#and it's a flat fact that he did not create this conversation

[a-b-riddle]

Part 9 (unrevised version). Since I've gotten 6 messages and a good bit of asks requesting to view it. Here it is, not in its final form.

You had hoped Monday would have treated you better than the past two days, but walking up to your shop in the pouring rain to already see a body standing outside waiting wasn't a good sign.

Customers who waited outside your shop always made you feel uncomfortable. But when you finally got close enough, you took in the person before you.

"We don't open for another hour." Your voice flat as you fished for your keys.

"I'll wait." Was Kyle's reply.

"Then you'll have to do it outside." You said, the key sliding into the lock. He didn't argue as you shut the door behind you. Didn't even bother knocking when, after thirty minutes, you looked in the window to see that the wind was causing the rain to blow sideways.

You relented. Letting him in thirty minutes earlier. It was a small mercy, even if he was soaked to the bone. You almost felt bad when his chattering teeth were the only thing you could hear.

Almost.

"I take it John told you about our little talk yesterday." You said, going about your business. Engaging in the conversation as if you were talking about the shitty weather that had tried to drown him.

"He did." He gave a sniffle. Running a hand over his beautiful, wet face. Droplets still staking their claim on his skin. "H-he alssso t-t-told us we were on our own in begging for our own f-forgiveness. Ra-ra- rightly s-s-s-so."

You huffed. Guilt beginning to eat at you before you turned, disappearing to the back of the store and coming back with a shirt and a blanket. "You left the shirt here."

He had no shame and wasted no time in taking off his jacket and soaked shirt. His chiseled body exposed to you. It was almost instinct to reach out and touch the soft skin. You luckily possessed some form of self restraint.

"So are you here to promise to make amends as well?" You crossed your arms. You meant it as a sign that you were wanting to create distance, but honestly you didn't trust yourself. It was second nature. Kyle and Johnny were tied when it came to having to always touch you.

Probably why his ghosting sucked so bad.

"I'd like to take you out." You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. It wasn't until Kyle's face fell that you realized, "Oh, you're actually serious."

He opened his mouth, ready to no doubt give you the same exact promises of doing better that John had given you the day before. Fortunately for Kyle, you didn't have the time to entertain a conversation.

"Fine." You immediately relented. No argument. "That Indian place where I asked you to go four months ago. Seven. If you manage to figure out which place, then I'll be meeting you there. Otherwise you'll be eating alone."

Kyle stood still. Unprepared for the fact that you had... agreed. You actually agreed to let him take you out.

"I can pick you up."

"Not sure what time I'll be getting off today. Might go home first. Might just go straight there." You started opening tasks again. "I have to finish setting up. Seven sharp.

"Seven sharp." He repeated, his smile lighting up the room.

It made you feel sick.

It was 6:45 when your phone started ringing. It was Kyle. Confirming that he was at the restaurant you were supposed to go.

7:00. He had gotten the two of you a table. He'll go ahead and order you a drink. They had mango lassi, but wasn't sure if you wanted to stick to just water.

7:15 He tries calling you. When it goes to voicemail, a follow up text is sent asking if you're okay.

At 7:20, while sitting on the couch you text back. Sorry. Something came up. We'll reschedule, I promise.

If you knew giving them a taste of their own medicine felt so good, you would have done it ages ago. You felt no since of shame in sending it. You hated being petty, but you wanted them to know what it felt like.

John had a lot more of verbal outbursts coming his way and if Johnny was hoping for a chance, he would be lucky if you had sex with him again before marriage.

Ten minutes later, on the dot, there was a knocking on your door. Your food had arrived. Blindly, you opened the door. Only instead of the take out you had delivered, Kyle stood there. Yet again soaked to the bone and this time out of breath.

"How did you know I was here?" Was the first thing that had come into your mind. If anything, he would have went by the shop first, but no. He came here. You weren't the type to deviate from a schedule, but christ. Simon at your date and then the club. John at the shop on your day off. Now this. "I swear to fucking god this fucking stalking-"

"Easy now, Love. No one's stalking you." Bullshit.

Absolute bullshit. They were military. Really important and special connections type of military, but this was bullshit. They were keeping tabs on you somehow.

"I know for a fucking fact that place is only ten minutes away. So you didn't have time to check out my store-- where I should be-- before coming here. So I'm going to ask you again, how did you know I was here?"

"Okay," he shrugged. "Stalking. We're stalking you." Kyle was lying. We he nodded like a bobblehead, you knew whatever was coming out of his mouth was bullshit. The first time you confirmed it was after Johnny had volunteered to make haggis. Kyle told him it was good, no doubt hoping to spare his feelings.

"Kyle." You warned, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. He paused as if trying to form another lie, but coming up short. Sighing in defeat, he confessed.

"Blocking us didn't stop you from sharing your location." In that moment, you could have strangled him. They had been still using your location. Something you had given them as a way to find you if you ever needed help. Now those assholes were using it for their own benefit.

"Son of a-" you shut your mouth. "I can't do this with you right now, okay?" You didn't confess that your publisher had asked for a last minute zoom call in the middle of your busiest work hour to see how you felt about doing a few meet and greets, all expenses paid.

Good news, but still... overwhelming. You still felt like an imposter. That you didn't deserve the hype you were getting. Your story wasn't that good. Your characters didn't hold much depth.

"Everything okay?" You didn't want to tell him. Didn't want to give him the chance to offer the reassurance you desperately needed for something he had no idea about.

"Why?" You asked, changing the subject. "I just want to know why? With John I get that the job gets stressful and needing someone to take-"

"No," he finished. "That's not an excuse. It's a reason. Not an excuse." His jaw clenched. "There is no excuse for how any of us treated you."

"Then what was your reason?" you asked. "I'm finding it very hard that someone who quite actively avoided me suddenly wants to get back together."

"I slacked off?" He shrugged. "I figured there were four of us and if I wasn't able to be there, it wouldn't make a difference."

"If you're just going to lie, Kyle, there is no point in continuing this conversation." You go to close the door only for his hand to stop you.

He stands there, looking at the ground. Even from the this angle you can see him take his bottom lip between his teeth.

He's nervous.

You step back. Giving him the option of coming in and saying it is whatever it is he needs to stay. He may be an ass like the rest of them, but this isn't exactly a conversation you want to have in the hallway for your nosey neighbors to hear.

He takes the silent invitation. Walking in and not speaking until you click the door shut. "You want the truth?" His voice is soft, but there is something else behind it. Anger?

"No," you say sardonically. "Please. Lie to me." He sighed, but didn't say anything. You were exhausted. The past few days had been a back-to-back rollercoaster of emotions. You were drained. You didn't have it in you for this right now. "Kyle-"

"I thought you only kept asking because you felt bad for me." He said the words so quickly, it took you a moment to process them. He thought.... you felt bad for him? "Like you were still trying to include me even if you didn't want to."

"Why?" Was the only thing you could come up with. You didn't have the energy to try to come up with your own reasoning for his admission.

"Don't think I don't know how I am compared to the them." He scoffed. You always knew the hierarchy of their work, even if you didn't know all the details. John was at the top. Captain and head bitch in charge. Simon was the lieutenant with Johnny and Kyle as Sergeants. Kyle was the youngest of the group by two years, but still. What was there to compare?

"So you're not a Captain or Lieutenant?" you shrug. "Johnny is the same rank as you. And you are the youngest and I'm sure with time you'll get to a position-"

"Black!" He said. "I'm black. I am the only fucking black guy not only in this relationship. I'm the only black guy in the 141, in the unit."

When it came to Kyle, black was the last thing you thought of. You thought of his soft brown eyes or house his hands felt so smooth against your body. How his smile could light up the room and how beautiful, how head-turning gorgeous he was. "I'm just an after thought in everything else regarding the 141, why would you be any different?"

"Ky," you were going to be sick. Was this how he really felt? With you? With the others? With work? "You know I don't feel that way, right?"

"Do you remember that time we went out? That french place?" How could you forget. The maître d' had asked Kyle to put a card on a tab before the two of you were even seated. At first you thought it was preposterous. Why would you make patrons at a fine dining restaurant do that? This wasn't a pub for Christ sakes. Kyle told you not to worry about it and handed over a card.

The two of you never went back.

"Oh my god." It dawned on you. "When they asked for your card..."

"I..." he sucked in a breath. Trying to keep his composure. "It was fucking humiliating. I was a man dressed to the fucking nines with a gorgeous girl on my arm and before I even got the chance to blow my money, I was treated like I couldn't afford it. It wasn't because of what I was wearing or who I was with. It was because of me. Of who I was. Who I am."

