friendly (and handsome) even half-turned and far away. He's helping with clean-up, in conversation with a few lingering veterans, though Ghost notes he isn't in uniform like himself, Price, and others; Ghost wonders how he and Price could be familiar.

But as he turns to ask, he finds that Price has disappeared on him, and now Ghost feels terribly awkward standing alone in the middle of a room he already didn't want be in with someone he knows.

Then someone clears his throat beside him, and Ghost suddenly finds himself face-to-face with Price's mystery friend, acquaintance, whatever.

"Hey," the man greets, sticking out his hand for Ghost to shake, "I'm John. MacTavish. But you can call me Soap."

Ghost eyes Soap's hand, but doesn't accept it. He arches a brow at the nickname. "The hell kind of a name is Soap?"

Somewhat to Ghost's surprise, Soap merely laughs, something loud and warm and bright. He offers a wry grin, the expression (charmingly, endearingly) lopsided. "Long story," he says, then pauses, briefly searching past Ghost like something's missing. "Saw Price was here with you, but he seems to have vanished, aye?"

Ghost can't help but snort. "Tell me about it. Bastard made me attend, forced me to stay, then left me alone," he mutters. "Thinks he's still my captain."

"Your captain, huh?" Soap's grin twists into a calmer, more tame smile—polite and considerate, like Ghost had seen him wear while chatting not several minutes before. His eyes, however, electric blue and brimming with the unknown, tell a different story, one that Ghost finds himself wanting to read. "What say you to drinks? If you'd be open to talkin' more, that is."

Ghost frowns. "You don't even know my name."

Soap shrugs. "I'd find out eventually."

"Presumptuous," Ghost replies, deadpan.

"I call it ambitious," Soap counters, teasing. He tilts his head, and only then does Ghost notice the hearing aid in one of his ears. "So?"

Ghost stares. "So?"

"Drinks," Soap reminds. "You look like you could use a nice scotch."

The former lieutenant considers the proposal, more inclined to say no—but a second longer of thought has Ghost wanting to unearth the mystery of John "Soap" MacTavish, strangely enough. So he nods, tentative, and does his best to ignore his hammering heart when Soap's face lights up as he does so.

"Make it a bourbon and you have a deal," Ghost says, and somehow that makes Soap beam even wider.

There, Price, Ghost thinks, as Soap leads him out of the venue, not as socially inept as you thought.

He just hopes that going along won't turn out to be a mistake.

[megamindsecretlair]

Say You Love Me

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Angst. Smut. Cursing, dirty talk, PIV, fingering (female receiving), oral (female receiving), minor D/s elements, all consensual. Allusions to drug use, masturbation.

Summary: After Frankie returned from the trip, he seemed like a different person. More moody and withdrawn. You finally couldn't take it anymore, all the times he snorted drugs and fucked up. You kicked him out and it has been months. After getting scared half to death, you finally admit to yourself that you miss being around Frankie. You decide to clear the air once and for all, getting reacquainted with him. 

Word Count: 7,234k

AO3 Link

A/N: Finally stopped being a baby and decided to write and post this. Idk why this has been plauging my brain, but I enjoy it and I hope you do too. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @soft-persephone @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00 @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @superhoeva @softimgyu @eggnox

You rolled over in bed, stretching your hand across the other side and finding the space cold. Every morning you woke up, reaching out for a body that would no longer be there. No matter how many times you started the night in the middle of the bed, your body was too used to “your” side. 

You sighed, snatching your hand back, and got out of bed. It was approaching midday on Saturday and you were too damn tired to do anything. Work was kicking your ass per usual and your daughter had been up all damn night crying. It took a village to raise a baby. Your daughter had to settle for you.

You looked and felt like hell. You passed a mirror, not bothering to give yourself more than a cursory glance. You knew you looked how you felt and you didn’t want any visual reminders. You went down the hall, checking in on your baby girl, Inez. She was up all damn night so you decided to postpone going to the park today. Let her sleep some of that wayward energy away.

You’d have to find something else to tire her out during the day so that you got some kind of sleep. Inez was far too young to understand why Daddy wasn’t home, but old enough to ask about him. Constantly. And hell if you knew what to say. You didn’t understand it yourself.

Your daughter needed you, so you didn’t get to fall apart like you wanted. You finally closed her bedroom door, walking down the hall once more towards the kitchen. The kitchen was open and spacious enough to feel like you could cook without too many things in the way.

There was a small kitchen island in the middle, where the sink was, and extra counter space to work. You took out ingredients for pancakes, eggs, and bacon. You yawned as you greased the pan with butter, turning to the countertop to start mixing the pancake mix.

You set everything down, reaching into your spice cabinet. You braced yourself to fight with the cabinet door, damn thing had been stuck for months, but it gave way easily. You stumbled a bit and looked at it, testing the cabinet by opening and closing it.

“The hell…” You muttered. You tested the cabinet again. Matter of fact, strange things like that had been happening for a while. Where things that were once loose or in need of fixing magically repaired itself overnight.

Were you sleepwalking and fixing things? Had you imagined that these things were broken? You remembered bitching to Frankie that he needed to stop snorting shit and actually be useful around the house. Some of that was picking a fight because it was more convenient to yell at him than admit how frustrated you were with him, life, or work. 

You closed the cabinet with a frown, making a mental note to investigate it later. As you turned around, you jumped with a scream on your lips. A shadow passed outside of your house. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to yell out for Frankie, that there was a stranger outside. Bastard was no longer there. Your heart raced as you peered out of your kitchen window. Whatever or whoever it had been was too quick. You couldn’t see past a certain angle, as the kitchen was tucked in the corner of the house.

“Shit, shit,” you whispered. You never touched Frankie’s guns, despite how many times he begged to show you how to defend yourself. 

“Why would I need to know how when I have a big strong man to do it for me?” Your words to him echoed in your mind as you backed away from the kitchen slowly, eyes glued to the window. It could be nothing. It could be something. But fuck if you didn’t wish you had listened to Frankie at the moment.

You padded away, barefoot, careful of every creak as if the person or thing outside could hear it. You backed all the way to your bedroom, grabbing a bat. You really didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to have to fend off an attacker. Too many scenarios ran through your mind.

What about your daughter? What about you? How were you going to protect her if this thing or person hit you, hurt you, or killed you? And who the hell does something like this in broad daylight? A fucking psychopath.

You swallowed around a huge dry lump in your throat, feeling your heartbeat in every step you took towards your daughter’s room. 

Faintly, there was a scratching sound. Or perhaps a knock? You couldn’t make it out. It was so quiet in the house, you couldn’t decipher the house settling or an intruder trying to break in. 

You opened Inez’s room by a crack, checking to ensure that she was still asleep and none the wiser. You debated if you should wake her up and stow her in her closet or in yours. No. You needed to make sure that the asshole never made it past you. It was that simple.

You closed her door as softly as possible, inching down the hall towards the back of the house. Towards the source of the noise. It sounded louder. Or maybe you were just getting closer.

Either way, you were nearly to the back door. There was a large shadow there. You could see your locks getting turned. You trembled with fear, but there was only one thought in your head, “Gotta protect my baby.”

The locks gave way just as you raised the bat in your hand. You had a fleeting thought about bringing a bat to a gun fight when a large man let himself into your house, lifted his head, that damn baseball cap moving to reveal chocolate brown eyes and a scruffy beard.

“Francisco Morales!” You harshly whispered, lowering the bat.

Frankie stopped in his tracks, eyes wide, lips puckered in an apology. “Sorry!” He said in the same tone you were using.

A mixture of relief and adrenaline flooded through your system, making you sway. You leaned on the wall for support. Frankie reached out but you held up the bat to keep him away.

“I almost peed my fucking pants!” You furiously whispered.

Frankie looked down at your bare legs. You opted to wear a blue tank and black shorts to bed since you had the heater cranked up to a hundred. Without him as a space heater, going to bed was damn near frigid. 

Heat rushed through you at the look on his face. Despite the tense situation, he still looked ready to devour you. Sex was never your problem. It’d been entirely too long since you felt his touch but that was beside the point. He was still a bastard.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. Damn him. He looked good, sporting dark jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt. The shirt was stretched over his biceps, granting you a view of his golden skin tanned from being outside. He wore his signature cap, curls peeking out from underneath. 

“It’s my house,” you said.

“I mean, yes. But why aren’t you at the park?” He asked.

You stared at him. “What?” 

“You’re usually at the park by now,” he said.

“Are you stalking me?” You asked. You had too many thoughts whirling through your mind and not nearly enough food. Your stomach chose that moment to growl. You placed a hand over your belly, willing it to shut the fuck up. 

Frankie lifted an eyebrow and you scowled at him. “No, I’m not stalking you. I just…” he grew quiet, licking his lips and suddenly looking everywhere but at you.

“Spit it out,” you said. Whatever it was, it had to be bad. You couldn’t begin to imagine what he had up his sleeve at the moment. What fanciful yarn of shit he was getting ready to spin.

“I sort of fix things while you’re gone,” he said slowly. 

“Sort of?” 

“You were always telling me about things I needed to fix. And I never did. I..I wanted to make sure shit worked around here, even when I’m not here.” 

You sagged against the wall, chuckling though there wasn’t a damn thing funny. “That’s you?” You asked.

Well, at least you weren’t going crazy. It was just like Frankie to show up a day late and a dollar short. “So you let yourself into my house while I’m gone?” You asked. You leaned the bat against the wall. You placed a hand over your chest. Your heart was still beating a hundred times per second. 

Frankie stood framed by the doorway, sunlight hitting the back of him and making him glow slightly. He kept one hand on the handle as if he didn’t know he should bolt or stay. 

“It’s my house too,” he said, a deep sigh leaving him. 

“You can’t be here, Frankie. You can’t let yourself in to fix things. I have…I can call someone to come fix it,” you said.

“And have some piece of shit overcharge you or some stranger in here?” 

“It’s not your business anymore,” you whispered. Having Frankie here, in the flesh, while you were half naked, was screwing with your nerves. It had been too long since you'd seen him longer than the time it took to drop your daughter off at Santiago’s where Frankie was staying. 

And he caught you in a particularly vulnerable moment, missing the heat of his skin and the curve of his lips. Frankie turned wide eyes towards you and licked his lips. He dropped his hand from the knob and placed his hands on his lean hips. “Let me at least fix one more thing,” he said.

“Frankie…” You sighed.

“Just one more. And…I won’t come around anymore.” You tried to ignore the trembling in his voice. The thickness of his words and how he forced himself to say it. 

You were tired. And he caught you on a bad day. You knew it was a bad idea, but you moved away and let him enter. He closed the door and locked it, giving you a brief smile before he walked down the hallway. You saw him glance towards your daughter’s room, but he kept moving on towards the kitchen.

You debated throwing on a robe or longer pants. Anything to not make you feel so exposed. But this was your house, dammit. And just because he pushed his way in, didn’t mean that you had to change anything on your side.

Frankie assessed the kitchen and noted your breakfast supplies. “Pancakes?” He asked. 

You nodded. Frankie nodded. It was all so awkward. Staring at him across a chasm of pain and frustration. You’d give anything to run to his side, tuck yourself under his arm, and just breathe in his scent. Feel warmed by his body heat.

“Christ, it’s hot in here,” he said. He took off his cap and wiped sweat from his brow, fixing his hair before returning the cap. He was letting it get too long, the ends curling against his ears. 

You cleared your throat and put yourself to good use by finishing up breakfast. Inez would be up soon and you wanted to get her something to eat. You didn’t know what you would do if she caught Frankie here. She would inevitably ask if he was staying for breakfast. You finished up bacon, making extra…just in case. 

Frankie moved around the kitchen like a phantom, knowing exactly where everything was. He should, it had only been a few months since the separation. Since he followed his friends on some asinine “top secret mission” and came back changed somehow. He offered you no explanation. You held on to the anger you felt, the hurt, the many ways you tried to get him to open up and he never did. 

You cleared your throat again, not wanting to go down that dark path once more. “If it’s too warm, I can turn down the heater,” Frankie offered.

“I got it,” you said. You didn’t move towards the thermostat. You continued mixing the pancake mix and wishing he’d hurry the hell up. You felt his eyes on you linger for a brief moment before he dropped to the floor, getting under the kitchen sink. You moved out of his way, standing off to the side while you spun the spoon around and around. Trying to ignore the length of him. His legs as he propped them on the floor. His heavy, scuffed boots. 

Frankie grunted as he worked. You hadn’t seen him grab his old tool box and you nearly tripped over it. You cursed as it hit your foot, your baby toe smarting from where you hit it. Frankie gave you a lopsided grin.

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” He asked.

“Focus on yourself,” you said, though you noticed it had no bite in your words. A kiss from him…you must be loopy. Not seeing Frankie helped. Not being reminded of how pretty he is when he’s sober, teasing, and open like he was before. It was easy to focus on your daughter or work, day by day, too tired to worry about how you arrived here.

“We used to have fun finding things to fix,” he said, returning to whatever the hell he was doing.

You didn’t say anything as you turned your attention to the eggs, getting it prepped before putting it on to cook. You whisked the eggs as you remembered when you first moved to the house. It was a piece of shit then, but you had fun making it into a home. Into something both of you were proud of. 

“I let too many things slide,” he said.

“Can’t you fix that shit in silence?” You snapped. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, mixing and mixing and mixing. You were scatterbrained, Frankie’s presence conjuring up many memories and thoughts. But the only one you were stuck on now, was how amazing he looked. His shirt had ridden up while he reached under the sink. You saw a hint of his tummy, so thick and luscious with a happy trail leading straight down to…

“Eyes up here, gorgeous,” he muttered. You looked up and caught his eyes and a smirk on his face. 

You turned back to the stove, turning it back on, and obscuring your face from his. So what, he caught you staring. It’d been months…Months since you kissed him, held him, or felt any kind of relief. You tried after he was gone. Tried pleasuring yourself in your bed, in your bathtub, in the living room after your daughter went off to bed. 

Nothing worked. It was like your body had gotten much too used to the way he took care of you, your fingers and vibrator no longer did shit for you. Asshole. Out of all the things he did, he didn’t have to take that from you as well. You’d be able to think more clearly, act better, when you got around him if you weren’t so pent up. None of this…yearning.

You turned around, ready to plate the eggs when Frankie stood behind you. Too close. You gasped, standing so close to him that your breasts nearly brushed his chest. He smiled crookedly at you, looking down, when he whispered, “Forgot something in my truck.”

You nodded. Swallowed painfully. He didn’t move. Didn’t touch you, didn’t say anything, just stood there in the kitchen looking down at you. 

“Is there anything else that needs fixing around here?” He asked.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him that your body needed fixing. Your heart too. You shook your head, moving past him since he wasn’t inclined to move. He sucked in a sharp bite of air as your body slid against his. Possibly on purpose. 

“Daddy!” Inez shrieked in the otherwise quiet house. Frankie’s face erupted in a big smile. 

“Chiquita! (Little one!) Look at you!” He said. He stooped down and scooped up your daughter, swirling her around the kitchen in a giant bear hug. The eggs popped behind you. 

You softly cursed, taking the pan off of the stove and turning it off. Not burnt but…not soft either. You plated the eggs, turning your attention to Frankie as he held Inez in his arms. 

She chattered away, catching him up on everything he missed since he’d seen her last weekend. Everything that happened on Bluey, with school, with her friends, and with a squirrel she grew fond of in the backyard. 

Frankie listened to everything, rapt attention, like your daughter was providing exclusive news coverage. He asked her questions, getting her to open up more. It made your heart sick. 

“Is Daddy staying again?” Inez asked.

Your lips parted but no words were forthcoming. You looked to Frankie for help, though you didn’t know why. Bastard was smiling at you. “I can’t let you eat all the bacon. I’m a growing boy, I need food,” he said. He pouted at your daughter who shrieked with giggles. 

“You’re already growed up!” 

“Growed is not a word,” you said. 

“Mommy’s just jealous. She’s already growed up, too,” Frankie said. 

You tilted your head at him but he only shrugged. You rolled your eyes.  “I suppose I can spare a few slices…”

Inez yelled in victory, mimicking her father when he watched sports. He yelled the same way, placing your daughter down on the floor. He got down to her level, fixing her pjs and then tapped her nose.

“Now, I wanna see clean teeth and a scrubbed face in ten minutes,” he said. He looked at his watch. “Go!” 

Your daughter took off towards the bathroom, huffing and pumping her short little legs to beat Frankie’s clock. He watched her with a slight chuckle and you watched him. You hated that they worked so well together. You started to feel like the Wicked Witch of the East keeping them apart. 

You never denied Frankie a chance to see his daughter. But you knew that he was maintaining a healthy distance for your sake. Because whenever you got around him, you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss him or scratch his eyes out. 

Frankie stood up, walking over to you. “I can make up something if you don’t really want me here,” he said. 

And be the one to crush your daughter’s heart? He stood too close again, crowding your space in the way that he always liked. Frankie reminded you of a puppy, a wolf puppy, but a puppy that just liked to snuggle. Touch. Caress. Part of his charm was that he was so openly caring that way. 

“It’s okay. Some payment is in order for fixing the sink. Finally,” you couldn’t help but add. 

Frankie smiled, placing a hand over his chest. “You wound me,” he said.

“Better hurry before there’s no more bacon left.” Frankie smiled, turning on the sink. You waited for it to sputter like normal, shooting out water before clearing and returning to a normal flow. When it didn’t, Frankie winked at you and washed his hands. 

“I still need something from the truck, I’ll hurry,” he said. He went out the front door this time. You moved everything to the dining table, getting out three plates instead of two. You peeked out of the window as Frankie climbed into his truck, retrieving a plastic bag. 

The sun damn sure loved him. It highlighted his tanned skin, like the sun itself was giving him a kiss. The red in his hair stuck out against the sun. He turned towards the house and you moved on, hoping he didn’t catch you staring again. 

Frankie came back in, waving some kind of nugget for the sink. You didn’t have a clue what it did but if he said he needed it, then so be it. Your daughter returned, grinning up at Frankie. He stooped down to one knee, looking at her. 

“Did you just splash water everywhere?” He asked.

“Noooo,” Inez said. She was a bad liar. 

Frankie chuckled. “With soap this time, please Chiquita?” Your daughter’s shoulders slumped as she went back to the bathroom. 

You giggled as you poured orange juice for her and started the coffee maker. “Would it be alright…?”

“Black. I know, Frankie,” you said. It had been his standing order when he was still here. You liked doing domestic shit for him. Liked taking care of him to appreciate him for all the small ways he took care of you. Fuck, you missed it.

Your daughter returned and you all sat down to breakfast, like the good old times. You talked and laughed, played board games. Frankie told you to take a nap while he took your daughter out to the park to tire her out. You loved the idea so you agreed.

When you awoke, it was well past dark outside. You sleepily emerged from the bedroom, finding Frankie asleep on the couch with your daughter tucked into his lap. You sneakily backed away, grabbing your phone so that you could snap a picture. 

Done, you leaned against the doorway staring at the pretty picture of them. Frankie adjusted himself, waking though you swore you hadn’t made a noise. He smiled sleepily at you, kissing your daughter’s forehead.

“Guess we both knocked out,” he said. 

“I’ll get her in bed,” you said.

“Let me?” He asked.

You nodded. He stood up slowly, cradling your daughter and took her to the room. You didn’t watch as he tucked her in. Couldn’t stand this separation a moment longer. You were weak. Weak in the damn knees and there was no solid ground beneath you. 

A wall of heat preceded Frankie before he stood behind you. He made no move to touch you, just stood there for a second before moving past. He cleared his throat. “I won’t come over anymore, promise,” he said. 

“I never really thanked you for fixing all that stuff,” you said.

“I should’ve done it while I was here. I wanted to do something nice for once. So you didn’t always think I was a piece of shit,” he said.

“I never thought you were a piece of shit, Frankie,” you said. You shook your head. This talk had been a long time coming. You supposed it was about time. Now, when you weren’t still so angry. Funny how a decent nap fixed a lot of things. 

When you kicked him out, it had been a huge screaming match. Luckily, your daughter was next door at a sleepover. But still. You were surprised you hadn’t woken the entire neighborhood. 

“It felt like…you didn’t want to be here. Like all you could think about was escaping. You were always up in the air and even when you were home, you were snorting shit or out with your friends. I started to feel like…” You weren’t quite that brave, to admit that it felt like he didn’t love you anymore. Couldn’t bear to toss those words out there.

Frankie saw you flinch anyway. He closed the distance and looked down at you with those haunting brown eyes. “You and Inez are the only important things in my life. I fucked that up, I know. But I swear to you, I wasn’t trying to escape. Never from you.” 

Tears welled in your eyes. Fuck, this shit was all so hard. You were staring at your husband, at your best friend, as if he were a stranger. There were so many things familiar about him and so many things you didn’t recognize. 

“Then why…?”

“Bad shit seems to pile up sometimes. So much so that the only way to drown it out is either up my nose or down the bottom of a bottle. I don’t want to burden you with that shit,” he said. He sighed and shook his head.

“It’s not a burden,” you said.

“It was to me. I only ever wanted you to keep being open and smiling. And happy, mi vida (my life).” 

“That’s not realistic, Frankie. Your burdens are my burdens. Mines are yours. That’s kinda in the marriage contract,” you said. 

“Do you know when I fell in love with you?” Frankie asked. He stepped closer, a shadow falling across your face because of his hat. 

“Frankie…” you sighed, shaking your head. Trying to ward off his words. You didn’t want to hear about his love. You didn’t want to think about all this time apart. 

“We’d only been dating two months. We had plans for a picnic. One of those fancy shits that people do because it’s cute and you just want to spend time together. Only, we got there, and it started raining. I thought you were going to think I was dumb or stupid for not checking the forecast. I thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore.”

Your thoughts turned to that date. It was the exact opposite. You felt so over the moon about him already. You liked his voice and the cute way he meticulously planned everything and looked so nervous. It could have been a picnic in the park or running to the store, you just wanted to gobble up all of his time and attention. 

“But then you stood up while everyone was running for cover and you turned your face to the rain. And fuck, I’d never seen such a beautiful person before. Never felt felt like I was in the presence of, fuck, royalty or divinity or something.”

You laughed. You didn’t want to but he was being too damn cute. “Shut up,” you said.

“You know I don’t always have the right words. But I never felt like I deserved you. I left so often because I knew I was fucking up. I knew I did. I know I still do. And it fuckin’ hurts knowing that I want to be a better man for you and I can’t,” he said.

Your chest ached for him. “I never asked you to be a better man, Frankie. You already were,” you said. Didn’t the big idiot see? He was an amazing father. A great husband when he was on the right track. He always made you feel so safe and protected. Loved. Cherished. Respected. 

He gave and he gave, often at the expense of himself. He was a provider and a protector. Just because it was built into his DNA. And he thought he wasn’t a better man? 

Frankie dropped to his knees. He took your hand in his and kissed the back of it. When you didn’t pull away, his large hands encircled your waist. He planted his forehead against your stomach. 

Softly, so softly you only heard him because it was quiet in the living room, he began speaking rapidly in Spanish. It was too fast for you to keep up with. It sounded like a prayer. It sounded like benediction. You slowly reached out and took off his baseball cap and let it drop to the floor.

You ran your hands through his curls, loving the softness of his hair. It was silky soft to the touch and you ran your fingers through it. Frankie sighed but continued. Reaching some kind of conclusion, he looked up at you. 

“I don’t deserve another chance, mi vida. You’ve put up with far too much from me already. But I can’t go another day without you. Without Inez. I want to be here. I want to be the man you married. I want to be everything you ever needed or wanted. And if you’ll give me that chance, I promise I’ll do everything I can to live up to it.”

You didn’t know what to say. It had been a hard road to being okay with kicking him out. You had spent many restless nights, tossing and turning because you didn’t want him in the house and you couldn’t bear the thought of him not being in it. Giving in right now felt like giving up. But it also felt like the stepping stone to everything you ever wanted from him.

For him to heal whatever was in his heart and mind. The shadows he kept from you. To be the man you married. And here he was, offering it to you on a silver platter. 

“I only want you to be yourself. Can you do that, Frankie?” You asked.

Not missing a beat, Frankie nodded. “I swear it.” 

You cupped his face and kissed him. Sliding your lips against his felt like the first breath of air after swimming for a long time. Like sliding onto clean sheets after a warm shower. Frankie made a low, strangled noise in his throat before he stood up and then crashed his lips back to yours. You caressed the nape of his neck, fingers curling around his hair, pulling him closer. 

Frankie’s hands migrated to your round ass, cupping it and squeezing. You gasped and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, tasting you. He didn’t move or press for more. Too content to stand here and make out with you. When you both were fighting for air, too lost in kisses to be apart for long, you pulled back far enough to whisper, “Take me to bed.” 

Frankie growled but didn’t move. “Are you sure?” He asked.

“Now.” 

Frankie smiled against your lips as he walked you backwards towards your room. You didn’t break contact, kissing, trusting that he knew where to lead you without running you into a door or a dresser. 

Inside your room, he didn’t bother to turn on the light. He kicked the door shut behind him and then he pushed you towards the bed. He broke away long enough to toe off his boots and pull his shirt over his head. 

You felt for him, little ambient light in the room enough to make out his outline. You would like the lights on but you liked the intimacy of the dark. Where you weren’t cataloging everything about him. Weren’t worried about how you looked or if he was enjoying himself. It had been months. Things changed. Affections changed.

You felt none of that in his arms. In the way he ripped off your tank and shorts. The way his thumbs lightly caressed your aching nipples. You gasped, loving the rough texture of his calloused fingers. A man that worked with his hands. There was nothing sexier. 

He moved on from your lips, giving you a breather, while he kissed down your jaw and neck. He hooked his fingers around your shorts and panties, pulling them down in one fell swoop. You could feel the slickness between your thighs already, turned on to the max. Your body needed and craved him. So much so, you had been doing a poor job of hiding it the past few months. Even your memories or fantasies were nothing compared to the real thing. 

You stepped out of your shorts and panties and Frankie pushed you onto the bed. He hooked his arms under your legs and pulled you to the edge of the bed, spreading you wider. Had the light been on, he’d see you closing your eyes and inwardly groaning. 

You didn’t know why you felt shy, only that you did. Only that this time felt different. In so many ways. Sex had never been a problem for you and Frankie. But this felt like more. Like when you first got together and all you wanted to do was explore each other’s bodies. 

“Shh, shh,” Frankie whispered. “You are gorgeous. Beautiful. Devastating,” Frankie whispered against your tummy as he kissed there. 

You giggled. How the hell did he know?

“I know you. Inside and out,” he said when you asked him. He kissed down your tummy as he knelt before you. He dragged his nose through your folds, inhaling. “Still smell so sweet. Tell me, did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asked.

You hesitated. Did you really want to admit that too? That you did but were unable to finish if he wasn’t there?

“Tell me, mi vida,” he said. He bypassed your pussy altogether, moving down to place kisses against your thighs. You sighed, body heating up to dangerous levels. You just wanted him to move, to touch you, to give you that relief you’d been craving for the past few months. 

“Yes,” you finally admitted. The word nearly scraped your throat on the way out. You wanted to fight and tease him. Be sexy. But you were just too damn horny to think correctly at the moment. 

“Did it help?” He asked. He got a teasing lilt in his voice that told you he was enjoying this. Enjoying dragging this out as much as possible. 

“Yes,” you said. That wasn’t technically a lie. It did help take the edge off. But only just. It seemed like once you gave up, you could get something that resembled sleep. But you didn’t really rest.

“Liar,” he said and bit your thigh. “Did you think of me while you touched yourself?”

“Always,” you moaned as he dragged a finger lazily up the center of you. He didn’t touch your clit, not yet. He only played with your pussy lips, gathering the essence that leaked out of you. 

“Tell me what you thought about,” he said. He placed his free hand on your tummy, splaying his fingers wide.

“Frankie…” you sighed. 

“Tell me. I won’t say it again,” he said. His voice dropped, turning into that sexy, sleepy, bedroom voice of his that never failed to make your eyes roll back. Combined with the fact that you couldn’t really see his face, couldn’t gauge his emotions, could only rely on his voice, it turned you on in the best way possible. 

You swallowed around a dry patch in your throat. You were breathing so hard, it was tough to calm down long enough to tell him. “I thought about your hands. And how big they are. And how incredible they feel on me,” you said. 

Frankie hummed while he pushed his fingers through your folds, swirling his thumb around your clit. You gasped, moving your hips. But Frankie’s steadying hand on your stomach kept you locked in place. 

You moaned, back rearing off of the bed. “Keep going,” Frankie prompted.

“Your fingers…feel like heaven. I thought about you fingering me,” you said. 

Frankie kept his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles, while he pushed a finger inside of you. He grunted and a shudder seemed to run through him. “You’re so fucking wet, mi vida. Keep going, tell me how you really feel,” he said.

“I thought about you…tying me up. Tying me to the bed and leaving my legs free while you fuck me,” you said. The safety of the darkness let you unleash what you really wanted. Frankie had taken you in so many ways. You thought you’d be sick of it. Or craving something new. 