"Kyle," words escaped you. Nothing in that moment to reassure him that it never dawned on you. That it stupidly never dawned on you how there were times that people did look at him different. You wanted to tell him that it didn't matter. That you were just as important and lovable and respectable as the others. That you loved him just as much. Words failed you. All you could say say was, "I'm so sorry."

He swallowed, before taking in harsh breath through his nose. "It's not an excuse. I got wrapped up in my own stupid fucking head about how other people looked at me, I forgot it only mattered how you did."

"And you did." You said, aching to reach out. To touch him. Offer some comfort. Hating that he ever felt like he wasn't enough. Knowing the feeling all too well. Even if he was the one to make you feel it. "You did matter to me."

"I know." He said. You were thankful he said it clearly. Not shrugging his shoulders or nodding his head as he spoke. "I'll do anything to matter to you again." He took your hands in his, even though they had ached to hold you closer. But he knew not to test his luck. "If you want to press restart and let's take it back to the very beginning, I'll do that. I will court you and woo you and make you fall in love with me all over again because I will never fall out with you. I can't."

You weren't prepared for this. You had prepared to leave Kyle waiting in a restaurant alone. Now your heart ached in your chest at the idea of letting him ever think he wasn't enough because of the color of his skin.

"It doesn't have to be now or tomorrow or next week or next fucking month." He squeezed your hands the same way had John had. With the exact same intensity and promise. "Just let me try again. I won't let you down this time. I'll put in the work."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to work to make this relationship work, Kyle." You protest, wanting to pull your hands away. Free from the spell his touch had seem to be putting you under.

He smiled. Not enough to show off his teeth, but enough where have of his face lifted up. "It's not the type of work with long hours and a shit commute. Loving you is the same kind of work an artist puts into making a masterpiece. Pouring everything into it and getting something beautiful in return."

Before you could comprehend it, your face was wet. "Kyle." Your lips quivered, a sob threatening to come out. "I never felt like I needed to spend time with you, Ky." You sniffled. "I fucking wanted to. I missed you." You were so close. You needed to reel it in. Get it together.

"I just didn't understand how you could." His confession broke any restraint you had. Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to subdue your cries. When Kyle pulled you to his chest, his arms wrapping around you, you allowed yourself to crumble.

Not even for yourself, but for him.

For the kind heart you now knew broke with every sideways glance from passer-byes. For the hateful and prejudice world you lived in and for how they could overlook such a wonderful man just because of something as basic as the color of his skin.

You weren't sure how long you stood crying. You weren't certain if the knock on the door behind him actually happened or something your mind had conjured to try and pull you from your fit.

Eventually you did pull away from him. Your face covered in snot and tears. Seeing that you still were in need of it, Kyle pulled you back to him, only this time your face wasn't buried into his shirt.

You stood there. His arms wrapped around your back while yours found their home around his waist.

"I used to love when you would come back to my place directly from base as soon as you got back from a deployment." You said, breaking the silence. "I would be waiting like a kid on Christmas waiting to see what trinket made you think of me. You made me feel like even though we were so far away, you still thought about me."

"Always." He said, before his lips pressed against the top of your head. "Not a day I didn't miss being here with you."

The two of you eventually settled down on the couch. Both on opposite ends with a hot cup of tea in your hands and the array of take out containers half empty. You had planned for a night of eating your feelings so there was luckily enough food for two.

"I don't want to say no." You admitted. "But I need time. Before I even think about saying yes to all of this again."

"Not all of this," he reminded. "Just me. I'm doing my part in groveling, let the others figure it out. Or at least that's just what Price told us. Although you would be doing all of us a favor if you talked to Johnny?" Your ears perked up. You hadn't seen or heard from Johnny since Friday.

"What's wrong with Johnny?" You asked.

"Lad didn't cope well with you going on your date." Not that you had fucked him and said it was a mistake.... or maybe he kept that tidbit to himsle.f

"It wasn't a-" you started.

"I know," he said. "Simon happened to be nearby." You shot him a look, letting him know you weren't buying that lie, before he continued. "But he didn't. Fuck you're lucky we were able to drag him out of your apartment before you got back and he made an even bigger fool of himself."

"What are you talking about?" You asked. "What do you mean by drag?"

"Johnny called Simon. Told him you were on a date and to bring your ass back. Although you had made it a point to fuck him and leave-- absolutely no judgement, by the way-- he was going to make it a point to never leave your bed."

"My top sheet..." You had come home to your comforters and pillows on the floor. When making up your bed, the top sheet was missing. You had just assumed you didn't put it on or maybe it was in the wash.

"Refused to put his clothes back on. Me and John couldn't risk carrying a naked, screaming Scot through the streets without making a spectical. So we rolled him up and carried him of like a rug. A very heavy, squirmy rug."

"Oh," your hand flew to your chest. "Johnny." He was the bleeding heart of the group so you weren't exactly surprised. He was also the one who blew up shit, so he was definitely one for dramatics. "So that's how Simon figured out about dinner. But the drinks-"

"Whenever Simon is home, he's your shadow. The only time we don't worry about you is when we know he's with you." That made you roll your eyes.

"You act like he's my guard dog."

"He is."

"Is not." You defended, your conversation from Saturday night coming back to you.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be."

"He's not." you said again.

"You're right." Kyle relented, shrugging his fucking shoulders.

"You're saying that like you're just not trying to argue with me." He took a sip of your tea. "Kyle!" He sighed before looking at you as if the last thing he wanted to do was continue on the subject.

"He is." He said. "Your guard dog."

"I mean he protects me, but all of you do." He shakes his head, a huff of air going out of his nose, almost amused.

"Not like Simon." He admits it almost as if he were ashamed. "I want to say something." He said it as if he were preparing you for the next words to come out of his mouth would change the course of the night. "I need to say it because it would make me less of a man and even less of a friend if I didn't. But I don't want you to hate me or yourself for it."

Why would you hate yourself for it?

"Fine." you agreed, giving him permission to continue. "I won't hold it against you."

"You were always the one to coordinate things to do. One-on-one dates. Helping John with paperwork when shit got to crazy and you were the only one the uptight asshole would let touch his files." You gave a small smile remembering how John had barked at a recruit to get the fuck out of his office before peppering you with kisses at your arrival. Giving small pecks of appreciation as he explained what he needed you to do and how to do it.

"Helping me after my shoulder injury and staying on my ass about the physical therapy."

"Well someone had to." You countered.

"This past Christmas when Johnny needed to get his sisters gifts so you made a whole day out of it going to see lights and ice skating." Johnny was the proud owner of a freshly bruised tailbone after landing flat on his ass and swearing off skating for the rest of his life. Feckin' ice.

"Okay?" You asked, not really sure where Kyle was headed for this. He had pointed out what a good girlfriend you were, had been. How you had always tried to be helpful and do whatever needed to help your boys out.

He stopped. He looked at you as if he were debating to tell you what he had warned you about. He looked down at the floor before taking his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"Fuck." He muttered.

"Spit it out, Kyle!" You whined, now clueless to what point he was trying to make by all the examples of what a good girlfriend you had been.

He looked at you with the same solemness that a friend looked at another friend before having to call them out on their shit, knowing that the pill they were about to be given would be a hard one to swallow.

"You never did that with Simon."

[murdrdocs]

to forever always

description. LUKE CASTELLAN has never had any interest in relationships. but when he sees that look in your eyes, the same one he keeps buried deep down inside of himself, there's nothing more he wants than for you to be with him. except, maybe for you to be like him.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+ , heavy petting, grinding, making out, dark!luke, loser!luke, dark!reader, implications to maiming, luke is a professional at longing, reader has hair long enough to be pinned back, they play simon says, typical young adult awkwardness, drinking.

wc: 5.5k+

a/n: title from forever always by the driver era. ao3 link. art creds to yazed aljohani

You’ve been at camp for nearly three months when Luke sees it in your eyes. 

You’ve been unremarkable at best before then. A late arrival without a capturing story carried along with you, no captivating backstory to draw attention. You stuck to yourself mostly, only coming out of your shell when conversing during training sessions with Luke. He went out of his way to set them up, fueled by the fact that you were older than most, closest to his age, and he didn’t want you to feel left behind when some thirteen year old could easily disarm you in five minutes flat. 

Truth be told, he pitied you. 

As a result, he trained you four times a week, pushing your body to its limits and sharing anecdotes during your break periods to provide some sort of solace for you. Because at the end of the day, Camp Half Blood was your home. At least, that’s how it was supposed to be presented. 

During his share of anecdotes, practically each story starting on that fateful day when he was fourteen, Luke left out his true feelings about the area surrounding you both. He preferred to keep you blinded with things happy enough to make you laugh, with only enough hints of the truth to make you start asking the right questions. 