The opposite was true. You liked his mastery over you. The way he commanded and demanded, the way he gave orders and you followed, with a little mischievous resistance. You liked being at his mercy because you knew that he’d always protect you. 

You clenched around his fingers and Frankie cursed low, under his breath. “You want to be fucked?” He asked.

You nodded until you realized he couldn’t see you. “Yes, fucked,” you said. 

“What else do you need from me?” He asked. 

“I want you to hear your voice. I missed it. I want you to…tell me you missed me,” you said. You didn’t know how much you needed to hear it at the moment. After you kicked Frankie out, he respected it by keeping things civil as much as possible. You saw the lingering looks when you dropped off Inez, but you weren’t sure how he really felt.

“Oh, mi vida,” he sighed. He flipped his wrist and started fingering you in earnest. Before, it had been a slow glide, getting reacquainted with your pussy like the first time he came back from his tour overseas. This was something new entirely. He pumped his finger into you, adding a second and stretching you. 

“Oh, oh,” you moaned and grabbed hold of his wrist, feeling his muscles move beneath his skin.

“I have thought of nothing else but you. I’ve missed you so damn much, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t focus. I dreamt of you and hated when I had to wake up and discover you weren’t there,” he said. 

He curled his fingers in a come hither motion and you were exploding on the spot. His voice should be bottled and sold as the cure to any sexual ailment. With a few sentences, he had you going off like a bottle rocket. He whispered in Spanish while you floated in that gooey region in your mind, lost to pleasure. He continued to stroke that spot, wringing every last morsel of passion from you before he slowed down. 

You calmed down, throat raw from moaning, and panted. Frankie removed his fingers and he loudly sucked on them, tasting you. 

“There were too many nights that I stroked myself to thoughts of being welcomed back into your warm, wet heat. My hand was a poor substitute. Every day in the shower, I spilled into my hand wishing that I was spilling into your tight, little pussy,” he said. He kissed all around your pussy before planting a kiss on your clit. 

You moaned and writhed on the bed, picturing him in the shower glistening with water. Picturing him jerking himself to climax, lips parted, eyes tightly closed, the steam of the shower rising around him. Your pussy clenched just thinking of it.

“I dreamed of your taste, mi vida,” he said. He followed that sentence with a lick of his tongue. You jerked and moaned, hands flying to his hair and pulling. He growled, licking you again and causing you to pull harder. 

“Sweet fuck,” you moaned. 

Frankie stopped talking as he aggressively ate you out. Gone was the sweet, slow pace he set while he finger fucked you. His tongue moved around your clit, flicking and tasting, and teasing between his lips. 

You writhed and moaned, pushing at his head. It was too much. He grabbed your flailing hand and pinned it to the bed beside you. Your moans grew louder, more wanton, escaping your lips. You brought your other hand up and he only pinned that one as well. His big hands locked down your wrists, to the point that you couldn’t move an inch. God, you loved it.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum on, cum on,” he encouraged in between licking and teasing you. You began to tense, crushing his head between your thighs. He kept going, licking and licking until you were a shaking, creaming mess before him. You managed to curb your moans, painfully aware that your daughter was just down the hall. But she slept like a rock, much like you. 

Frankie licked everything you gushed out. Like you were a little ice cream cone for him. He moaned into your pussy, finally dragging his lips away. You wondered if his jaw was soaked with your essence. You got your answer when he kissed both of your inner thighs, leaving wet spots behind. 

“So fucking pretty. So fucking gorgeous,” he whispered into your skin while he kissed up your tummy. He stood as he did so, moving to free himself of his jeans and briefs.

“Fuck, Frankie, I missed you. I missed you so fucking much,” you whispered.

“I missed you too. Let me come home. Let me stay,” he said.

“Stay, stay,” you said.

He stopped kissing you while he got to your titties. He kissed all around your nipples, bringing his hand up to play with your left one while he sucked on your right. 

“Frankie,” you chanted over and over again while he gave generous attention to your nipples. You played with his hair, with his broad shoulders. You ran your hands up and down his back, lightly dragging your nails across his skin. Overcome with the sudden need to mark him. To scratch him. To give him a physical mark and show it off to the world. That he was yours. Would always be yours. Forever and ever. 

“I love you,” he whispered as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

You caressed his face, bringing him down for a kiss. “I love you,” you said against his lips. 

He slid in with one savage thrust and you dug your nails into his skin, sharply hissing as he stretched you to the max. Your legs shook from finally being full. You clutched Frankie to you while he thrust, picking up speed while he rammed into you, just as you asked. 

“Fuck, fuck,” you moaned. 

“Can’t. Last. Much. Longer,” Frankie said through gritted teeth. He dropped his head to your chest, lips finding your nipples once more as he thrust hard and fast, pummeling you, and eliciting so many moans and cries from your lips you had no hope of staying quiet now. 

He pulled out unexpectedly with a groan. You whined, until Frankie roughly flipped you over. He hiked your hips up, lining himself back up, and then slamming into you. 

“Oh fuck!” You moaned. He hit a sweet spot deep inside you that made you see stars as you came. 

Frankie slammed into you, chasing his own orgasm as you squeezed and convulsed on his dick. You didn’t know if your eyes were open or closed. There were just the stars flashing in the darkness, a burrowing sense of relief that flooded your system and made you collapse. 

His fingers dug into your hips painfully while he continued to fuck you, your essence making it a smooth glide. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing in the dark room. He slammed harder, your ass making a delicious clapping sound on his thighs.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum,” Frankie chanted. It was punctuated with him thrusting one last time, so deep inside of you, while he groaned and climaxed. He seemed to swell inside of you, filling in any remaining space if there was any. His cum pulsed, hot and sticky, shooting out of him and filling you to the brim. So much so that the moment he moved, it leaked out of you. 

He pulled out completely and dropped beside you with a heavy, panting sigh. Your hips dropped to the bed, completely spent and worn out. That was what you had been missing. Your fingers or vibrator couldn’t reach as far as he could. They couldn’t talk and stimulate both your mind and body. You had tried listening to old recordings of his voice and it wasn’t the same.

Frankie tucked himself against you. You laid on his bicep while he curled his arm around you. His fingers trailed along your back and you hummed, snuggling closer. 

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” you whispered back.

The end.

Frankie will be back! The Secret Frankie Morales Files

[la-petite-lapin]

Killer Queen | Part One

Killer Queen masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader Word Count: 1.3k Chapter warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, 141, retired (not for long) soldier reader, reader's callsign is Tiger, enemies to lovers (but currently just enemies), referenced/hinted past trauma, swearing, no spoilers but this series will be darker than my other works

The air buzzed with a nervous kind of energy as you made your way to the meeting room. They were right to be anxious - the whole lot of them. Kate had pulled you out of early retirement for this, so it was bound to be something big.

You pulled the coat tighter around yourself like armour. Like the excess of black fabric would swallow you whole and you could slip about the base like a shadow, unnoticed. All the sideways glances were starting to set you on edge. As you rounded the last corner to the meeting room you'd been told to go to, a tingle shot up your spine.

How many people here knew about you? Your callsign? Your extensive kill record? You'd never operated out of this base in your years of service, but still - someone was bound to recognise you sooner or later.

Taking a deep, centring breath, you pushed the thought as far back into your mind as it would go and turned the handle on the plain, plywood door.

It was the standard fare as far as base meeting rooms went. Popcorn ceiling; scuffed linoleum floor; plywood table marked with rings from many generations of coffee cups; plastic folding chairs scattered at intervals. You made a beeline for the chair against the wall opposite the door, feeling safer in the knowledge that you could survey the room's only entrance from your chosen perch. It was far from the window too, but you still closed the shutters on your way past just in case.

Old habits die hard.

It took a couple more minutes for Laswell to arrive, offering you a pleasant smile and cursory nod on her way in. "Tiger," she said warmly, lips uttering the callsign you'd been running from for the past six months. From the blood-soaked history it held. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I appreciate that this decision must not have come lightly for you."

Ever the diplomat, you thought, lips pursed.

"I've come to hear you out," you corrected, voice gentle yet firm. Kate was not a bad woman, and you couldn't fault her for reaching out. After all, she hadn't done anything to wrong you personally - which was more than could be said for others at her level of clearance. "Then I will decide if I want to stay or leave. You can at least ensure me that courtesy."

Kate nodded again.

Before long, three more bodied filed in. The eldest was introduced to you by Kate as Captain John Price - an old friend of hers. A man, who she greatly emphasised, could be trusted. A novel concept indeed.

He took great delight in introducing himself and then the two sergeants who accompanied him. The Scottish one - Johnny MacTavish - introduced himself by name first and foremost, tagging his callsign of Soap on at the end like an afterthought. It struck you then, looking into those baby blue eyes - so open and trusting, that he'd never had a reason to crave anonymity. Never been betrayed into knowing the preciousness of the information that he dished out so freely.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was the last to approach you. He seemed like a solid, dependable man - one of few words but an innate warmth. Kind, dark eyes scanned your face, searching your features like you're a puzzle to be cracked.

You stayed seated throughout the entire exchange, pointed avoiding the hugs and handshakes being entertained by the others. Physical contact was a complete no-go.

"Not to sound rude," you said after a few minutes, watching as people start to take up chairs around the table, "but is this everyone?"

Captain Price lets out a gruff sigh. "Not quite. Just waiting on one man, though he's not normally late."

You nodded, settling back into your chair. A loud, curious part of you itched to find out why you were there. During all of your correspondence with Laswell, she'd neglected to mention any of the specifics. No matter how hard you'd tried to drag it out of her, she just kept telling you to wait for the meeting. To wait for...

The door creaked open one last time, revealing a figure you were all too familiar with. Bitterly.

Fucking Ghost.

You stood so abruptly that your chair dragged, making a horrible screeching sound as the legs dug into the already-scarred lino tiles. He stands there - all six feet and however many inches of black-clad, antagonistic muscle - head cocked to the side like he was bemused by the very sight of you.

"Absolutely fucking not!" you snarled, rounding the table to shove a finger into the centre of his broad chest. The captain and his sergeants faded into the background as you focused on him with laser-like intensity. "I told you that I would never work with you again. Not then. Not now. Not ever." Your attention switched to the woman you'd trusted enough to even be there in the first place. "And you! Are you out of your fucking mind, Laswell?"

There was a heavy beat of silence that weighed over the room, coating all six of you like a thick layer of silt.

Ghost folded his arms across his chest, shrugging off your finger. It did nothing to soothe your raging temper.

A cursory glance around the room painted an almost comical picture: MacTavish was slack-jawed and astounded, more likely than not at your fierce display of aggression to the feared, mighty Ghost; Garrick was still and watchful, hands steepled on the tabletop; and the Captain wore an expression somewhere between terror and bewilderment.

Laswell, on the other hand, was calm and stoic as she said, "Tiger, you know me. I would not have asked you to come here - from your retirement, nonetheless - if I didn't see a very real, very dire need to have you here with us." She swallowed, the column of her throat working as her gaze darted between you and Ghost's towering frame. He looked almost smug; like he'd been hoping this would happen one of these days. "But if you think that any effort to work together will result in another... display like this, then-"

"All due respect, ma'am," Ghost huffs, his unwavering gaze still boring into your soul, "don't give her the easy out. Little coward will probably up and leave the second you give her the chance to. I would know."

Anger rises in your chest, vision listing a dangerous shade of red as your chest squeezed. Gritting your teeth, hands clenched into fists at your sides, you refused to give him the satisfaction of shying away. No, you continued to square off against him, unflinching.

"Hey, Ghost," MacTavish interjected from the table, one hand scrubbing the shaven side of his head. "With respect, LT, 'ah don't think tha's a fair thing to say." He gave you a sheepish glance. "If tha's the Tiger, then I've heard a fair few things..."

You winced.

"You don't know her like I do, Johnny," Ghost grumbled, not skipping a beat. A vindictive light shone in those hollow eyes as he tacked on, "Trust me when I tell you: don't turn your back on this one. She's a sneaky fucking-"

A loud thump sounded through the meeting room as Captain Price bought his large, meaty fist down onto the tabletop. "Right, enough, both of you! Either listen to Laswell or get the fuck out. But, let it be known, if you leave this room there will be consequences - retired, in active duty, or otherwise."

Reluctantly, you held your head up high and retook your seat against the wall. A sick feeling of satisfaction spread through you a second later when Ghost realised that he had to take the last remaining chair - the one opposite you. The one that would force him to sit with his back to the door.

Grinning smugly, you leaned back and folded your arms across your chest. "Fine. Will someone finally tell me what's going on here? Why did you want me to come back to the force?"

Kate's eyes darkened in a way that you'd never seen before, and you sobered up in an instant. "We've received some credible intel that an old enemy of ours has resurfaced. We also have reason to believe that he intends to rebuild some operations that a lot of our finest men gave their blood to put an end to."

You choked on an inhale. It felt like the room was shrinking; like your skin was too tight over your bones.

No, no, no, no, no...

"There's evidence to suggest that Makarov is back."

a/n: hey folks, long time no see. I can't promise that this is going to be the start of regular uploading again, but I am making an effort to try. - much love, lapetitelapin 🧡

Taglist: @420-hun

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Dress Up Part 4: Secret Preview

Hey all, I know I promised to have Part 4 out today but I ended up being extremely busy this weekend and I apologize. Please accept this preview as an apology 🙏🏻

Warnings for teetering on smut but not quite~

You chuckled just loud enough for him to hear before summoning another portal and jumping through it. You saw Lucifer turn the corner, a wide and almost feral smile spread across his face before the portal closed. You found yourself in his workshop again, just down the hall.

"You know, I'm starting to regret teaching you how to use portals," you heard Lucifer's muffled frustration through the doors. You decided to take it one step further. After all, what's a fun game of chase without a little risk? You kicked off your shoes in an instant and snapped your dress away, letting it fall to the floor and leaving you in nothing but your lacy maroon bra and matching panties. You opened the door to the hallway and poked your head out to see Lucifer standing further down, his back turned towards you as he tried desperately to track you down.

"You're getting colder," you taunted. You watched as Lucifer snapped his head around before closing the door and portaling away once more to the opposite hallway. You heard the doors of his workshop open with an almost sinister laugh following.

"Oh, you little devil," Lucifer hummed as he took notice to your recently discarded clothing. "It almost seems like my little mouse wants to be caught." He wasn't wrong. You heard the sound of a portal being opened. Then silence. When you popped your head around the corner, a cursory glance showed Lucifer was nowhere to be found. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of not knowing where he had gone, but it excited you none the less. After a few moments, you decided to make your way back to your bedroom as quietly as possible. After carefully opening the door to the nearly pitch black room, you tiptoed over to where you had hidden Lucifer's gift, hoping to use the rope to your advantage.

But there was just one problem; you weren't alone.

"Oh, darling," Lucifer's voice echoed in the darkness, "you should have known better than to venture into the lion's den." A small scream escaped you as your eyes darted everywhere looking for the fallen angel. After only a moment, you spotted his silhouette in the shadows in the corner of the room, his pale yellow eyes illuminated in the blackness. He lunged at you with his teeth barred, forcing you back onto the bed with your hands now pinned on either side of your head. Lucifer had made quick work with his clothes after you had lost track of him as he was now only down to his duck printed briefs that left very little to the imagination. His tail appeared behind him, swishing back and forth excitedly like a predator who had found his prey. You were caught.

You swallowed hard as you gazed up at your capture. "Alright, alright, you win!" You tried to force your arms up in an attempt to escape, but Lucifer's grip held strong. "You know, if you don't let me go, I won't be able to give you your gift."

'Ah, ah, ah," he chastised sweetly, "I won fair and square! Like you said before, we shouldn't spoil the surprise too soon. Or maybe you just want to hear me beg for my reward."

Your face felt hotter and hotter with every passing second, his words flowing straight to your already soaking core. "I-It wouldn't hurt to hear," you admit. "I love when you beg for me."

Lucifer's breath hitched at your teasing as he raised your hands over your head, now gripping your both of your wrists with one hand while the other trailed over the mounds of your breasts, passing over you stomach, and stopping right at the hem of your panties. It took everything in you not to buck up at his delicate touch.

"P-Please, love," he murmured as he leaned down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, your tongues entangling together as if it was a fight for dominance. "Let me devour you. Your taste is everything I could ever want. I'm addicted to it. To you." His lips found yours again, kissing you like his life depended on it. You felt his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he peppered kisses down your neck and collarbone. "Pretty please?"

Your chest heaved erratically at your husband’s tender display of affection. “Well, h-how can I say no when you’ve asked so nicely.”

[juneberrie]

CON FLORES (TE LLEVASTE MI TRISTEZA) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pavitr prabhakar

fem ! hispanic ! reader angst -> fluff 0.8k words — a/n: pav is so cute i love him<3 also shout out to ivy for helping with the one (1) line of hindi !!! love u ives

you had been having a shitty day, to say the least.

first, your alarm hadn't gone off, causing you to only have 15 minutes to get ready. buttoning your shirt up, you searched the room looking for your bag, seeing it unpacked in the corner. just great. after shoving your notebooks into the bag and zipping it up halfway, you slipped on your uniform skirt and hastily laced your shoes before taking a final cursory glance at the mirror.

there was a tear in the blue fabric of your skirt. small enough that it wasn't really an issue, but big enough that it was noticeable. deciding to fix it when you got home, you rushed down the stairs and passed by the kitchen, grabbing your lunch bag as you hustled through your house.

"chao, mami! te veo mas tarde!" (bye, mom! i'll see you later) you called over your shoulder. your mother rolled her eyes at your hurriedness and waved you off with a smile.

then, as you made your way to the bus stop, some idiot bumped into you, causing you to nearly topple over.

"watch where you're going, cabron!" (bastard) you shouted.

you sighed and got on the crowded bus. you spotted your friend sitting way in the back, but the only empty seat was right in the front, behind the driver. frowning, you shrugged at her and slid into the seat. pulling your headphones on, you scrolled through your playlist till you found a song you liked, and rested your forehead on the window, watching the city go by.

the bus all of a sudden stopped, lurching forward. the doors hissed open and the driver called out the school stop. you and about ten other people got up and started pushing towards the door. finally getting out of the stifling bus, you shoved your way through the crowd and entered the school.

a few hours later, at lunch, you spotted your friends all sitting at a table together. there weren't any free seats. your heart felt heavy as you sat down at an empty table across the lunch room. unfortunately, your friends were directly in your line of sight. even over the loud din of the lunchroom, you could hear them laughing and gossiping as they ate their lunches. sighing, you opened your lunch bag to see . . . nothing. there was absolutely nothing in your lunch. at first, you thought your mom had just forgotten to pack you something, but you distinctly remembered the bag being heavy with food when you left the house. then, you remembered the person that bumping into you on your way to the bus.

you dropped your head into your hands and squeezed your eyes shut. que dia tan mal, (what a bad day) you thought. your stomach grumbled, complaining about the lack of delicious food it was promised.

the rest of the day passed in a blur. a horrible, messed up blur. you had failed a your algebra test, you had nearly failed your science project, you had sat alone at lunch, and you had gone basically the whole day being ignored by everyone. it was like you were invisible.

once you get home, your mom asks, "que tal tu dia?" (how was your day?) you just shrug in response and stomp up the stairs to your room. shutting the door, you slid down till you hit the floor and you bring your knees into your chest. resting your head between them, you felt hot tears pricking at your eyes. squeezing your eyes, you feel a few of them escape and drop down onto the floor.

all of a sudden, a knock interrupts the sobs racking through your body. you raise your head and turn it towards the door, but the knock comes again, from the window.

wiping your tears away, you go and open the blinds, seeing pavitr standing on the tiny ledge outside. he was holding a colorful bouquet of flowers in his hand and was gripping onto the window sill with the other. he smiles, but then seeing your tearstained face, it turns into a pout.

you unlatch the window and raise it up, watching him climb into your room. he gently places the flowers on your desk and immediately envelopes you in his arms. the tears come back, flowing freely now.

"oh, my angel," he whispers. he presses a kiss to your head and holds you tighter. "what's wrong?"

through sobs, you explain the horrid day you'd had. pav nods and frowns. leading you over to your bed, he wraps his arms around you again. "i'm sorry, my love."

shrugging, you pull away for a moment to wipe a few tears off your face. pav lowers your hands and then places his own on your face, wiping under your eyes. his own eyes are looking in yours, filled with love and concern.

"i brought flowers," he whispers. with a small, teary laugh, you smile at your boyfriend.

"i saw. thank you, mi amor." he freezes, as he usually does when you call him anything in spanish.

"of— of course," he stammers. sighing, he pulls you into a kiss. with that kiss, he makes you forget all the shitty things that had happened to you today. he's wrapping you up in love and reminding you that he's there, he cares.

"te amo."

"mein tumse pyar kartha hu." (i love you)

[siilvan]

bloodsport – II

prologue | part one | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: you never realized how boring captivity could be. you hate to admit it, but makarov is the only interesting thing around, and perhaps the closest thing you have to an ally in this place.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, inaccurate medical procedures, reader gets harassed :/, reader kills a dude, russian written by a non-russian speaker (please correct me if it's wrong!!)

word count: 3.7k

note: the temptation to write the filthiest makarov/reader/yuri fic is slowly taking over my brain. i'm begging activision to reveal my ex-war-criminal husband already bc i have two hands for a reason

true to his word, you don't see makarov for the rest of the day. after you're brought back to your cell and locked away, you take the time to rest and gather your thoughts. the lumpy bed provides little comfort as you try to sleep, but it's better than the cold floor. you manage to drift off eventually, even with every voice and sound in the corridor stirring you awake.

when you finally drag yourself out of bed the next morning, blinking away any lingering exhaustion and gently stretching your sore muscles, the sky is still dark. the storm that was raging all night had subsided for now, and through the single barred window on the back wall, you can see groups of soldiers outside. running drills, training in marksmanship, transporting supplies, patrolling the grounds - it reminds you of the bases you've visited with the team.

the team. you trudge over to the only other furniture in the room, the metal chair that you moved to sit near the window, and plop down onto the seat unceremoniously. with how muddled your mind has been since the conversation with makarov, you've hardly had time to think about them.

they're alive. you just need to keep telling yourself that. they'll come for you as soon as they can. all you can do until then is keep faith and survive.

as a pair of boots stomps down the hall towards your cell, you begin to ponder if taking matters into your own hands is the only way you'll escape. you're just as capable as the rest of your team, surely you can find a way out of this crumbling prison.

you turn your head at the sound of keys jingling. a guard is standing at your door, unlocking it, before looking at you. "let's go," he says, thick accent lacing every word. "you're on a schedule."

with a small wince, you rise from the chair and cross the room. the guard starts down the corridor, heading in the opposite direction that you went yesterday. you follow close behind, clammy palms wringing together. it almost feels like you're restrained again, with metal cuffs digging into your wrists and binding you, keeping you from struggling or defending yourself.

after descending a staircase and passing a few corners, you reach wherever the guard was taking you. he pushes a door open and ushers you inside, revealing a sizeable shower facility. you send him a cursory glance, confused as he motions for you to step further into the space.

"shower." he mutters, standing by the door. you wordlessly turn to the showers, then back to him.

"do you mind?" you ask, nodding towards the door. "i'd like a little privacy. it's not like i can tunnel my way out."

he shakes his head at first, refusing your request, until you decide to do the same, silently staring at him. a beat passes between you until he spins around, grumbling something along the lines of "hurry up," and exits the room. once the door slams shut behind him, you let out a relieved breath and walk over to one of the many stalls.

you scan the area before carefully undressing, paying close attention so as to not mess up your bandages or strain any of your healing injuries. you quickly dive past the thin curtain and toss your clothes over the curtain rod.

a string of curses fall from your lips when you twist the knob and cold water pours out of the shower head, prickling like ice against your skin. cleaning yourself up whilst protecting your bandages is a difficult task, but you manage to keep them relatively dry. you were in need of a fresh set, anyway. grains of sand and dust leftover from al-mazrah is washed down the drain, and as you start to adjust to the freezing temperature, some of your muscle aches follow suit.

a few minutes of relief pass by as you try to relax, though the bliss is short-lived when you remember your conversation from yesterday. you hate the thought of listening to makarov of all people, but did he have a point? are you truly just as bad as him, even with good intentions being your motivation?

you're well aware of what your job entails. as captain price so bluntly puts it: we get dirty, and the world stays clean. you know that some missions leave a sour taste in your mouth and a doubt in your mind. are you truly doing the right thing? can you do better? is there a way to save everyone?

as you shut off the water and attempt to dry off with a clean towel left on a small bench nearby, you realize that you're giving makarov exactly what he wants. he brought up the topic with the intent of messing with your head. he's trying to break you - for whatever reason, you're not sure. all you know is that you can't give up. you have to stay strong for the team.

you pull your clothes back on, nose scrunching at the uncomfortable feeling of damp gauze sticking to your skin. the guards seemed to bounce between civility and cruelty depending on the moment; perhaps you can catch someone in a good mood and request a replacement.

the door swings open and you jolt, spinning around to face the intruder. the man from earlier is standing in the doorway, a look of disinterest evident even through his balaclava. "you are done, yes?"

clearly he isn't the person to ask, you think, following him into the corridor. he leads you back down the same path as earlier, through winding halls and up a set of stairs, stopping once you arrive at the cell you call home. you keep an eye out for anyone along the way who looks to be doing well, searching for a person to seek help from.

no one catches your attention, leaving you only one option: the guard currently locking the door behind you.

"uh– can i ask you a question?" you turn around to look at him, wrapping your hands around the iron bars. he sends a small glare in your direction, but pauses nonetheless.

"what?" he murmurs, standing up straight.

you lift your arms, showing off the damp and gradually loosening bandages. "any chance i can get these changed?"

his eyes flit down to your arms, then back to your face. he sighs, heavy and deep, and grumbles out a reply. "i will get the doctor."

with that, he leaves your sight, lifting a hand to his radio and saying something that you can't understand. "should've agreed to those fucking russian lessons from price," you mumble, staggering across the room and sitting on the bed while picking at your loose gauze.

it feels like an hour passes by before you hear someone coming down the hall again. by this point, you were assuming that the guard had forgotten about you.

you sit up from your slumped position against the metal frame and are immediately greeted by a new person on the other side of the door. an older man, nicely dressed and carrying a heavy bag that you fear will topple him over, regarding you with a grin that feels out of place in this shithole.

"you must be petra," he starts, pushing the door open and letting himself inside. he keeps his distance, both hands visible and wrapped around the handle of the bag in front of his body. "doctor tarkovsky." he continues, introducing himself. you nod, watching closely as he approaches you and places his bag on the bed next to you. the chair is dragged over, much like the other day, and he sits.

"the work you did... you saved my life, doctor." you mutter, allowing him to take one of your arms into his gentle hold. he hums in reply, taking great care in undoing the dressings.

"спасибо, but it was not me that saved you." he chuckles softly, eyes briefly lifting from your arm to meet your gaze. "the commander was responsible for that. by the time you arrived here and into my care, he had managed to stabilize you."

he mumbles something to himself about "his military days" while dropping his gaze back down to your newly exposed skin. your eyes follow his, and you wince at the sight of burn marks and stitched lacerations. a cold breeze enters into the room through the window and stings as it sweeps over you, making you clench your hand into a tight fist.

"the commander? you mean makarov?" you ask, forcing yourself to look away and stare at the wall behind the doctor. the same man that put you here is the one that kept you alive. go figure. you glare holes into a random brick, trying to make sense of it. based on the few interactions that you've had with him, as well as the many things that price had to say, that kindness seems out of character.

the fact that he hasn't tortured you to the brink of insanity is odd enough.

"yes, he demanded that i give you the best treatment. said he wanted you alive and in good condition." the doctor rummages through the bag next to you and begins to clean your wounds and apply new dressings, deft hands making quick work of the process. you remain silent as he wraps your arm in a new set of bandages, waiting for him to finish.

you finally speak once he's halfway through rewrapping your other arm. "is he always so... touchy?" you murmur, almost a whisper.

"touchy?" he repeats the word.

"i think i pissed him off yesterday," you say, tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips. "ended up slammed against a wall. is he always so quick to anger?"

after securing the bandages on your arm, the doctor leans back and shakes his head. "commander makarov is usually the calmest person in a conversation," he replies with a surprised huff. "whatever you said or did must have struck a nerve, made him lose his temper. even the soldiers working under him struggle to do such a thing."

you furrow your brow at him. he waves off your befuddlement and gets started on treating your other injuries - namely, the large gash on your side and the burns on your back. as he's loosely wrapping your back in gauze, he makes another comment.

"it could be that you angered him, rather than what you did."