His attentive training has hardened you around the edges. He’s made you a little rougher, or perhaps he’s chiseled away at the stone encasing your true nature, and the person he stood next to was who you really were. 

A warrior. 

An animal. 

Teeth bared, sword raised over the kid lying helplessly at your feet, your chest heaving with effort and a dark look in your eyes. Darker than Luke has ever seen before. It’s victorious, with a hint of a challenge in there. As if you’re daring this kid to stand up, gather his sword, and attempt to best you once more. 

Surely, with the way Luke has trained you, if the kid did make an attempt he would end up in the same position in no time. 

The sight is exhilarating. It makes the blood rush to Luke’s ears and his fingertips start to buzz with the fuel he’d never been able to use. But he’s in control here. And he has an image to uphold. 

He calls your name, firm and demanding. The tone of a leader. 

He rests a hand on the shoulder pad of your armor, pushing you back from the kid with enough force to distance you two. He fills the space created, his back to the others and his eyes cutting down at you. It takes you a second to lift your eyes to him, and when you do, when you look up at Luke—at your leader—you’re seething. 

Luke really tries to hold his smile in and he’s glad that right now, you’re the only one who can see him. 

“At ease. You got ‘em.” 

You watch him pointedly, nostrils flared, and Luke lifts an eyebrow with a controlled movement, questioning you, daring you to challenge him. 

You take a step back and rid the tension in your shoulders as you adjust your helmet. 

You don’t say anything, instead sheathing your sword into its scabbard and watching Luke once more, waiting for orders. 

He has trained you well. 

‎

The energy around the campfire is palpable. It washes over the bodies of the campers surrounding the bonfire, settling over their skin and providing a glow.  Even some of the Ares kids appear to be beaming, although they were clearly sour about another loss. 

You, like everyone else, seem to be in good spirits too. A pleasant smile on your face as you watch the scene around you.

The fire burns a mesmerizing gold and Luke finds you watching it reach up toward the sky, your curious eyes taking in as much of it as you could. Your head is already tilted up, so you don’t adjust your position at all whenever Luke steps into perspective. 

He stares down at you for a moment, searching for that look in your eyes. The same one he saw during capture the flag a few weeks ago. 

Ever since then, Luke has developed a new fixation, one multiplied whenever he got a hit just a few days ago during training. 

He’d had you on your knees then. Your chest heaving with exhaustion as you were staring up at Luke with a look so threatening that he wondered what exactly you were capable of. You were definitely at your wits end by that point, but that wasn’t when he saw it. Deep within your eyes was sincerity, maybe a bit of worry, and Luke knew that if he drew his sword down to give you a critical hit, a final blow even, you would defend yourself. 

But that’s all. 

He hadn’t felt the need to prepare for an opposing attack. He knew you would defend yourself, but not go for the attack. You wouldn’t hurt him. And that wouldn’t do. 

So Luke laughed. He threw his head back and let out an exaggerated guffaw as he exclaimed that you looked perfect on your knees. As he insinuated that that was where you belonged. Beneath him. Beneath anyone. 

His teasing did the trick. And he has a healing scar on the outside of his forearm to prove it. 

Now, standing above you at the campfire, a setting so casual that it was almost sickening, Luke didn’t see any resemblance of anything challenging in your gaze. 

Instead, you appear back to usual, sitting alongside a few of the Athena kids yet not actively engaging in conversation, holding a burnt marshmallow on a stick with two hands, your elbows resting on your knees as you look up at Luke with that same pleasant smile. 

“This seat taken?”

He’s already sitting down as he asks it and if someone were to return, he knows they wouldn’t have attempted to reclaim their spot. 

You stare over at him with amusement written all over your face. 

“What if I said it was?” 

Luke shrugs. He reaches over, sliding your stick out of your hand and sticking the marshmallow back into the fire. He lets it ignite, turning it over to do the same to the other side, and after a second he removes the sweet treat, extinguishes the flames, and takes a bite out of it. 

You’re watching him, waiting for a response, and when you realize that he’d already given his response, you turn back to watch the fire instead. 

He lets you sit in silence, slowly chewing through the sticky food as he watches the side of your face. 

You look pretty like this. The amber glow of the fire illuminates your face, casting visually stunning shadows across your skin, highlighting places Luke has noticed but never appreciated until now. 

He has always known you’re pretty. He’s known it since you walked into camp, confused and stunned as demigods clustered around you. 

Luke remembers looking around at his fellow campers, noticing how judgmental they seemed. Because, in all honesty, you weren’t like the other people that came to Camp Half Blood. Not terrified, young, and lost in the world. 

Not only were you older, but you had a certain stance to you that told Luke you weren’t confused, just curious. Your head was lifted, your shoulders pressed back as you held up the thick straps of your stuffed book bag. You were faking to be unbothered, but as you eventually confirmed Luke’s prior assumptions, you were worried. 

Worried about the sea of young faces you saw. Worried that coming to Camp Half Blood at your age was a mistake. 

Until your eyes met Luke’s. His dark eyes were watching you, analyzing your form for potential. Trying to find areas that could be molded into a fighter, and aspects that didn’t have to be changed one bit. 

According to you, seeing Luke made you feel comfortable. Seeing Luke made you feel like coming to camp wasn’t a mistake at all. 

He is glad that you arrived as well. Because before you, Luke felt alone. 

He was looked up to, admired, respected, but rarely seen as just a peer. 

And even further, before you got here, he hadn’t seen himself being romantic with anyone. 

But now, sitting here with the gold of the fire affecting his mood in the same way he affects it, he has the sudden urge to intertwine your fingers with his or throw his arm over your shoulder. Maybe pull you into his side and plant his lips on yours, effectively claiming you as his and letting you claim him as yours. 

Instead, he knocks his shoulder against yours. 

“What’s got you looking so sad over there? We won today. You should be celebrating.” 

You laugh a little, but it’s not one of the big and genuine ones you give him when he cracks an impressive joke. 

“Give me something stronger than s'mores and maybe I’ll celebrate.” 

Luke faces back towards the fire as he tells you, “that can be arranged”. 

He notices you watching him from the corner of his eye. He can’t tell if you’re smiling, and if you are, if it’s one of genuine interest or one of amusement derived from misunderstanding his tone for a joke. 

Either way, you hum. “Don’t tease me like that.” 

He tilts his head a little. “Bold of you to assume that I’m teasing.” 

He stares at you and a moment of understanding passes by. 

Then, “but only if you tell me why you look so sad.” 

Luke knows he’s a brave person. Hell, he took on a dragon at just seventeen and lived with nothing but a scar as a reminder. (And the plaguing nightmares but what the others didn’t know won’t hurt them)

But he feels a different form of bravery find him as he reaches a hand out, plants his thumb at the corner of your lips, and tugs upwards. 

“You know what they say about turning that smile…” He lets the end of his sentence taper off, raising his eyebrows as if he expects you to finish the overdone phrase for him. It doesn’t surprise him when you swat his hand away instead. 

He thinks he sees you hiding a smile when you turn away from him for a second but when you return with another marshmallow, sticking it on the end of the stick in between Luke’s hands, your face is neutral. 

He thrusts the white into the burning gold as you begin to speak.

“Do you remember the first capture the flag win? When I was on defense with you?” 

One side of the marshmallow ignites and Luke turns it around so the other can do the same. 

“When you were taking down the others? Of course I do.” 

(Luke resists the urge to add a mention of how attractive you looked then. He doesn’t know how you would take the comment in general, much less when you seem to be going through some sort of moral battle)

“Yeah.” You take a moment. 

Luke takes the marshmallow out and blows on it. He lets it cool. 

“I didn’t feel like myself then,” you eventually admit.

“What d’you mean?” 

You shrug. “I dunno. I felt … meaner. Like–” 

“Like you wanted to hurt someone?” 

When you nod, you’re staring down at the ground, refusing to look up at Luke. 

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he lies. 

“That’s normal for demigods.” 

That gets your attention. You look over at Luke with hope in your eyes, the pair shining in the light as they flicker back and forth between Luke’s own gaze. 

“Really?”

Not allowed to back down now, Luke nods. 

“Yeah. That rage you have within you. The need to beat someone, to be better than someone. I feel it all the time.” And that, that right there, is the stone cold truth. 

He’s never admitted it to anyone else before, but with you, things feel different. He figures that this feeling he has around you is what some religious people feel in their faith. Maybe what some of the other believers at camp feel in regards to their parents. 

Luke pops the marshmallow into his mouth whole. 

You look relieved as you speak. He hadn’t noticed the tension in your body until it’s gone. 

“So I’m not messed up?” Your voice is small, weak, insecure, almost. 

Luke almost feels bad about lying to you. 

Almost. 