"i angered him?" you parrot back to him, craning your neck to look at him over your shoulder. the doctor nudges you forward again and hums affirmatively.

yet another thing that doesn't make any sense, you think. besides your affiliation with the one-four-one, there's nothing about you that should stand out to a man like makarov. you don't possess any top secret intel or really hold any importance to anyone outside of your team; so, why is he treating you so strangely? is it a game he's playing, trying to mess with his real enemy, the captain?

are you merely a pawn, a bargaining chip between two forces much bigger than yourself? makarov is dangling your life like bait, hoping to catch a better prize. you squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath, considering your options.

makarov would only hold onto you for one reason. drawing out captain price. that means price is alive, at least to makarov. if you stay here, you might be able to confirm this plan for yourself. however, if you can escape and deliver all the intel you've collected so far, you could prevent the plan from advancing any further. no matter which option you choose, rotting away in this prison cell won't help.

as kind as the doctor is, he's still one of makarov's men. you can't trust him. you're on your own.

"so, is it going to scar?" you inquire with a smile, fixing your shirt after he pulls away. he moves to gather his things, reaching into his bag and handing you a dose of painkillers.

he sighs and sends you another smile of his own. "the burns aren't deep enough, thankfully, and the lacerations shouldn't scar so long as they're properly cared for. you are very lucky."

"guess i am. thank you, again."

you swallow down the pills - dry, much to your chagrin - and give him a small wave as he exits the room, the iron door closing behind him with a soft clunk. the guard from earlier reappears to lock it moments later, leaving you trapped in the cell once more.

⋆⋆⋆

another five days pass by, and you mentally curse whatever higher power put you here. your routine remains largely unchanged: at roughly seven o' clock, one of the guards stops by to take you to the showers. by seven-thirty, the doctor arrives to change your bandages. you're given your only meal around noon and left to your own devices until eight in the evening, when the doctor arrives to change your bandages again.

you are slowly beginning to heal, at least. the lack of nutrition was stunting the process, but according to the doctor, you were still on the mend. it won't be long until you can get the stitches taken out.

you've spent several of these past one-hundred-and-twenty hours wondering if that's what makarov is waiting for. he wants you alive to torture, to indulge in breaking something fixed by his own hand. maybe the doctor is in on the plan. you wouldn't be surprised to discover that he's reporting your healing process to makarov, giving him a countdown of sorts.

as you rest on the cold, hard stone floor, with your back propped up against the side of the bed, tossing a rubber ball that you pocketed at the wall, you question if your paranoia is getting the better of you.

the rubber ball rolls across the ground after you throw it at the wall. it starts to come back to you, before bouncing off the edge of your boot and heading towards the door. you lazily follow it with your eyes, until you notice a person standing at the other side of the bars, their gaze transfixed on you.

it's a man wearing an outfit similar to the doctor's, though you can easily tell that he's substantially younger. in his late thirties to early forties, you estimate. he carefully kicks the ball out of his way after entering the room. you watch him like a hawk, an uneasy feeling washing over you.

"i'll be handling your care today." he announces, plopping his similarly-designed supply bag on the mattress. you pull yourself up to stand and dust yourself off, taking a healthy step back from him.

"something happen with doctor tarkovsky?" you ask as the younger man rummages through his bag and slips on a pair of latex gloves. he shakes his head, not even bothering to look at you, and continues searching through his supplies.

"tarkovsky is busy," he responds, motioning for you to sit. you hesitate for a second, but ultimately decide to shake off the nerves and follow his orders. "i'm going to start with your back today." he adds. you nod, moving to face away from him and lift your shirt up.

he's silent while replacing the gauze, and you're not sure whether you prefer that or talking. his touch is slightly less gentle, which you chalk it up to less experience. eventually, he moves on to the gash on your side, settling in the normal chair with an expression that you find hard to decipher.

your unease is suddenly validated as he cleans the stitches. his unoccupied hand comes to rest on your thigh, just above your knee, catching your attention. your eyes fall from the wall to his hand, then to the open bag at your side. laying near the top of it is a scalpel - small, but lethal in the right hands. you clear your throat and shift, bouncing your knee under his hold, testing the waters.

instead of removing his hand, he slips it just barely higher. you squint, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, debating on acting now or waiting a little longer. maybe he doesn't realize it.

as his hand slides higher, though, gloved fingertips digging into the plush of your thigh, that notion goes out the window. you slowly lower your hand closest to the bag and place it on the mattress next to it. the younger doctor pulls back, examining his work, his thumb rubbing languid circles into your skin. you act while he's distracted.

with trained proficiency, you grab the scalpel from the top of the pile and shove the man forward, slicing across his neck in one swift motion. he stumbles backwards, reaching up to desperately grasp at his throat as he chokes on the blood pouring from the open wound.

"don't fucking touch me again," you seethe, fixing your shirt and holding the scalpel in a white-knuckled grip. the sounds of him tripping over the chair and falling to the ground alerts the guards stationed in the corridor, who immediately rush through the door with their guns drawn and pointed at you.

they're shouting at you, but you can't make out what they're saying over the blood pounding in your ears. you turn away from the dying man and stare them down, unmoving from your spot in the middle of the room.

after a brief standoff, the guards suddenly look over their shoulders and shuffle away from each other, revealing a familiar face. one you haven't seen in almost a week, and assumed you wouldn't see for a while longer.

makarov steps to the front of the small group as the ringing in your ears begins to subside. his eyes dart from you to the man lying on the ground, having choked to death shortly before he arrived at the scene. he chuckles, low and controlled, and turns to the guards.

"убрать этот беспорядок," he mutters, waving towards the corpse. the men holster their guns and move past him, lifting the body up and carrying it out. as the group disappears down the hall, you find yourself alone with makarov. the scalpel slips from your fingers and clatters against the floor, pulling his focus back to you.

"well? are you going to punish me for that?" you ask plainly, the pool of red still visible in your peripheral vision.

"should i?" he counters, casually sauntering across the room. his gaze flits from yours to your cheek, which you soon realize is wet with the man's blood.

you shrug, shoulders drooping. "i killed one of your men. most people would punish a prisoner for less."

he wipes the blood off your cheek with his forefinger and huffs softly, seemingly pleased with the situation. it's only now that you notice his slightly disheveled appearance; his white dress shirt is untucked and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms that are covered in a light layer of dirt. minor cuts and bruises bloom on his skin, resembling self-defense wounds.

"i could never expect a member of the one-four-one to accept capture quietly," makarov remarks, picking the chair up off the floor. "i'm surprised it took you this long, if anything. i was expecting to receive reports by the second day."

he raps his knuckles against the seat twice, urging you to sit. you end up mirroring your first interaction after he sits on the bed across from you, elbows resting on top of his knees.

you grab a set of cleaning wipes from the bag forgotten at the foot of the bed and offer them to him. "so, i'm assuming you're not here to share the fun story behind those obvious self-defense wounds?" you tilt your head to the side, regarding him with a sarcastic smile.

"like i said in our prior conversation," he takes the pack from your outstretched hand and haphazardly wipes his arms clean, the lack of care enough to make you inwardly flinch at the potential pain. "once traitors are found, they are dealt with."

"seems like they got to you first," you snort.

besides a pointed glare, he doesn't dignify your comment with a response. instead, he takes your arm into his hold, removing the old bandages with almost the same level of indifference that he treated his own injuries with.

"ow." you grunt, a bit overdramatic. in truth, his touch isn’t any less gentle than the doctor you just killed.

"stop complaining." he responds bluntly.

"maybe be more careful, then." you snap, tugging your arm back. you're being intentionally difficult, pushing his buttons, but you deserve to be a little shitty to the man holding you hostage.

makarov grabs your elbow, one of the few relatively uninjured parts of your arm, and yanks you forward, until your free hand slams down onto the space next to him to catch yourself from falling. he leans in, your noses nearly touching, and sneers.

"this is the extent of my kindness, petra." he tightens his hold when you try to create some distance, locking you in place. "do not tempt me to withdraw it." he whispers, dark eyes boring into yours.

you swallow back a whimper as his grip tightens again, blunt nails digging into healing skin, nodding in reply. he releases you a moment later and resumes his previous actions, quickly yet effectively rewrapping your arm. you grudgingly decide to cooperate for the other set, making it go by much faster than the last.

"tarkovsky said you're usually pretty calm," you mumble as he secures the bandages in place. "is it the one-four-one that frustrates you so easily? or, am i just a special case, hm?"

makarov, clearly interested in continuing the running theme since your first meeting, does not respond. you really should get used to it. you say nothing more as he stands up and grabs the discarded supply bag, walking towards the door. he pauses, holding the door open, and you nearly miss the words said to you over his shoulder.

"anyone else would be dead already."

translations:

спасибо (spasibo) - thank you

убрать этот беспорядок (ubrat' etot besporyadok) - clean up this mess

taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual, @miss-nob0dy, @woodeelf, @fbs-fc-ur-mommy, @soap-mactavish, @itsyellow

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <;3)

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Of all the decisions Lambert had (and would) come to regret, this one definitely hadn't been on his list.

He and Aiden had run into Geralt, sat alongside a brunette man who could only be the bard they'd heard rumours about - if the way he was sitting a little too close to a Witcher than was deemed sensible and appeared to be talking Geralt's ear off was any indication. The white haired Witcher looked both panicked and relieved when he spotted them, calling them over and making hasty introductions in an attempt to draw the humans attention away from him for a few minutes.

Something which successfully resulted in Aiden and Jaskier acting as if they'd known one another for years rather than hours, the Cat more than happy to keep fielding the bard's questions (Lambert had resorted to Geralt's tried and tested method of grunts and growls when they hit double digits with no signs of stopping) and trade casual, friendly touches.

Although they agreed on most things, that was something they had never been able to see eye to eye on. Lambert tolerated touch at the best of times, the moments that weren't linked to punishment or training fleeting at best. Aiden on the other hand, thrived on it, constantly subconsciously latching onto the nearest body in one form or another. Unfortunately for Lambert, whenever Aiden decided to tag along for longer than a day or two, the nearest body was usually him. Even at night, he would migrate - moving his bed roll so they woke up nose to nose when they had started the night on opposite sides of the fire and on the occasions when they had needed to share a bed, many a time had Lambert woken up with Aiden wrapped around him like an octopus.

So naturally, when Jaskier and Aiden had come back from speaking to the innkeeper about rooms for the night - explaining that yes, they had two rooms but one of them was a double bed whilst the other was two singles - Geralt and Lambert had both simultaneously stated that they would take the two singles under the guise of wanting to catch up with one another properly, while Jaskier and Aiden - in Lambert's words - could "Do one anothers hair and fight about who gets to be the little spoon." (He'd meant the first part as a joke, but from the way Jaskier started eyeing up Aiden's curls....). It was the perfect solution.

Except it wasn't, as it turns out. Sleeping lightly anyway - thanks to being in a strange place and surrounded by fickle, unpredictable humans - Lambert's mind appeared to be a few steps behind and refusing to accept that just because it was night and Aiden wasn't in his line of sight didn't mean he was in danger. He was getting tired of being pulled out of his doze every time someone slammed a door to then be jerked into full wakefulness because the body he was expecting to be sharing (invading) his personal space wasn't there. From the looks of it Geralt wasn't faring much better, his eyes meeting Lambert's every time from the bed closest to the door.

It was the early hours of the morning when Geralt pulled himself from under the covers, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a resigned "Fuck me." before opening the door and blinking in surprise to see Aiden stood there, a fist raised ready to knock. The two of them exchanged a brief nod before Geralt slipped out of the room and Aiden inside.

Aiden didn't even give the now spare bed a cursory glance, making a bee line for Lambert who scootched closer to the wall without even making a show of grumbling as the Cat climbed in beside him, pressing himself along his back and tucking his knees behind Lambert's.

"What happened, bard too handsy even for you?" Lambert asked, only half joking as he felt something in him uncoil now that he could see the other was alright.

"No, but Geralt wasn't exaggerating when he said he never shuts up. He talks in his sleep. Plus, maybe I just missed my more prickly bed buddy."

"Don't ever call me that again."

"What would you prefer? Cuddle chum, snuggle monster? Not that you ever reciprocate that much, but a little embellishment never hurt-"

"Fucks sake. If I give you a cuddle will you shut the hell up?"

He didn't miss the little pleased noise Aiden made as he moved back just far enough for Lambert to be able to turn onto his back and lift an arm which Aiden immediately took advantage of, pressing his nose into Lambert's collar bone as he threw an arm across Lamberts chest, the Wolf feeling the slight purr as he awkwardly wrapped his arm around Aiden's shoulders in return.

"G'night, Prickles."

Lambert couldn't muster the energy to bite back on that one as he felt his eyes slip closed, not waking again until the innkeeper yelled at them through the door to either pay for another day or get out.

[the-lonelybarricade]

What Do You Know About Love - (4/?)

Summary: When Elain discovers a centuries old love letter, written in secret and never sent, she decides that she's going to be the one to finally deliver it. Even if finding its intended recipient means going on a mission with Lucien Vanserra. Set post ACoSF.

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 4: High Society

Chapter 4 - Of Nights and Days

Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter

-

As a child, Lucien’s Mother used to tell him stories of the Day Court.

She had never been to the Solar Court, as far as he could tell, but she always spoke fondly of its people, its customs, whenever the two of them were alone.

Not all Courts are like ours, she once told him. In Autumn, we’re so confined by rules; where we can go and what we can say and who we can speak to. But I’ve heard that in the Day Court, they value community over hierarchy. They relish in communal spaces—I’ve heard the High Lord even shares meals with his servants.

It sounded like an impossible thing to Lucien, at the time. His father barely indulged in a meal with his own children, let alone a servant. And he’d often been told, from his brothers as well as in his studies, that the High Lords of the Solar Courts were arrogant and self-serving.

He’d always privately thought his mother was embellishing her stories, trying to stoke whimsy in a childhood that sought to stamp any brightness out of him. Or that perhaps she wanted it to be real, for her own peace of mind.

Regardless, Lucien always thought of her whenever he was in the Day Court. Always wished he could write to her, to tell her that everything she’d hoped was true.

It’s freedom like you’d never seen, he would write. Their spellwork is so advanced that they have no need for doors or locks. The entire palace is open archways and exposed atriums. A breeze off the sea could flow from one end and out the other.

It always astounded him, the openness. As if the High Lord of the Day Court had no qualms of someone wandering in and discovering all his secrets. If not for his mechanical eye, he would believe that, but a cursory glance was all he needed to detect the hundreds of overlapping wards, some of its spellwork so complex that it would take a scholar centuries to untangle its magic.

“Wow,” Elain breathed beside him, sweeping wide brown eyes over the pointed archway before them, and the row upon row upon row of arches behind it, each of them detailed with colorful tiles and carved pillars.

Then she turned, casting her attention over the railing of the veranda they’d winnowed into, taking in the temperate air and the swaying palms with no shortness of reverence. It agonized him, the way her pink lips parted so softly in wonder, the way his thumb twitched to trace the curve of her lower lip.