“Not any more than the rest of us.” 

What he doesn’t say is: not any more than me. 

As soon as his marshmallow is swallowed, he asks you to meet him later that night. 

‎

Luke feels like he’s been waiting ages for you. 

He’s paced a path in the dirt, twirled the small dagger he kept on him until his fingers could no longer grip the handle comfortably, and he’s started to gnaw on his bottom lip in anticipation that at this point he worries that they aren’t kissable anymore. Because no matter how much he tries to lie to himself, he invited you out to the clearing that you train in with one intention in mind. 

He digs into the pocket of his cargos, searching for a second before his fingers wrap around the small tube of chapstick he got from one of his sisters. Cherry flavored, artificially so, but it still smells pleasant enough. Whenever he’d received it from her it was fresh, the seal unbroken, but since then he has used at least a quarter of its contents. 

The balm glides over the broken pieces of skin, smoothing them out as best as possible, and then Luke recaps the tube and stuffs it back into his pocket. 

It’s no sooner that the lip balm has found a home again that he hears the thud of a shoe against the soft ground behind him. 

He doesn’t turn around, not yet. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. Instead, he twirls his knife again, a little slower this time to prevent it from slipping and falling onto the ground embarrassingly. 

“Didn’t think I should’ve brought a weapon.” 

Just the sound of your voice makes Luke’s insides flutter. He feels stupid, silly even, to have such a crush like this. He feels juvenile. 

A smile briefly blooms across his face before he snips it off, turning around to look at you as neutrally as he can manage. 

“You should always keep a weapon on you. Don’t you remember rule number one?” 

Luke watches you reach behind your back for only a second before you brandish the dagger he’d given you for him to see, a triumphant smile on your lips. 

“I’m a good listener. Don’t you remember?” 

Proud, Luke tucks his dagger back into its holster and you do the same. 

He takes a step closer to you as he proposes his next question, a hand reaching up to flick off an imaginary lash from your cheek. He doesn’t know why, but as of today he’s found himself touching you more. Searching for any reason to justify feeling your skin against his. 

“How good of a listener are you?” 

Your head tilts a bit, eyes squinting, and he realizes that it’s an action he does often. The implications of you picking up things from him makes his chest bloom with something. Pride, maybe? 

“Try me.” 

You step back, giving Luke a full view of your body. 

He lets his eyes scan your frame once. Taking in your messy hair, pinned up for the night. Your sweatshirt with some school on it. Luke, not knowing much about the outside world, doesn’t know if it’s college or high school, much less its location. But it’s well worn in, clearly loved by you. You’ve paired it with a loose pair of pants, and Luke has suspicions that if he were looking at you from behind, the flowy material would perfectly outline your ass. 

He clears his throat and meets your eyes again. 

“Okay…” he thinks for a second. “Simon says: touch your nose.” 

You snort, rolling your eyes, but then you lift your right hand, single out your pointer finger, and press it against the tip of your nose. 

“Simon says: touch your toes.” 

Luke watches, seeing if he’ll catch you, but you keep one hand situated on your nose and use the other to reach down to press your hand against the beat up end of your sneakers. 

“Hm, okay,” Luke nods as if he’s impressed. Like you would struggle at a kids game. 

“Simon says you can stop.” 

You stand back up straight. 

“Simon says: spin around twice.” 

You spin around twice. 

Instantly, without giving you a second to rest, “spin around a third time.” 

You jerk for a second, but stay still in the end. Luke points, smiling a bit as if saying I almost had you. 

You don’t respond but your lips curl up into a little embarrassed smile. 

Luke continues giving you orders for a few moments, letting you get comfortable with the preface of “Simon says” just before he gives the final blow. 

“Kiss me.” 

There’s no order from Simon before it. Just Luke. He gauges your reaction. And when he sees you stay put, he tries to move on. 

“Simon says–” 

But then you’re walking towards him, and you’re reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders, and you’re pulling him down to reach you better, and then you press your lips to his. It’s light, a barely there touch, and then you’re pulling away, walking back to your spot, and standing straight, waiting for your next order. 

“I didn’t say Simon says.” 

Proudly, you tell him, “I know.” 

There’s a moment where the only noise is that of nature. Of the harmony of the world existing around this possibly unharmonious moment. The brief balance could easily be thrown off by your reaction to the next bit. If Luke were being dramatic, he would claim that your reaction determines the fate of the world, and maybe even of his mission. 

He takes a breath, and then takes the plunge. 

“Simon says: kiss me again.”

This time, your kiss is firmer. You’re standing on your toes a bit, overcompensating for Luke who still stands tall with his shoulders back and his head up. 

Eventually, he dips his head down at the same time that he finally gets to touch you. 

It’s small, nothing but a hand on your hip, but the context of it changes everything for him. He’s touched you before, brief presses of his fingers against a part of your body to emphasize a point, or correct your posture, and then earlier when he reached out for the delicate skin on your face. 

Those things were friendly, that of a mentorship even. 

Nothing to this degree. 

You tilt your head and deepen the kiss, opening your mouth wider as you start to take control. And Luke hands it to you. 

He grips the loose fabric of your pants, takes the tiniest step forward, and presses himself against you. In return, you nudge closer to him, holding the sides of his head and keeping him steady to allow yourself to explore his mouth. 

He’s a little lost, he’s never gotten to this base with anyone before. Besides the time he kissed one of the Aphrodite kids as part of truth or dare years ago. But that kiss was nothing compared to this, not even on the same scale. 

In this field, he’s inexperienced. 

For fear of making a complete fool of himself, he simply mirrors in the form of reciprocation. 

When you press your tongue into his mouth, he does the same, meeting you not quite in the middle and simply doing what you do. 

There’s a moment there where you leave Luke’s lips, and he’s preparing himself to be upset when you pull away, but then your lips pucker and you suck his upper lip for just a split second, and you return to kissing him like his knees didn’t just get a little weak. 

Fortunately, the slight lapse presses his crotch against yours again, and you suck in a breath when Luke accidentally grinds his boner into you. 

Sensing that it’s something good, and satisfied that he’s not the only one as aroused as he is, he does it again. This time intentionally. 

He frees his grip on your pants to move his palms around, pressing into the top of your ass and the end of your back, pulling you closer to bump your crotches. 

This time, you do peel away from his lips completely, but it’s to let out the prettiest sound Luke has ever heard. 

Your eyebrows are pinched together a bit, your lips shining in the torch light and parted. 

You’ve only been apart for a couple of seconds, but Luke is on you again. 

He sacrifices the grip he has on your lower half to stretch his hand along the connection of the back of your skull and neck, fingers spreading as far as the tip of your spine to an inch into your scalp. 

He lets go of the insecurities he has in his lack of experience and just kisses you. His immediate intention isn’t to take control from you. Rather, it’s just to have you as close to him as possible. 

You respond eagerly. Arching into him, slinking your arms over his shoulders, pressing your hands into the muscles along his back. At one point, you lift your leg and nudge your knee against Luke’s side by way of getting even closer to him. The position change allows the first real touch of your centers together and your head falls back, exposing the pretty sight of your jugular to him. 

There’s a moment there where Luke has the urge to wrap his hand around it. But he fears what your reaction would be so he flexes his hand, and lets the thought evaporate into the stiff night air. 

Luke knows that he feels as he does because of the hormones swirling throughout his body, but he has the feeling that he can trust you. Really trust you. Enough to tell you everything he’s ever wanted to tell anybody. 

“Do you trust me?” He says it to you, his hand pulling your head back towards his, your lips mere centimeters a part. 

You nod, the tip of your nose nudging against his with each movement. 

Luke kisses you once, then tells you, “the gods, they–”. 

He doesn’t have a spiel planned, but his need to tell you everything has him covered. He knows that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. Not until you understand your parents as he does. 

You put an unexpected dent into Luke’s poorly conceived plan when you shake your head. 

“Don’t wanna hear about the gods right now, Luke. Just wanna kiss you.” 

And the way you say it, like it’s something you need rather than just want, makes Luke abide completely. 

His free hand slips under your shirt, pressing his palm flat against your torso, and giving himself the first real press of skin on skin. He sighs, pulling away from your lips to knock his forehead against yours.  

He slides his hand up until he finds where your bra would sit. But he doesn’t run into any more material. Instead, he reaches a hill, one he nudges his thumb against, reaching up until he finds the beginning of your areola. Then, as if he’s realizing that he’s going further than he should be, he pulls his head away and looks at you. 

“Is this…?” The question makes him feel vulnerable. If he finishes it, he bares his wants out to you. And he knows that you have done the same for him already, but he doesn’t feel ready to invite the possibility of rejection. 

So instead, he raises his eyebrows and waits for you to catch on. 

You nod, biting down onto your lower lip. Your hands begin to search, too, leaving behind the sides of Luke’s face to tickle through the grown out hairs at the back of his head. 

What follows is the most carnal display of want that Luke has ever been part of. 

He starts by tweaking your nipples, applying light pressure and then smoothing it out when you moan. He watches your reactions to try and figure out what to do next, but luckily you end up pulling his hand away yourself, leading it to the elastic waistband of your pants. You look at him pleadingly, not needing to say what you want for Luke to take initiative. 

Luckily, the favor is returned. 

You unbutton his jeans, pull them down just enough, and reach a hand into the fabric, touching along the gingham pattern of his briefs. 

There’s not much coordination to it at all, but it doesn’t seem to bother either of you. From how Luke sees it, you’re equal amounts of eager, pressing against each other in multiple areas as if you’re both attempting to fuse your bodies together. 

In the excitement of it all, Luke accidentally bumps the heel of his palm against your center. He assumes that it would have hurt you, so he’s close to apologizing. 

Until you moan. 

That’s all it takes for Luke to push away the rest of his pride and insecurities. He takes a breath. 

“Will you … can you show me what to do? How to make you feel good?” 

Your reply is instant. “Two fingers.” 

He singles out his pointer and middle finger. 

“And then go...” You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling his touch up to find something that his fingers catch on, a bundle of nerves that apparently feels good for you. You nod, sighing out a small “right there”. 

He feels a little dumb when he asks, “What do I do now?” 

“Rub. Circles are best, but side to side works too.” 

So that’s what he does. 

He starts slow at first, the circles a little wide, but they feel good for you. You’re nodding, eyes fluttering shut a bit. You return your hand to Luke, pressing over his dick, and then sliding a little further down until you reach his balls. 

He tries to hide his sound, but a hitch of his breath comes out anyway. 

There’s a tree stump just behind you, a product of an accident Luke has yet to tell you about, but you direct him towards it, standing over him for a second when he falls back to sit on it. The two of you have sat on the stump a few times before, but never in this capacity. 

Luke watches you climb over him, straddling his hips, and pushing your crotches together.

Then, you grind. 

One of Luke’s hands finds your ass, the other reaches back to connect with what’s left of the tree, reclining his position just enough to provide more room. He lets you do the rest, spurring you on with little nods and small breaths. 

It’s not like you can see him, not when your eyes are pinched shut. 

Luke wants to join you. His eyes threaten to close and submerge him in a void that would enhance every single feeling. But closing his eyes means getting rid of this sight. And he never wants to forget what you look like right now. 

There’s sweat beading along your hairline and running down the side of your face. Your face is one of relaxation, save for the tiniest crease of concentration between your eyebrows. Luke can tell that you’re warm, and not just by the perspiration. But clearly his training has been paying off because your body doesn’t show fatigue. Your muscles are still taunt, your movements are still languid. You don’t show any plans of stopping anytime soon. 

And at first, that’s what Luke wants. 

There’s a few moments where he’s lost in oblivion. Where he pictures the worst thing in the world happening, and it’s you getting off of him. The feeling is so delicious, your centers grinding together, bumping clumsily yet still working in both of your favors. 

He doesn’t want it ever to end. 

And then he cums. 

Again, he tries to hide the sounds he makes. But a groan rips through his throat, jumping out of his mouth and falling directly onto the fabric of your shirt when he rests his forehead against your chest. 

He uses you as an anchor, his big hands gripping any part of you that he can find. He grips your clothes as he attempts to tether himself to the here and now. 

He’s huffing, spent even though he did none of the work. Eventually, he lifts his head to search for your lips, but then he winces when you keep going. 

He’s speaking in fragments. He’s trying to communicate his sensitivity. But you only shake your head, speeding your hips up a bit more. 

“Sorry, ‘m sorry. I’m almost there. Swear, Luke. I swear…” and it’s just then that Luke is presented with the prettiest image he’s ever seen. 

When his lips are numb and there’s a wet patch pressing against his sensitive cock in his briefs, Luke remembers the alcohol he has stashed within a bush. 

He presents it, feeling that same sense of pride spread through his chest whenever you seem delighted at the options, even though it’s just a box of hard seltzer one of his brothers snuck in at the beginning of the summer. When you ask him what it took to secure it, Luke brushes it off, not wanting to remember the poop scooping he’d doomed himself to. 

But the sight of you grinning before bringing the first sip of a cracked open can to your lips makes it all worth it. 

When you pull it away a bead of clear liquid snags on the corner of your lips. Luke’s eyes watch it glide down your chin, and before he can stop himself he reaches a hand out, once again feeling that bravery, and swipes his thumb at the liquid. 

He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean, surprisingly pleased at the flavor. 

You both make your way through multiple cans, and it’s only when there’s a slight slur to your words and a sway to your frame that you ask Luke about your parents. And not about the stories you’ve been told throughout school, or the glorious recounts about how they’ve helped their kids. But the truth. About how Luke feels. 

And he turns to you, smiling gently, and begins to tell you, becoming more and more pleased as you begin to express the same outrage as him. 

He doesn't have to question if you'll be a valuable ally. He doesn't have to feed you carefully worded lines to twist your mind into siding with him.

With you, it's natural. The same as it is with him.

‎

It’s exactly a week later. Another capture the flag day created a certain buzz that flowed throughout camp. 

Earlier this morning, Luke was concerned about winning. That was before he found himself in a similar position as he did weeks ago. 

Standing next to you in a clearing, no other campers around to witness something that will certainly be a sight to behold. 

Just like before, you’re standing over a camper with your sword raised over his frightened frame. He’s pleading, but his words are useless. They fall to deaf ears. 

“No maiming!” He exclaims. “It’s the rules, remember?” His words are spoken with a stutter, the tremor in his voice extremely obvious. 

Briefly, Luke looks over to you only to find you already looking at him. 

You’re waiting, body tense, ready to attack. All you need is the command. 

“Do it.” 

There’s a rip and a scream, and Luke’s eyes don’t leave your frame. 

He watches the splatter of blood meet your cheek and for once, Luke doesn’t reach over to wipe it away. He leaves it there, leaving the evidence behind as he cups your face delicately, spreading his fingers to miss the crimson, and then using his hold to pull you close and press his lips to yours. 

Easily, quickly, you submit to him. 

You two haven’t shared things in the most intimate form, not yet at least, but he doesn’t need that with you. Looking in your eyes, seeing that same look that he sees in himself, Luke knows that having your legs spread around his hips with euphoria isn’t the most necessary thing in the world. He would love for it to happen, and he will revel in it when it does happen, but he knows that fucking you isn’t needed to guarantee your loyalty to him. 

As you submit to him, smelling of musk derived from hard work, the evidence of your effort on your face, Luke knows that he’s already secured it. 

He has your loyalty. 

And he can’t shake the excitement he feels towards your potential. Because he knows that the fire blazing deep inside of you can’t be contained for much longer. 

He just hopes your internal fire continues to work in his favor and never against it.

[jyuansgf]

nsfw content ahead. minors dni. 

— friends with benefits / blade x f!reader. cw: 18+ content, angst, catching feelings.. lol, modern au, college setting (?).

synopsis: friends with benefits with blade, but is it really benefiting the both of you? are you both genuinely benefiting from the setup you both have, or could it be causing unforeseen complications? can you keep your feelings at bay, especially when the physical intimacy is so compelling that everything else seems to fade away?

NOTES : don’t fall in love with your fwb !! HAHA made this since a lot of people are thirsting over him in my inbox (you guys are heard) also, sorry for the slow/late updates! might make a part two (continuation) if some people demand for it ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ meanwhile, i just wanna have a situationship with yingxing.. 

despite being in the same circle of friends you met through college, knowing him was no different than meeting anyone else (or at least you think) from hopping on clubs to another one with your friends was how you met each other. however, your relationship took an unexpected turn. if it wasn’t for your friend who kindly asked blade to take you home after you had too much to drink, things might have been different.

you can’t even comprehend how things escalated to this point. your friend would even frequently ask why you’re constantly not present during their night clubs. however, it would always end up with you responding to their messages while you’re completely preoccupied by him, as he fucks you dumb on your apartment. yet, you would always find yourself waking up to a cold bed, right.. you two only agreed to this. the thing is you both benefitted physically but not mentally. you both know this isn’t perfect but it is what you both agreed on, and he’s been fine with it, at least on the surface. 

truth to be told, you can’t even remember the last time you actually had a genuine conversation with each other, without it devolving into a heated, passionate fuck in whichever room he’s dragged you into, or even in your own flat – not like you want him to know, no.. you don’t want to break this thing you have with him yet, at least not now. 

in fact, you would even ask yourself if you can still handle this situation with him – whether it's during friends’ gatherings or just in general, it’s as if you barely know each other, like you're just a fleeting presence in his life. but behind closed doors, it’s as though the two of you can’t get enough of each other – fucking until midnight, until you plead for him to touch you in a way that no one else has. until you forget the unresolved feelings you have for him.