If there was one thing he regretted most about the Solstice, it was that he’d walked away knowing how those lips felt against his own. How they could let out the softest, sweetest little gasp. How he hadn’t, not for a single moment of reprieve, managed to stop thinking about them, even in moments where he needed to start thinking about something, anything else.

Moments like this.

Where Elain turned to him, something sparkling in her eyes, and said, “It’s beautiful.”

No it’s not, he wanted to say. Not even close.

There was no definition of beauty that could ever skew away from Elain herself. Though perhaps, through the standards that existed before she rose from the Cauldron and rivaled his every understanding of the word, the Day Court could be considered beautiful.

“I’m sure there will be an opportunity for a tour later,” Lucien said instead, somehow coaxing his voice into neutrality. “I’ve heard Helion boasts an expansive garden,”

“I heard there’s a thousand libraries, too,” she said, still with that thrilling look in her eye.

Excitement, Lucien thought. He’d never seen it on her before. Feigned enthusiasm, if he was lucky, but pure, genuine excitement? He knew he had nothing to do with it, that it was simply the result of being here, outside of the gods-forsaken Night Court for a change. Even so, an absurd swell of pride filled his chest, some latent instinct sated at knowing his mate was happy. That he’d brought her that happiness, indirectly or otherwise.

“There is,” he said, unable to help his small, satisfied smile. “Its scholars may even be able to help you find the recipient of that letter.”

Her face lit up. “You think?”

“They are expert historians. And,” he glanced at the palace’s entrance, ensuring no one was coming by, before saying, “I hear they’re insufferable gossips. If there was a scandal at a Halieia ball, one of them surely knows something about it.”

Elain laughed. Laughed. Just a small, bubbly giggle, really, and he swallowed, uncertain if he’d ever heard the sound before. If he’d ever elicited that sound before. He wondered how he would be able to cope for every infinite expanse of moments after, knowing what her laughter sounded like and that he was not presently hearing it.

It reminded him of the stories they used to tell children at revelries, the ones that were eventually passed to the human realms and became the fabric of myth and legend. Don’t eat the food, don’t drink the wine.

He knew the reason. There were fae wines rumored to be so sweet that a sensible male could become an addict from just a single drop. One taste, and he would become enthralled, willing to trade anything for another sip. A slave to his own desire.

That was how it felt to hear Elain’s laughter.

And as he contemplated all of the things he would be willing to do to hear it again, he considered how he was so, catastrophically, fucked. It would be impossible to endure one day of this, let alone a hundred—potentially more. Rhysand had given no indication of how long Lucien was expected to stay, nor what Lucien was even expected to do.

It was concerning to think that was how blindingly loyal he’d become to the Night Court. In a thousand centuries, he never thought he’d play willingly into the High Lord of Night’s machinations. Yet there he was, dressed in regalia that spoke of pride. Allegiance.

Rhysand hadn’t requested any bargain or oath of loyalty, but he hadn’t needed to.

The High Lord knew that Lucien would do whatever he asked. Because of her.

Elain looked at him, oblivious to the ways she’d permanently warped his loyalties. And to the carnage she wracked in him by slotting her teeth against her lower lip and saying, “That’s reassuring, because gossip is something we’re experts at in the human realm.”

“Oh, I’ve heard.”

Lucien thought of the endless gossip Vassa and Jurian liked to share with him. Who was seen where with whom, who was getting married, who was having children, who was running away with the blacksmith’s daughter. It all seemed tedious to Lucien, and always boiled down to two people fucking—or wanting to fuck, and avoiding doing so for strange, prudish human reasoning. He supposed with short life spans, humans felt the need to sensationalize every trivial event in their lives.

Though suddenly, Lucien wanted to know every petty piece of human gossip Elain had ever felt inclined to keep hold of.

The smile she offered him was intriguingly conspiratorial.

“There’s a secret to it, you know.”

He leaned closer, completely entranced. “A secret to what?”

“Gossip.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“It’s a game,” she said. “At least in the mortal realm. There’s a delicate balance between offering up too much or too little. If you offer up nothing, your peers will think you're oblivious to your surroundings or worse—sanctimonious. But if you share too much that makes you untrustworthy.”

“I can see it already,” he murmured, fascinated at the gleam in her eyes. She had a competitive streak, and he was eager to file that discovery away for later use. “You must have been fierce competition during the social seasons.”

The proud tilt of her chin certainly suggested as much, though she was too polite to admit it.

“I perfected how to share details just tantalizing enough to not betray anyone who held me in confidence. And because gossip is always a competition of who knows most, I always received the most scandalous rumors in exchange.”

“You would make an impressive emissary with that skill set,” he said, pleased to see a flush crawling up her cheeks. In the past, she’d always shrunk away from his attempts to compliment her.

Encouraged, he edged the slightest bit closer, placing his palm against the rail to steady himself for her scent. In the open air, some of it was being carried away, drifting towards the green bay at the bottom of the hill. But the remainder of that sweet jasmine and pear scent lingered in the air around her, tangling his senses like a hidden snare.

Elain stiffened at their proximity, but she didn’t pull away. It was progress, he reasoned.

“What would you share with the scholars, then, to find out what happened at the ball?”

After a moment of thought, she said, “Do you think they’d be interested to know that the High Lord of the Night Court has taken up knitting as a pastime?”

“Oh?” drawled a deep voice. “How quaint. Do you think he’d knit a loincloth for me?.”

Elain’s hand flew to her chest, a gasp hitching out of those perfect lips as she scrambled back from Lucien, all of their so-called progress crumbling into sand. It was like she feared being caught alone with him, as if she didn’t want anyone to know they could be friendly with each other. For the sake of his pride, he told himself it was a lingering scruple of the mortal realm.

Yet it still rubbed against an old, festering wound.

Unwanted. Unneeded. Undesirable.

Hastily brushing his bruised ego aside, Lucien turned to their new arrival.

It was difficult to examine him too closely, in the same way one could never glimpse the sun in full. Magic radiated from him, even with a glamor, like a kernel of the sun lived beneath the High Lord’s dark brown skin. He was covered in more gold than cloth—a spiked crown atop his head, a collar around his throat, draping a waterfall of golden chains across his exposed chest and arms. White cloth hung from his hips, secured in place by a slanted jeweled belt, and the fabric was slit on both sides to expose his wide thighs.

“High Lord,” Lucien greeted, exceedingly careful not to glance towards Elain. He had no interest in marking her reaction to the male and all of the skin he had on display. “Lucien, Emissary of the Night Court, at your service.”

“A Vanserra,” Helion repeated under his breath. Not a question—if anything it was grumbled. And as Lucien raised his head, he could see the High Lord of the Day Court raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his broad nose. “I call in a favor and the bastard sends me a Vanserra.”

Wariness of his family name wasn’t unfounded, but Lucien couldn’t help his stab of irritation. Helion knew as well as any other High Fae that he’d been exiled from the Autumn Court centuries ago.

“I don’t use my family name,” he said flatly.

Helion hummed. “I don’t blame you. Tedious lot, that family of yours. I was hoping for the beautiful Mor, but I suppose your Knowledge of the other Courts may come in handy.”

With that quick dismissal, the High Lord’s attention roved away from Lucien and quickly landed on Elain. Lucien was careful to keep his expression neutral as the High Lord appraised her with an interest that made his skin itch. As if it no longer fit the beast stirring and writhing beneath.

“Where have they been hiding you?”

That deep, rich voice was now dripping in sensuality. The High Lord stepped toward her, a taunting smile growing on his lips when he noticed the way Lucien tensed. He knew what Helion was like with females—with males, too. Rumor said Helion was indiscriminate so long as a person was beautiful, and Elain was the most beautiful of all.

The High Lord offered her a bow, extending one of his broad hands to her. And Elain, too polite or perhaps equally enchanted, allowed him to take her hand and brush a kiss to the backs of her knuckles.

Easy, Lucien coached himself, tightening his leash on the instincts that demanded bloodshed at seeing another male touch his mate. Put his mouth on her—

Easy. He took a deep breath. She’s unharmed. She’s safe. She’s…

Enjoying it.

That was laughter slipping past her lips, mirth crinkling at her eyes, and a deep swatch of scarlet creeping over her elegant cheekbones. The bastard was practically half-clothed, and yet there wasn’t an ounce of the reservation she always seemed to possess in Lucien’s company.

In fact, her eyes were wandering over the High Lord’s exposed skin, admiring the golden cuff around his forearm—or perhaps the swelling muscle it constricted. Was that what she liked, then?

A sharp bitterness rose at the back of his tongue. Lucien was admittedly leaner than the High Lord. He knew he didn’t possess the same warrior build as so many of the males she spent her time around, but that could be helped. He trained regularly to keep his strength, but he could heighten his regimen, if that would encourage her eyes to wander towards him more often.

Though, if the appeal was Helion’s beauty… his striking face, which was notably unmarred, or his amber eyes, which were a matching color and simmering with impish delight as they beheld her. If those were what caused Elain to part her lips in wonder, then there was nothing Lucien could do to rectify that shortcoming in himself.

“Well?” Helion prompted, humor lacing his voice. “What brings a sweet little morsel like you to my Court?”

“She’s here on leisure, not Court business.” Lucien tried to sound bored, uninterested in whatever game the High Lord was trying to taunt him into playing. “Before you get any ideas, Feyre made it clear that she’s not to be involved.”

He produced a letter from his pocket between realms, holding it between his fingers in offer, but not extending it any further. Helion could take his damned hands off Elain and collect it himself.

The High Lord didn’t let go of her hand, but he did raise his mouth from its place at her knuckles to regard Lucien, then the letter—each with a cool indifference. With a snap of his fingers, a sun-kissed breeze swept in from the sea and snatched the parchment from Lucien’s fingertips. The swift, jerking motion morphed the paper’s dull edge into a blade, and Lucien hissed as it sliced against his thumb.

By the time the letter floated to Helion and unfolded for his surveillance, the blood had already welled and sealed over. There was no apology in the High Lord’s grin, only challenge. And if Elain was aware of the transgression, if she could scent the copper of Lucien’s blood carried over on the breeze, she said nothing. Only watched with curious eyes as Helion unfolded the letter.

It didn’t say much. Similar to Lucien's meeting with Rhysand the night before, the details were frustratingly cryptic. A trade deal. That’s all he’s been told. Not which territory they’d be trading with, not the contents of what they’d be trading, no indication of any timeline.

None of it boded well. And Feyre’s refusal to let Elain be involved did little to ease his suspicions. If it was a simple negotiation, why wouldn’t they want Elain to gain exposure to Court politics?

“I see,” Helion said, scanning the letter’s contents. He clicked his tongue, the golden paint smeared beneath his lower lashes glistening as he turned back to Elain. “Pity, that beautiful face would have made these tedious meetings much more bearable. But it’s a pleasure to have you in my court, nonetheless, Lady Elain.”

Elain bowed her head and, at last, withdrew her hand. “Thank you for your generosity, High Lord.”

“Call me Helion,” he purred. “If only because it will rile that mate of yours.”

She winced at the word. Mate. That sacred, special word that Lucien was so careful not to use around her. The one syllable monument to the fate they danced around, because if they were to acknowledge it she would get that look on her face, the one she was wearing now, and he would feel it like a serrated blade in his chest, sawing against the bone and sinew of a bond that refused to tear, though he felt each abrasion just the same.

Lucien resisted the urge to rise to the jab. He wanted to insist that he was not that kind of mate, that he was different than the territorial male she feared being shackled to. But if he continued speaking for her, it would only lend weight to the accusation.

He bit his tongue—bit it until he tasted blood in his mouth.

“Helion,” she said, testing the name and earning a lazy smile from the male in return. “I hear that you have a thousand libraries in this Court.”

“I do. Are you here seeking knowledge, Lady?”

Did she catch it, Lucien wondered, that subtle shift in Helion’s tone? Still warm, still overtly friendly, but sharpened just enough to suggest that he recognised the danger in the knowledge his Court guarded. And that by virtue of seeking it, Elain posed a threat.

She was a stranger to him after all. An Archeron, yes, but still mated to a Vanserra. That made her untrustworthy on principle. And despite her beauty and innocent demeanor, which may have earned her trust in the mortal realm, here it would only earn her scrutiny. In Prythain, any fae past infancy knew the flowers with the loveliest blooms were most often poisonous.

“No,” she said, turning timid beneath his assessment. “I—I never learned how to read, my Lord. My sisters and I lost any proper education to poverty. But I am fascinated by architecture, and I enjoy the quiet of a library to work on my embroidery.”

Elain, illiterate? He knew that Feyre had been, and that it’d once nearly gotten him killed. But surely he would know if his own mate was, too. Lucien’s mind scrambled back to every past encounter, trying to remember if he’d ever seen Elain reading. She’d been sitting in the library the first time he’d spoken to her, but she’d been thin and pale and absently staring out a window, not saying or doing much of anything.

Did she truly not know how to read? And no one in that house had noticed, or bothered teaching her?

Helion cast his eyes towards Lucien, measured the rage in his expression, and hummed. “We have tutors in this court who could teach you, if you’d like. And some say the architectural feats of my libraries do rival the knowledge they contain. I’ll let my scholars know you’re welcome to explore them at your leisure.”

Elain curtsied again. “You’re too kind, my Lord.”

And as that subtle gleam returned to her eye, the memory clicked. The letter that inspired her to come here. Just this morning, he’d cradled a flame in his palm and admired how his magic cast streaks in her hair while she’d read the letter’s contents.

“Helion,” he insisted again, gentler.

She played him. And he bought it.

Lucien had to turn away, casting his eyes toward the veranda and the city sprawled along the hillside below. There was no one to witness the smile twitching over his lips, the one he couldn’t restrain, though he tried.

Elain manipulated one of the most powerful males in the world. Someone who far exceeded her in age and power and stature. She did it without blinking, or losing the bashful glow on her cheeks.

And it was the most attractive thing Lucien had ever witnessed.