— “you sure have a lot going on in your mind even when i’m this deep inside you,” his laughter was low and throaty, filling the quiet room as he pressed himself deeper into you. the sensation of his breath cascading across the sensitive skin of your neck sent shivers down your spine. his rough stubble grazed against your tender flesh, creating a light, teasing contrast – and a fresh hickey, a silent testament of the night's fervor, adorned your neck as a token.

right, you were probably too absorbed in your thoughts. it wasn’t like you were always this way, but you often found yourself deep in thought whenever you two fuck lately.

“what, since when did you become a psychic?” you queried, a gentle chuckle seeping from your lips. your fingers gracefully danced through his hair, twirling and playing with the strands as you gazed at him. a playful glint sparkled in your eyes as a thought crossed your mind. “perhaps, the reason i can still manage coherent thoughts is because you haven’t been fucking me enough, blade." you teased, the hint of a challenge lingering in your words – but you intended to strike at a nerve, and you guaranteed it with the way he suddenly tightened his grip on your hips. the most satisfying part to you. as if you can count on your fingers with how many times he fucked you dumb enough to even think straight.

“is that so? well, i can’t have you thinking i’m not trying hard enough, can i?” his deep laughter echoed throughout the room in response to your playful banter, a sound you’d grown accustomed to — a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, he liked it when you’re being like this.. when you’re being cheeky, maybe too confident enough to think that he can’t fuck you until you’re a mess. “well then, i suppose we just have to rectify that,” his voice held a teasing edge, as he shifted his position, his cock slowly mushing the walls of your pussy, making you whine. his hands trailing up your sides — causing a shiver to ripple across your skin. his eyes, filled with lust, locked onto yours.

“do you want me to force it out of your system or should i just take you out of your senses?” his voice dripping to a low growl that sent a thrill through your core, your eyes slowly watching the way he moves — his smirk widened at your sharp intake of breath with the way his hands began to roam over your body, generating sparks wherever they touched.

it was moments like these, when the world outside between you seemed to fade away, that you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him, despite the complicated thing you both have. 

“…i’m open to either option,” you muttered softly, pausing momentarily to consider the weight of your words — a playful grin displayed across your face, reflecting your proposition, as you continued, “but i think, i’d prefer to have both if possible.” a teasing giggle bubbled up from your chest, a sweet melody that filled the tension between you two. almost unconsciously, your hands found their way to his neck, fingers gently tracing his neck, adding an intimate touch to your playful jest — filled with anticipation. 

blade could only reply with a chuckle, but you knew you were in for it. soon enough — he’ll have you fucked dumb on the mattress, until you’re a crying mess on his cock, until you two forget about the topic on hand. you don’t even plan on telling him, not this time. but at least you get what you want.

[iceman-soup]

ghost x soap

Of course it's fucking raining now that Soap and Ghost finally on leave. Sure, it's not unusual Scottish weather (they're staying in Johnny's small flat in Glasgow), and it's not like they were gonna do much today anyway, but still. It has them waking up in an already lazy mood, Simon shuffling to cuddle into his boyfriend closer and groaning.

The bed is too comfy and warm to get up, and Si doesn't want to move away from Soap's sleepy embrace. They're both conscious, quietly making incoherent noises of complaint at that fact back and forth at each other. Eventually, Johnny presses his lips to Ghost's forehead and rolls them over, sitting up on Simon's stomach to look out the window like a curious rabbit, then leaning down and littering his unmasked face with pecked kisses.

Simon laughs, running his hands through Soap's mohawk. Raindrops patter against the window as he flips them over again, hugging Soap tight then sitting up opposite him, pulling on a pair of comfy military-issued socks and one of his hoodies. The Sergeant sits up too, also pulling on one of Si's hoodies, and much fluffier socks with little skull prints all over them that Gaz had bought him as a gag gift which he ended up adoring.

"Mornin', love," Soap smiles, voice deep and groggy as he leans forward to rest his head on Ghost's chest, who hums in response and nuzzles his cheek against his hair. After a couple moments just sitting like that, the two reluctantly flop out of bed, padding their way over to the tiny kitchen before realising they barely have a scrap of food in the flat, only just having a few general ingredients and a small selection of tea and coffee.

Simon groans again, scanning the fridge as if something new is about to spawn in, before turning around, picking his boyfriend up and setting him on a counter, then passing him flour, eggs, milk and some oil, and getting out a frying pan for the stove.

"What're we making?" the shorter man asks, swinging his legs and playfully kicking Ghost whenever he gets in range.

"Secret," is the only reply he gets, but it's quickly obvious by the way Si mixes some flour, milk and two eggs together, creating a thin batter which he splashes into the pan, just about remembering to put oil in first so as to not completely fuck it all up. Then Chef Riley takes charge, and suddenly Johnny is being bossed around, ordered to get plates and get cutlery and cut up a lemon and put some caster sugar in a small bowl and set it out all pretty on the tiny dining table. In his own home, he complains lightheartedly.

The first pancake served is happily accepted by the Scot along with a quick kiss. The shit weather had only gotten worse, but that meant a perfect background noise for them to eat (although it did make conversation a little difficult). Once the batter is all used up, Ghost puts Soap on washing up duty, whilst he dries and puts everything away. And then it's essential to curl up on the sofa together, wrapped in one of Johnny's blankets, watching a randomly-selected war film and criticising even the slightest inaccuracies to make each other laugh.

[shepscapades]

giggling kickimg my feet

I'm sorry I just love these two in your artstyle and in your au (dbhc docsuma save me, save me dbhc docsuma,,,)

Also I'm such a big fan of body language in your comics so--

uh

closed position! It's a sign of anger, discomfort and overall it can be seen as creating a barrier which well happens here, Xisuma was leaving when Doc stopped him, X doesn't want to talk to him but he still pretends like it's completely fine, the "Sure! What's up?" is bolder than his previous talking because it's clearly forced here, he really doesn't want to stay here any longer but on the other hand he also doesn't want to upset Doc (trying to please everyone huh)

it shows in how his speech is constructed here, he wants the conversation to end as fast as possible, he's not hesitant he just flatly anwers everything as if he didn't care about the outcome or about Doc's concerns, just dismissing him, shoving him away , trying to hide his nervousness from Doc but well.. failing as we can see in the next pages

Doc starts feeling uncomfortable and unsure, he's overwhelmed by the flat response because he knows Xisuma never talks like that, he knows him, he knows X would at least reconsider what he's saying

Xisuma's response really worries Doc here (love the visual of a shadow behind the speech bubble indicating that it's in fact supposed to be a bit worrying as a response) Doc is certain now that something isn't right, he talks about his concerns and once again rubs his neck which shows he's really uncomfortable right now.

Xisuma's tail stills and his speech bubbles become loose and foggy, as if he just started wondering about something, as if he started slowly coming back to his senses because of Doc's reaction, he's busy and doesn't want to talk with Doc but still he doesn't want to upset his friend and it's exactly what he just did. X becomes unsure he's unsure of himself 'what am I doing?' (also just a quick thought, I love his shoes, like what even are they)

it continues on the next page, his speech bubbles still loose and foggy, he's rubbing the back of his neck - he's unsure, he shouldn't act like that, he maybe even feels a bit bad about himself: how could he just dismiss Doc and his concerns like that? He's not himself and he knows it, his fins also drop which indicates his unsureness even more, he's afraid of himself (also his style of speech changes, he's not speaking flatly like before but actually hesitates a bit before saying anything)

Xisuma's concerns disappear instantly as if something took over him the moment he started getting close to thinking something isn't right (Evil X heheheheh <3) it's visible in his eyes (they deifinetely weren't pink before, it's kinda cool it's the only time we see them in this comic tho) speech bubbles: the lines are bolder as if they were forcing his thoughts to stay in them, to not wander around, to not overthink anything, to not think about anything else in contrast to the loose foggy speech bubbles. Also colour of the text changed, from Xisuma's normal toned purplish pink to very saturated pink, which could be a sign of control (this control doesn't last very long because in the next page it changes back to a bit more toned purplish pink but still a bit bolder than the one from the loose bubbles from before

the concerning thing is that X isn't as nervous as he was at the start, now he doesn't dismiss Doc with ending all of his statements with "." but with "!" (+the tail swishing) as if he was more cheerful now, as if he forgot about anything that just happened. Doc is ofc concerned about that (his eye glowing yellow, him standing in a closed position in the last panel, still unsure and unconvinced. Worried about his friend too, he knows something isn't right,,,

aye uh, I just wrote this in one sitting, sorry if this is nonsense but dbhc docsuma is doing things to my brain

I could ramble about this even more but I think it would lose sense after some time so tee hee

I could talk about manipulation and it's victims so much more but uhhh too much writing already, also love body language with all my heart so this is a treat for me

MAYYYY THIS BREAKDOWN IS INSANENNEEEEE I’m gonna clear up some of the emotions that are being traded here (like, I think X’s standoffishness might be more of a restless kind of thing than anger or annoyance) when I make the explanation/breakdown post, but MAN I just wanted to post this so I can thank u for your insanity and let you know it goes SUPER seen and I’m kicking my feet like a crazy person (there are a LOT of really really good theory posts and asks that I can’t/don’t want to answer yet so this is also me saying I read/see everything please know this) but i hated to let this sit in my ask box HEHE

It’s SOOO gratifying to see someone pick through all of the details :D and i can’t wait to explain everything in more detail!!! >:D

[phoward89]

Masterlist

Stepcest, Stepson!Coryo x Stepmother!Reader, Sub!Coriolanus, Switch!Reader, Crassus Snow x Younger!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Crassus Snow is a cold hearted asshole, but he's a hot asshole... Stepcest, older man/younger woman, arranged marriage, cheating, affairs, secrets, cussing, secret love child, Coryo is a bit selfish and too ambitious, Crassus decides to try and be a better husband/father, allusion to science experiments on a district person

Part 6:

Things have subtly changed between Crassus and you since he came home a couple of nights ago asking about your day. He wasn't overly affectionate with you, but he did inquire about your day once he got home. He's even been coming home a good 15 minutes before dinner’s served, which is nice.

It's currently dinner time, so you and your family are gathered around the dining room table. The food the cook made is exquisite and the conversation is light. Or at least it's light until Coriolanus decides to start bragging about his day interning in Dr. Gaul's lab.

“Dr. Gaul let me do another experiment today since my last one was so successful.” Coriolanus announced to everyone gathered around the table. With a smug smile, the young platinum blonde went on to brag, “And she says that I have the potential to become a very successful Gamemaker.”

“Son, shouldn't you be focusing on your internship and graduating first before daydreaming about your future career?” Crassus asks, his tone cold, flat, and judgemental, while gracefully cutting his steak.

“I have a natural aptitude for gamemaking and the science that goes hand in hand with it according to Dr. Gaul.” Coriolanus retorted while spearing some asparagus with his fork. “In fact Dr. Gaul lets me conduct my own experiments without her overseeing me because she believes that I have the potential to be great; she trusts me to conduct the experiments successfully on my own.”

Hearing that Dr. Gaul sees great potential in Coryo sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. That frizzy haired mad scientist always frightened you. If she sees something in your lover that’d make him a great and successful Gamemaker then you're a bit concerned. To do that sort of stuff, well, you can't even imagine how black and rotten of a soul a person must possess. In fact, you're afraid that t Dr. Gaul might be trying to groom and mold Coryo into something evil- like her.

Grandma'am just nods at her grandson, a thin shaky, but polite, smile on her face, as she reaches for her drink. She wants to seem supportive of her grandson, but she truly knows nothing about the games- other than what she sees on tv. So she clearly doesn't have a clue about how science experiments benefit gamemaking.

And Crassus, well, he's shaking his head and rolling his icy eyes at his firstborn. He doesn't approve of his ventures with science and gamemaking. He'd prefer him to follow his path, to enlist in the peacekeepers as an officer since he'll be earning his degree in the double majors of Military Strategies and Political Science. Crassus feels that his son would be more successful in the military then in science and the media- and gamemaking to General Snow is nothing more than creating a circus for a TV show. A TV show that airs a district punishment where 24 district children fight to the death, but still it's a TV show…

"And the lab rat that I experimented with earlier.." Coryo says as he begins to tell his family about what he did to the so-called ‘lab rat’. He isn't very descriptive, but you can imagine what happened just from the hints that's falling out of his mouth; you can tell that it is a bloody horrible act.

You shudder, dropping your fork- causing it to clatter against the plate. Just hearing the innuendos and poetic words about blood and gore flow from Coriolanus' mouth as he speaks about the lab rat that wicked witch Dr. Gaul has him experimenting on makes you sick. Yes, he's not going in depth with details since everyone's eating dinner, but he's saying enough to make your stomach churn and your blood run cold.

General Crassus Snow had seen the horrors of war during the Rebellion; the Dark Days, so hearing his son's bloody, but sugar coated explanation of what ungodly things he's done to the ‘lab rat’ Dr. Gaul assigned to him didn't bother the military man. But, being a keen observer, Crassus noticed that both his mother and wife were bothered by Coriolanus' low key bragging about his gory and gruesome scientific deeds. So, he decided to intervene on behalf of the women in his life, both young and old.

Crassus pointed his fork at his son, cutting his icy eyes sternly at the pretentious boy across from him, and said, “Coriolanus, son, this isn't an appropriate dinner time talk.”

“I'm not stating graphic details, all I'm doing is-” The young blonde with baby blue eyes attempted to defend his boasting, only to be calmly and coldly interrupted by his father's deep and domineering tone ordering, “Shut up, Coriolanus. I told you, your experiments on your ‘lab rat’ isn't proper talk for a steak dinner.”

Coriolanus obeyed Crassus, but the sour look on his face proves that he wasn't thrilled to be put in his place. That he felt insulted that his father, the great war hero of Panem, wouldn't let him brag about his deeds as Dr. Gaul’s prodigy.

You're grateful to Crassus for getting Coriolanus to stop talking about his internship with Capitol City's resident mad scientist. You're positive that Grandma'am’s relieved that Crassus put an end to Coriolanus' bloody, but poetic scientific innuendos as well.

After dinner everyone goes their own way. You go to the parlor to play gin rummy with Grandma'am while Crassus goes to his study to work on some paperwork he brought home from work. And Coriolanus claimed that he was going to his room to work on a class assignment.

But Coriolanus didn't go to his room to work on his studies. Instead he went to the nursery to spend some father-son bonding time with Cassian. And since he didn't want to be disturbed he didn't announce his plans to anyone.

So, Crassus, believing that the nursery was empty except for Cassian, decided to go check on the baby before diving head first into his paperwork. But when the head of the Snow family approaches he notices that the nursery's door's cracked open; that the light's on. He swears he hears the low baritone of his firstborn wafting from the baby's room.

Curiously, Crassus approaches the door with the movements of a velociraptor. Reaching the door, he spies thru the crack that Coriolanus is standing right above Cassian's crib. Crassus knows that his firstborn wouldn't harm his newborn son, but he can't figure out what he's doing in the nursery. The middle-aged man knows how his oldest son is; that he's cold and manipulative- also a hit with the ladies, so he doesn't understand why he's showing an interest in the baby.

Crassus, despite what Coriolanus may believe, knows more about his son's actions and personality that the boy thinks. Crassus knows that his son has a cold, manipulative, nature that's easily hidden by charm. He also knows that his son desperately craves attention, validation, praise, and affection- much like his mother did. God, Crassus remembers that his first wife seemed to want validation on her beautiful face, which she powdered every chance she got. Coriolanus was a weakling in Crassus' eyes, but he was a weakling that didn't have a loving bone in his body.

So why is Coriolanus bothering a sleeping Cassian for?

And the answer to that question was revealed when Crassus saw Coriolanus scoop up Cassian, only to cradle him in his arms while cooing, "Daddy's here, my baby boy. Daddy loves you, okay?"

Crassus’ icy eyes widened and his earlier suspicions from the day his son was born, when he heard Coriolanus call Y/N mommy hit him full force. Hearing Coriolanus tell Cassian that ‘Daddy's here, my baby boy. Daddy loves you, okay?’ made him start to feel that his oldest son, who he knows had a bit of a reputation with the popular girls at the Academy (including the Dovecote girl that caught the ‘flu’ during the 10th Annual Hunger Games and became a temperamental mess with yellow snake like eyes and rainbow scales littering areas of her skin like a bad case of plaque psoriasis), had targeted and seduced his wife when he wasn't around. Crassus knew that in the early era of his marriage to you that he was rarely home due to being a workaholic; he wouldn't put it past his son (who's his spitting image) to corrupt you with charming lies and batting his long lashes while giving you sweet doe eyes.

Crassus knows how his first wife snagged him; he wouldn't put it past his son to use those tactics while seducing the ladies- including you.