[sonicboomseason3]

this is really fucked up, but one of the reasons why actors tend to not speak out on big political topics is because on some contracts, production companies will include clauses such as not being able to publicly contradict their political beliefs. this is enforced through either monetary penalties and non disparagement agreements, but they both serve the same purpose of having a legal precedent to publicly punish actors who do it

i was originally just gonna respond to this with an "ok" and nothing else but then i caught a good handful of people in my notes dickriding an actor who doesn't even know that they exist (and really only him because i haven't seen anyone doing the same for marsden or pally) so ykw how about i just take this opportunity to bring up a couple of other sketch things that keanu has done that show that he isn't nearly as cool as everyone wants to believe:

the party with netanyahu isn't actually the only time he's rubbed elbows with a prominent israeli - he actually trained with IOF special ops vet aaron cohen in order to play john wick (and on the off chance that anyone wants to dismiss cohen as some guy who was just in the IOF decades ago and left that shit behind, just take a look at his history here). cohen on his own is just an absolute piece of work and a cursory glance at his social media should tell you everything in case the past couple of sentences didn't

and since people want to play the fucking "keanu attended that party a decade ago!!1!" card with me (interestingly enough nobody's doing the same for marsden even though the thing with him was way back in like 2004) i'll go for something relatively recent: he's friends with killer cop toni mcbride. in 2020 mcbride shot and killed daniel hernandez and subsequently got sued by his family for it (guess whose movies they've requested that people boycott?). around the 0:10 mark of this video of the two of them meeting up, they make jokes about "shootin' newton," which is a chant lapd newton division cops came up with to reference the high amount of police shootings that happen there. also in case none of this is enough for you mcbride's a proud trump supporter so yeah she's just a full-on white supremacist and keanu not only decided to hang out with her for a day but also evidently knew enough about the lapd to know about "shootin' newton"

but back to anon's original point, am i supposed to care that he could potentially get fined for saying shit? this past week, hundreds of college students and faculty, most if not all of whom are significantly worse off than an a-list celebrity like keanu, have been brutalized and arrested for protesting the genocide on campuses. and somehow an actor with a net worth of $380 million can't say or do anything lest he run the risk of being fined or fired or whatever

[skeedelvee]

Carry On Countdown Day 24 - Holiday Shopping

For this year's COC I've decided to put together daily fic rec lists! Let me know if you find any new favorite reads from these <3

For todays prompt I've gone with fics that either involve holiday shopping, general shopping, or gifts

Holiday Shopping:

So This Is Christmas by @krisrix

Rated T, 57,557 words

Simon Snow hasn't got a clue as to why he doesn't want to fight his vampire nemesis to the death. All he's got is a stupid plan to pretend that he and Baz are dating so that The Mage won't make them fight. Baz Pitch has got an envelope bursting with money and a burning desire to enjoy whatever time he can with the boy he loves. What he hasn't got is any clue what goes through Simon's head. The two form a truce and run away together for Christmas, eager to bask in the things the holiday ought to bring...while the threat of war breathes down their necks. Snow's blubbering stops short as he takes in the beauty of the hotel’s interior. The lighting is dim and warm, making the off-white walls gleam. The furnishings are wooden and well cared for, the polish immaculate. I can see several fireplaces at work with a cursory glance. Perhaps most lovely of all is the scent of fresh pine wafting from the various wreaths and garlands artfully hung about. There are little baubles and lights in them. I eagerly await evening, when the hotel surely becomes even cosier and dimmer—I’m certain the Christmas lights will look divine when twinkling in Snow’s eyes.

What Do You Get for the Grandson Who Has Nothing and the Grandmother Who Has Everything? by me! @skeedelvee

Rated G, 2,041 words

Simon and Ruth struggle with what to get each other for their first Christmas together

Shopping and/or Gifts:

Old Friends and New Beginnings by @livisafish and @yellobb

Rated G, 1,576 words

Simon leads her around the flat (I think he’s relaxed some from seeing Natasha’s excitement), showing her how to get to her very own Netflix account, feeding her slices of his homemade brioche (my favorite, the sap), letting her jump on our bed (and telling her she’s welcome to come share with us any time she wants to), and taking pictures of the three of us to print and frame later today. When it comes to showing her the nursery, it’s my turn to have my stomach twist in knots. I hope she likes Paddington… 

Cedar and Smoke by Selkiesfour

Rated G, 2,993 words

Simon's flat is very depressing. There's nothing here. Besides the chocolate bar wrappers in the sofa cushions and mess of clothes on the floor, there’s no hint of Simon residing here full time. He doesn't have art on the walls, or trinkets on his bookshelves. He doesn't even have a bookshelf. There's barely any furniture, except for what we bought at our only IKEA trip, and the bed frame Penny found at a flea market. It doesn't take a lot of persuading for Simon to come shop at TK Maxx with me. We go everywhere together these days, and we’re trying to build a life together in his little one-bedroom flat. -- or the one where snowbaz goes shopping at tk maxx !

The Pleasure Is Mine by @philaet0s

Rated E, 4,726 words

“Lingerie?” I ask, looking up at him with a smile tugging at my lips. ——————————— or, it’s Baz’s birthday, and Simon treats him well

Silk & Velvet by @captain-aralias

Rated E, 7,940 words

Valentine's Day falls on a Thursday and Simon is old, now. They both are. Almost thirty. He knows he should have stuck with the boring gift Baz asked for, but he didn't and now— Well.

Flamey by Star4545

Rated G, 1,609 words

Baz and Penny throw Simon a birthday party and Baz's gift makes Simon a little emotional

Paper Rings by Bigspookyfan

Rated G, 1,280 words

"I was at Poundland and I was walking through the halloween aisles and I saw it and I swear I wasn't gonna buy it. I was already out of the store but I just had to come back for it, you know? It made me think of you." Simon gets Baz a gift. The problem is Baz is not sure if he likes it

Second Hand by @thewholelemon

Rated M, 3,681 words

Simon needs some professional clothes and Penny heard of this great shop. The boy behind the counter’s a little rude though.

If you have any recs that fit the prompt that I've missed, feel free to leave them in the comments! There's plenty of gaps in my reading so there's a good chance I may not have read it

Also I've had a hard time finding if some people are here on Tumblr, so if you know someone who hasn't been tagged, feel free to leave that in the comments as well <3

@carryon-countdown

[wrathofrats]

Over an overture (sexual perversity) part 2!

(Read the first part here or read the entire thing on Ao3!)

Wc: 4.7k

Pebble/alpha/ivy

When pebble gets back from his little encounter, alpha decides he isn’t quite done with him yet. Too bad ivys sitting right there.

Warnings for: humiliation, dubious consent (pebble says no many times, he doesn’t mean it and can leave/safeword whenever, yes there’s aftercare) a bit of degradation, exhibitionism, I made this as bad as possible for pebble if I’m being honest.

Other stuff: pebble is a shithead, alpha is worse, this is a tad gross but don’t read too much into it, stupid love confessions, Ivy secretly is kinda a slut but we won’t mention it, kinda a scent kink? I think? op thinks she’s really funny,

A thanks and special fuck you /aff to @divine-misfortune as usual for editing and helping me brainstorm and stufff

Ok have fun and enjoy <3

Pebble takes a deep breath before he opens the door.

The old doorknob catches, clicking the lock a bit too loudly for Pebble’s hopeful attempt to sneak in without being caught. His pants still feel uncomfortable from where Alpha had left him to sit and stew in his own shame, the promise of “ah, don’t be selfish wildflower, maybe if you do what I told you I’ll give you more later” still ringing through his brain. If any demon below was looking out for him he could rush to his own room to catch his breath before having to swallow his own pride in order to make sure Alpha made good on his stupid promise.

Honestly pebble wasn’t sure why he even bothered with that asshole. His shenanigans usually left him more annoyed and about to kill him than they left him satisfied. The stupid pride that radiated off of him in waves managed to make pebble flustered beyond comprehension.

The door opened with a squeak.

Pebble poked his head through the crack to give a cursory glance of the room before letting go of a deep breath and turning to hastily lock the door behind him.

“I was wondering when you’d come back” Alpha’s annoyingly cocky voice ground against Pebble’s already fraying patience. He’s lucky Pebble didn’t turn around and swing, barely in the mood to tolerate him, let alone his stupid comments. he only reason he didn’t just kick behind him like an irritated horse was the knowledge that he wouldn’t get anything if he acted like that.

“I was wondering when you’d get a better personality,” Pebble mocked, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice.

“Oh don’t be like that…You’ve already been so good for me, why would you ruin it with that smart mouth now?”

“I haven’t been good for you, you fucking low life perverted chimney soot pervert freak. I just had to finish my work. Have you ever even done anything that resembles work around here?” Pebble bites. Alpha has him crowded against the door, the edges of his eyes crinkling into a self satisfied smile that pebble desperately wishes he could slap right off.

“Well I-“ Alpha began.

“Besides being the fucking stick up my ass”

“Thought you loved it when I was up your ass”

Pebble swore up and down that if he were any taller, any bigger, Alpha would've been dead months ago. He's half convinced that if Alpha were six feet under he'd finally live in peace - the fantasy of a world where he didn't have to listen to the absolute insanity that left Alpha's mouth sounded too good to be true. Pebble doesn't waste his breath on answering, unwilling to dignify it. He cockes an eyebrow, glancing down to Alpha's hand splayed on his chest as if to question why he was even still detaining him there.

“I could smell you from behind the door you know” Alpha grinned, with too many teeth down at the little earth ghoul.. Intimidating to anyone who wasn’t Pebble but the humiliating implication behind the words made him blush. “Taking everything in me to not just fuck you here against the wall. Make a spectacle of how good you know how to be”

“Why can’t you just fuck me in a bed like a normal ghoul? My back hurts from earlier” pebble rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. He hoped if he played his cards right Alpha would just drag him upstairs and they could stop whatever this was.

“I just don’t think that would be nearly as fun sprout”

“Why not? Can’t you be a gentleman and let me lay down for once?”

“Because we have an audience, dirt boy” alphas grin grew impossibly wider. That’s when pebble finally noticed that Ivy had been sitting in the living room the entire time, only feet away from them. From what pebble can see he doesn’t give any indication that he’s heard the two, but panic fills pebble nonetheless. “And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Alpha don’t you fucking dare” Pebble gasped, wide eyed. To his horror Alpha stepped back and turned his attention towards Ivy.

“Mind if we sit with you mint sprig? Pebble wanted to watch a movie,” he called across the room. Beyond casual.

Pebbles heart melts a bit when Ivy just beams at the simple invitation, yelling back an “of course!” While alpha grabs him by the upper arm. The rough handling is enough to break him from his stupor. He tries to jerk away, to wriggle from his grip, but Alpha only holds him tighter.

“No no no alpha wait no you promised!-“ Pebble quietly pleads with him.

“Listen, do what I say and I’ll fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow” alpha muttered back. The words make Pebble’s stomach do flips. They only serve to keep him docile enough to mess with while alpha enacts whatever sick scenario he has running through that tiny brain of his.

Pebble sat at the far end of the couch with his legs curled in on himself in an attempt to hide his no doubt stained pants and annoyingly half hard cock. He subtly placed both hands in his lap while Alpha shot him a knowing, and satisfied look.

“So what did you want to watch, Pebble?” Ivy asked naively, clearly and thankfully not picking up on the tension in the room. He scooted closer, almost touching Pebble’s side while pebble just smiles and tries to give himself a second for his brain to struggle to catch up.

“What?” Pebble started to ask but answered his own question “Oh. I don’t care. Pick whatever you want.” He mumbled less than enthusiastically after a second too long

“You said you wanted to watch something though” Ivy questioned.

“Come on dirt boy, don’t leave the sweet thing waiting, tell us about that movie you wanted to watch.”

Pebble glares at Alpha as he racks his brain for any movie he's ever heard of and tries to ignore the blush on Ivy’s cheeks from yet another one of Alpha’s stupid comments. His thoughts move at the speed of molasses, blood flowing to all the wrong places.

Ivy was too close for comfort and any other time he’d consider it a blessing but it only serves to jumble his thoughts.

“Fuck- uhh, night swim came out a bit ago, we can throw that on or something” Pebble mumbled. It’s the only movie he could think of, remembering the god awful advertisements for it plaguing the tv. He just had to sit through the next two hours without losing it, he tells himself. If he can just sit still and keep his thoughts at bay he can get fucked and go to bed.

“You smell really good by the way” Ivy mumbled, shimmying impossibly closer to pebble. He thinks he can hear him trying to breath in his scent when ivy turned toward him to deliver the comment.

Did he notice? Is he in on it and they’re both fucking with him? Does Ivy even know what’s going on? He prays the answer to all three is no.

The color drained from his face as he hugged his legs closer to himself, squeaking out a thanks before attempting to turn his attention back to the movie and not only ignore how he too can smell the dried cum and arousal on him, but the fact that ivy is fully pressed into his side.

“Oh doesn’t he?” Alpha chimes in, “could practically smell him through the doorway”

Pebble should have known it was pointless to have hoped Alpha wouldn’t catch the offhand comment. He is Alpha at the end of the day. Never one to let anything slide or let Pebble have a goddamn moment of peace.

“Any reason, sprout? New cologne or something?”

“I don’t know. What are you? A cop?” Pebble sneered.

“Just wanted you to know how sweet you smell” Alpha smiled in a way he could only describe as predatory. Pebble was going to kill him actually. The comment went straight to his dick for no real reason and Alpha absolutely knew it. He adjusts himself once again, debating giving up and seeing if Mist felt nice enough to peg him to take the edge off. Moving is hard with their eyes on him, and he knew Alpha would never let him escape out of something like this so easily.

The scent of honey and hemlock coming from Pebble was enough to make Ivy’s mouth water. He smells like rich rain soaked soil, sweet with a bite of musk. Practically catnip to any earth ghoul, and Ivy seemed high off of it. Pebble had never seen him so ballsy. If he wasn’t curled in on himself he was sure Ivy would have been in his lap by now, practically rubbing up against him. The worst part? He wants it, he wants Ivy on him so desperately but not like this.

He doesn’t want him when he’s sitting in his own fucking cum because he was too stupid, horny, and perverted to control himself. Can’t let him find out what happened. It’d give him the impression he was just as bad as Alpha, and he was far from it. He still had some shame, even in his current predicament.

Pebble makes what he’s sure is his hundredth prayer of the day. Begs Satan to make Ivy give him a couple inches of space so he could run to his room and relieve himself of his uncomfortable clothing. Prays he hasn’t stained himself and his hard on would go down so he can escape. He honestly doesn’t care if he got fucked at this point, it was not worth whatever torture this was.

The shit eating grin on Alpha’s face convinced him Satan hadn’t been listening to a single thing he’d asked for. Maybe he deserved it for his church shenanigans. Maybe Satan just hated him.

“Ya know, Papa called me into the chapel earlier, smelled something similar in there if I recall correctly” Alpha speaks up after another minute of silence.

“I don’t know how you can recall anything correctly, you geriatric.”

“I’m just saying, could’ve sworn there was a stain left on the floor.” Alpha shrugged, an innocent look on his face.

Pebble sighed dramatically, “Fuck, I knew it was dementia, I better call Terzo and give him the bad news.”

Alpha rolled his eyes and continued speaking. “You’ve been in there all day, any explanation for the class?”

“That’s where I do chores asshat, maybe you’d know if you ever did any work.”

“Oh the last I heard you weren’t doing work either, sweetheart.”

Pebble froze.

“Shut up” he growled, the immediate anger almost instantly giving him away. Ivy looks too confused for Pebble’s comfort.

“What was he doing?” Ivy pipes up as Pebble attempts to sink further into the couch.

“Well I heard-“

“Alpha I swear to Satan” Pebble growls, nails pricking through the fabric of the arm rest.

“What’s wrong? What were you doing?” Ivy asks again. Pebble’s never once wished harm on him but if he doesn’t sit and be quiet he may have to retract his stupid puppy crush in favor of burning down the building.

“I’m sure Ivy would find the answer real interesting Pebble.”

Every comment eats away at his patience more and more. He fidgets with his hands in his lap, jaw clenched, trying to talk himself down from pouncing.

“Shut up” Pebble growls once again, hoping the final warning would be enough, but with how the day had been going he really should’ve known better.

“You seem really upset for no reason. Unless there’s something you’re not telling us.”

Pebble loses the last strand of his patience as he jumps up from his seat on the couch. “I’m going to fucking kill you” he nearly shouts. His hands come away from his lap as he balls them into fists at his sides, and he realizes way too late that this was all apart of Alpha’s fucked up game.

Alpha’s gaze travels down and back up whereas Ivy might as well be fully staring at his crotch. He's still slightly hard, a small but extremely noticeable stain on his pants where the head of his cock sits.

“Oh…Whats got you like that sprout?” Alpha is physically incapable of shutting the fuck up. His voice is cocky, a bit too giddy when he asks.

“I-“ Pebble stutters, the words die in his throat, no reasonable excuse comes to mind, not that he’s convinced there even is one. He can’t admit the truth. He can’t admit Alpha fucked him against the wall and told him to stay like that. He can’t admit that he fucking listened purely because his horny brain liked being called good boy just a bit too much to be rational. He can’t admit that the only reason that any of that even transpired is because they both got so turned on over Ivy’s innocence that they couldn’t help themselves.

“Cats out of the bag dirt boy, you might as well come clean.”

Pebble looked like a deer in headlights. He physically can’t bring himself to say what happened, he doesn’t even know where to start. Sure it’s not a secret that the ghouls all pass each other around like the sisterhood of the traveling whore but he has more shame than to admit that it was Alpha out of everyone, and that he was talking about Ivy the entire time.

“Are you going to tell him how you let me practically bully you up against the wall? How I got you begging for it, just from a couple of touches?” Alpha stands to loom over Pebble, tip his chin up to force eye contact while Ivy watches the whole thing happen in front of him.

“I- I wasn’t begging. You offered.” Pebble’s voice has a note of uncertainty to it, like he doesn’t believe the words he’s saying, walking straight into one of Alpha’s traps to embarrass him further.

“I'm begging, just make me cum, please!” Alpha’s voice pitches high in a degrading imitation of Pebble, “shut up and put your cock in me Alpha!”

“Have you made your point yet?” Pebble cowered slightly, not daring to look over at the count to where Ivy looks too interested for his own good.

“I haven’t even gotten to the best part! I’m sure Ivy would love to know how you screamed h-“

Before Pebble can even think about it he aims up with his fist, directing it straight for Alpha’s jaw before his wrist is quickly caught. Alpha moves fast, grabbing both hands in one fist and pinning them behind his back. The other hand roughly grips his chin, forcing him to look at Ivy.

“Tell him pebble” Alpha growled low into Pebble’s ear.

He can’t. He can’t make himself. He cant force the words out of his mouth and Ivy won’t stop fucking looking at him likes he’s too interested in this.

“Tell me Pebble,” Ivy says. His voice is still high and innocent like he hasn’t assumed already what the answer is. He can’t be that stupid, Pebble refuses to believe it. But his eyes are wide and sparkle with curiosity and Alpha’s nails dig into his wrists and he can’t help but blurt everything out.

“I- he- I screamed your name when he fucked me” Pebble winced.

“Come on, there’s more” Alpha digs deeper.

“No there isn’t” Pebble grits through the pain in his wrists.

“Not going to tell him how you wanted me to fuck his mouth with my fingers at dinner? How you wished it was you?”

“I didn’t say that alpha!” Pebble wanted desperately to scream, to wave his white flag, the only thing keeping him from completely losing it is how Ivy seems more and more interested by the second. He seems to be enjoying the show, and if Pebble thought to know any better he could swear Ivy has his hands planted over his lap in a similar fashion to the way he did earlier.

“Said you wanted to know how pretty he whines, wanted to be the first to get your cock into the innocent thing right?”

“I never said that!” He protested once again.

The hand on his chin trails down his chest slowly as if Alpha is showing him off. Reaches down to squeeze him through his pants making Pebble gasp and wiggle against his grip.

“You’re hard pumpkin, clearly you were into it if you’re turned on just from me mentioning it again.”

Pebble hides his face in Alpha’s shoulder, unable to look at Ivy any longer. He would probably grind against alphas hand like a mindless whore if was anymore brainless. Alpha keeps squeezing, kneading at him, and he’s still not even looking down. Alpha maintains his eye contact with Ivy as he works him over.

“Want to get off like this in front of him or do you want me to clean you up like I promised” alpha whispered.

“Wait” Ivy finally speaks up for the first time in what felt like hours.

“What’s on your mind mint sprig?”

“Can i?” Ivy asks timidly, playing with his fingers in his lap.

“Oh? You want to clean him up? How sweet. Desperate thing came in his pants like a horny fucking teenager, sure he needs it after waiting so long.”

Ivy nods enthusiastically

“Did you hear that sprout? You ok with finally letting Ivy get that pretty little mouth on you?” Pebble only nods with a small whimper. His head still tucked into Alpha’s shoulder.

Alpha quickly shifts them to sit on the couch to make it easier for him to leverage Pebble. Grabs him by the thigh and places him on his lap, holding his legs open for Ivy to nestle between.

“Come here then sweetheart” Alpha beckons him and points to the ground in front of Pebble “show him how you look on your knees.”

Pebble will have to think longer later about the fact that Ivy doesn’t even hesitate to drop in front of him. On his knees staring up at the two ready to be given instructions and Pebble thinks he could probably cum from the sight alone if he’s not careful.

“Go ahead. Give Pebble what he wants”

They’re both shocked when Ivy immediately dives for the button on Pebble’s pants, unzips and pulls them down along with his underwear to pull his cock out. Ivy stares a bit too long at it while his mouth waters. It sits hard against pebbles stomach, tip flushed a deep red, light shining off of the pre that dribbles down the head.

“Pretty..” he mumbles. Pebble nearly chokes.

From behind him Alpha lets go of the grip on his wrist and moves to pull his pants down even more from how he’s placed on his thighs. He uses a finger to tease his rim, circling the right ring of muscle. Pebble jumps at the sensation, trying to control himself between the two.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Pebble squeaks. Ivy smiles at his panic, gripping his cock in his fist.

“Promised you I’d fuck you didn’t I?” Alpha laughed.

Pebble thinks he may actually explode.

Ivy thumbs over his tip, sticky and sensitive and Pebble’s eyes cross from the sight and sensation of Ivy touching him. He looks too happy with himself, watching Pebble’s cock twitch with a grin, as if he’s proud of himself for getting this kind of reaction.

Two fingers play with his bottom lip, asking for permission to enter. Pebble was far beyond the snarky comments anymore, beyond the talking back, floating in a state of want. He parts his lips without a second thought, Alpha petting over his tongue to gather the saliva.

“Never seen him this quiet, usually I have to fuck the attitude out of him” alpha talks over his shoulder. He reaches back to shove two fingers inside of him, having pebble arch against alphas chest.

“You do this often?” Ivy asks with a voice that is entirely too demure considering Pebble can feel his breath on his dick.

“Well someone’s got to take care of him, can’t let him act the way he does with no punishment. Besides, he’s a fucking size queen when he wants to be.”

Alpha scissors him open, curling his fingers up to make Pebble damn near scream. He can hear them talk about him but he can’t bring himself to respond. Ivy gives a small lick to his head, as if he’s testing the waters, before licking slowly up his shaft.

“Does he ever…” Ivy trails off.

“He’s been itching to fuck you into the mattress for months, rosebud.”

They speak about him like he’s a fucking toy, like he’s some blow up sex doll they’re considering buying. Degrading. It makes his mind feel numb.

“Please…” Ivy begs at the hypothetical situation. Alpha removes his fingers from Pebble, replacing them with the head of his cock.

“I’m sure he could break such a delicate thing as you” alpha slowly lets pebble sink down, well aware of the pace Pebble preferred and giving him time to adjust.

“Need him to break me” Ivy mumbled somewhat dreamily, still mouthing at Pebble’s shaft.

“Oh baby, have you ever had a cock in you?”

“Not a real one” Ivy breathes, practically entranced.

Pebble hates how obediently Ivy responds to him. How he still sounds like it’s a normal conversation they’re having as Pebble writhes between them. He sits firmly on Alpha’s cock, full beyond belief. Pebble always forgets how big he is, how he always needs a couple minutes to breathe through the stretch.

“You have to fuck yourself with your own toys? Oh you poor thing”

Ivy sucks at his tip, swirling his tongue around it to gather the pre that leaks like faucet. He looks up at Alpha and nods.

“Tell our sweet little sapling here how you like to fuck yourself, I’m sure he’s been picturing how you look every night.”

“I.. I uh” Ivy gulped, mouth removed from Pebble but stroking him slowly. Alpha starts to fuck up into him, signaling for him to grind down. “Finger myself, like to take my time, like how it feels to touch myself”

Pebble thinks he may cum just from hearing Ivy speak like this.

“Yeah? Then what do you do?”

“Have a toy i like to get in me, like to feel full” Ivy mumbles as if he’s suddenly embarrassed.

“I'm sure Pebble will have to fix that one day, won’t you sweetheart?” Alpha noses into his hair. Pebble responds with a nod, moaning out something along the lines of a plea. He bounces as much as he can in his position, face screwed up in pleasure. “It’s funny honestly, wouldn’t expect him to be able to ruin you considering how small he is” alpha chuckles earning a half hearted swat from the earth ghoul on top of him. Ivy returns his mouth, taking the first couple inches with ease.

Pebbles hands fly to his hair, cursing loudly as Ivy bobs. “Fuck- fuck, Ivy I’m close you gotta-“ Pebble tried to warn but Ivy doesn’t let up, doesn’t take him out of his mouth, only looks up at him from beneath his eye lashes.

“Cum for him Pebble, you’ve earned it” Alpha whispered

Pebble releases with a shout, spilling down Ivy's throat, hands tangled in his hair. Alpha and Ivy work him through it, grinding and lapping up his release before he can go completely limp.

Ivy backs off as Alpha thrusts a few more times before spilling inside of him, trying his best not to overstimulate the poor thing in doing so. He’s practically boneless in Alpha’s grip, reduced to glassy eyes and broken whimpers every time Alpha moves regardless of his attempts at being careful.

Ivys uses the spare couple of seconds to stroke himself, knowing it won’t take much. Gives himself a couple quick flicks before cumming in his hand with a bitten off moan.

Alpha strokes at Pebble’s hair, monitoring him closely as he comes down from his high. Sweet words whispered into his skin as he tries not to jostle him much.

“You with me sprout?”” Alpha asks, kissing Pebble’s temple. “Take it you enjoyed yourself.”

“Mhm” he nodded, eyes half lidded and vacant. Not completely there. He whines when Alpha finally lifts him off of his cock, cringing at the empty feeling.

“Did so well, told you I’d make good on my promise” Alpha laughs softly. He pulls up Pebble’s pants to give him as much of his dignity back as he could, even if they all desperately need a shower. “Proud of you Pebs.”

“You’re an ass” Pebble mumbles. He sounds tired, hiding his face again in Alpha’s chest while he drifts down from his high.

“You ok too Ivy?” Alpha asks, stroking along Pebble’s skin.

“Yeah of course!” He beams. He sounds a bit too giddy for the situation

It takes Pebble a moment to process the situation before he’s almost flying out of Alpha’s lap

“Fuck! That was weird, that was so weird of me, Ivy I’m so sorry I-“

“You’re ok, I had fun” Ivy laughed.

Pebble moved to sit next to him, giving him a once over and attempting to read his body language for any sign of discomfort. He felt stupid, like he may have fucked everything up. He hopes ivy won’t look at him any differently, hopes he doesn’t think pebble only thinks of him sexually.

“This .. this just isn’t exactly how I wanted this to happen” Pebble mumbled. He had hoped for something a bit more respectful than some half dazed confession on the living room floor covered in cum. It’s not the true picture of romance he wanted, especially not for Ivy.

“How you wanted what to happen?” Ivy asked.

“Well.. I.. I just-“ Pebble stutters. Even if Ivy had his dick in his mouth a couple minutes ago, the idea of admitting he has feelings is beyond his brain power at the moment. “Just thought you deserved more respect than whatever this was. I don’t just look at you like some object, if you can believe that” pebble joked half heartedly.

“Are you sure?” Ivy feigned surprise

“Yes actually. You know this wasn’t just a sexual thing right? That I don’t only like you because I want to fuck you?”

“I understand” Ivy gives him a shy smile, “I wanted this too.”

“You did?”

“Of course, haven’t you seen the way I’ve been looking at you?”

Pebble scrunches his brow in confusion. Had he been this fucking stupid the entire time? He could hear Alpha give a small chuckle behind him and regretfully realizes that he was unfortunately also still in the room.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to fuck this up and having someone fuck me in front of you didn’t seem like the most romantic love confession” Pebble stares at the floor while Ivy giggles in front of him. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, a crinkle in the corner of his eyes. Pebble thinks he’s beyond adorable like this.

“Don’t worry, I got the hint.”

It’s stupid. All of it was honestly so fucking stupid.. Pebble was head over heels and could have just kissed him right there if he wasn’t consciously aware of the horrifically gross feeling of three loads drying on his skin. He’s sure Ivy doesn’t feel much cleaner either. Ivy cradles his hand to his chest in an attempt to not straight up wipe it on the floor like a heathen.

“Can we continue this after we’ve all showered? I feel like a pornstar who just worked overtime.” Pebble asked, wincing at how his sore muscles protested the movement of trying to get up.

Ivy nearly snorted at his joke and Pebble’s heart stuttered.

“Yeah, yeah I’d love to.”

Alpha lounges back against the couch as the two of them depart on shaky legs, Pebble more so than Ivy. He remains despite the sweat, cum and spit on his skin, half convinced that whatever display he'd just watched had made him violently ill.

At least that's what he’s convinced of, refusing to admit to anyone (even himself) that he's happy because Pebble is happy.