But the general doesn't want to jump to conclusions just yet. Although Coriolanus' murmurs are a clear reason to believe that you had an affair with him, Crassus wants to observe his firstborn's actions and collect evidence before he does anything rash, like confronting him and demanding a DNA test. Being a military man, he wants to have a proper ‘recon’ done and a ‘battle plan’ in place before confronting his weak heir about commiting stepcest with you.

Crassus, after seeing Coriolanus in the nursery, returns to his study to finish up his paperwork. But the cogs in his mind won't stop turning, he can't stop thinking about what he saw and overheard in the nursery. So, he decides to join you and Grandma'am in the parlor room.

“Who's winning?” Crassus asks, coming up to you while you're sitting at the card table, waiting for Grandma'am to make a move.

“I am.” You reply with a smile, looking at your husband as he takes a seat in the empty chair next to you.

Grandma'am turns to her son, who's sitting between you and her at the card table that seats four, and tells him in a blunt, but motherly tone, “Crassus, you'll have to wait until this game's over to join. We've just started a new hand and I'm not folding so you can play.”

Crassus nods, accepting that he won't be joining the game anytime soon.

And then, right as Grandma'am discards a card after drawing one, the loud cry of your son's heard echoing all the way from the nursery on the other side of the penthouse.

Crassus knows that Coriolanus, despite cradling the baby, didn't change Cassian, because if he did the baby wouldn't be crying his lungs out. Oh, isn't Coriolanus so great when it comes to newborn care? Holds a baby, but won't change it. Hell, Crassus will even tell you about how he's changed a few dirty diapers in his youth- not many, but a few whenever he was in his son's nursery and felt/smelled a heavy or wet diaper while holding him.

Hell, if what Crassus overheard Coriolanus say is true (and he hopes it's not because he'd hate to think that you'd cheat on him with his own son) then his heir isn't that great of a father.

But who’s he to judge? Crassus' son’s quite popular with the ladies and might've seduced you. What kind of fathering produces something like that?

“Crassus, can you take my hand? I need to go check on Cassian.” You ask your husband, holding your cards out to him.

Taking the cards from your outstretched hand, causing his fingertips to lightly brush against yours, he assures you, “Go ahead, petal. I'll be fine taking your place against mother in the card game.”

“Thank you.” You tell your husband, a hint of a smile on your lips, before taking off to tend to your baby.

Crassus looks over his hand, concluding that you have descent cards. Not enough to call gin rummy, but they have some potential.

He goes to draw from the deck, only to be bombarded by his mother patting his hand and telling him in that knowing way all mothers have, “I see you're showing a fondness to your wife, Crassus.” She lets his hand go, enabling him to draw his card, while smiling, “Petal’s a lovely pet name for Y/N; very befitting of a Snow wife.”

“Mhm.” Crassus hums, placing his card with the others in his hand.

While he muses over what card to discard, his mother gives him the sage advice of, “Well, I'm glad to see that things are better between the two of you. But, just remember that you should always kiss her good morning and goodnight even if you've had a little tiff. Can't ever let hard feelings or feelings of disinterest take root and fester in a marriage, especially one as fragile as yours.”

“Thank you, mother. I'll be sure to remember that.” Crassus tells Grandma'am while discarding a card he deems useless.

But maybe he shouldn't have discarded that one since his mother snatched it up from the pile and used it to declare gin rummy.

And later that night when you and your husband go to bed, he put his mother's advice to good use. He takes you by surprise when after telling you goodnight he commands in a deep tone, “Come here.”, while sitting up in bed.

You had just laid down and turned your back to him, which you do every night. You didn't feel like getting up, so you countered his request with, “We already said goodnight, Crassus, so go to sleep.”

But Crassus couldn't go to sleep. No, not without kissing you goodnight. If what his mother said was true and goodnight along with good morning kisses kept a marriage from fracturing then he needed to give you one. Lord knows that he never kissed his first wife goodnight or was overly affectionate with her, but Demeter seemed just fine with a transactional intimacy in their marriage. But you're not Demeter, you're you and Crassus has discovered that to put a smile on your face; to keep you happy and from crying that he needs to approach you with interest and intimacy.

Well, he decides that if you're not going to go to him then he'll just have to go to you.

So, Crassus leans over your body, his large frame engulfing yours, And tilts your chin with his large hand, turning your head towards his. And without warning, he brings his face close to yours and presses his lush, pillowy soft lips against yours for a kiss. A kiss that took you aback and lit a spark inside of you.

This kiss was unlike the others that you shared with your husband. Usually they felt mechanical and robotic, something that's done before or during the deed of fucking, but this kiss was fueled by a feeling of some sort. What’s fueling your husband's sudden kiss, you didn't know, but you did know that his kisses had the ability to harbor more than the cold impersonal touch you've grown accustomed to from him. In fact, his lush lips had the ability to inspire heart-rending stirrings.

Without even thinking much of it, your lips chased after his, wanting- no craving more of his kiss, as he began to pull away.

The action made your husband realize that you're touch starved; sent a small pang of guilt in his chest. Crassus couldn't help, but think that maybe that's another reason why you're sad and crying alone in the corner while he's at work. Because the little intimacy that there was between the two of you died once you grew too big in your pregnancy.

“We’ve got 5 more weeks until we can fuck again, so just let me know when the doctor clears you and I'll make up all the lost intimacy to you, okay?” Crassus tells you, his deep tone holding a slight warmness in it that you're not used to hearing, as he caresses your jawline with his thumb.

“Okay.” You tell your husband, already knowing that once your clear bill of health comes in you'll be stuck being his fleshlight- it's just a duty that comes with being Mrs. Y/N Snow.

But now that the surprise kiss is over and Crassus is just staring at you with something unreadable in his icy eyes, caressing your jawline with slow strokes of his thumb, you feel small and vulnerable. Perhaps even foolish in a way; you can't help but feel like you're being toyed with by your bored middle-aged husband because you know deep down in your heart that he doesn't give a shit about you. Hell, he's probably just playing with you to see how fast it'll take to make you melt under his touch before he decides to pull the rug out from under you and use your receptive feelings as a zinger to keep you in line with.

Only the gods know that your husband's a cold, stern, indifferent man that doesn't have a heart. Why would he show you an ounce of affection, if he didn't mean to turn it around into something cruel and uncaring in the end that would just keep you under his thumb?

Feeling a bit overwhelmed and self conscious, your melancholy creeps up on you and tears tickle the back of your eyes. Not wanting to experience a baby blues crying jag during bedtime, you push your husband's hand away from your face and quickly bury your face into your pillow.

Your rejecting touch burnt Crassus' hand worse than any fiery flames could. He couldn't fathom why you reacted the way that you did. Did he do something wrong? He thought that tonight was a good night between the two of you. He asked you about your day once he got home, spent some time with you and the baby, made Coriolanus shut up when his lab rat talk was bothering you at dinner, and had some light banter with you while playing cards with you and his mother. To him, the night went well and there was no reason for you to reject him after his goodnight kiss.

Maybe you're just tired from taking care of the baby all day?

Yes, that has to be it.

Because if it's not, well…Crassus doesn't want to think about that.

The following day Coriolanus was still a bit butthurt over his family not caring about his remarkable scientific breakthroughs and success. He's still salty about his father, the war hero General Crassus Snow, shutting down his talk about the experiments he performed on the lab rat Dr. Gaul assigned him. How dare his father, whose success and grandeur he's been told he has the potential to surpass, make him shut up about his brilliance in the scientific field that accompanies the role of gamemaker- whether that be an assistant or the head gamemaker itself.

The platinum blonde with the halo of curls felt that you at least should've wanted to hear about his natural aptitude for scientific endeavors and gamemaking. But no, you let his father, your damn husband, order him to stop all talk about his efforts with the lab rat. If you ask him, you've turned into a selfish bitch that's either crying or with the baby all the time. Goddamnit, you don't want to do anything (like suck his cock) anymore.

It's bullshit how nobody seems to appreciate his efforts, his intelligence, and his potential for greatness. What the hell kind of family does he have?

Well, he's sure that Tigris would appreciate it, but she's so kindhearted and gentle that he's afraid she'd faint at the reference to blood let alone any other innuendos to his experiments with the lab rat from 12. So, he'll refrain from telling her anything about it when he visits her next at her boutique/above shop condo.

And talk about his personal lab rat, she was doing exceptionally well. She responded to the after experiment tests and check ups with efficiency and skill that most lab rats struggle to possess right away after operations. Oh, yes, the reconditioning of the blank canvas that's the mind of lab rat 12 is going perfectly. In fact, Dr. Gaul says that Coriolanus has a natural talent and skill at molding and creating useless things into something new and functional.

After spending some time deep in the depths of the Citadel, where Dr. Gaul's lab is, doing only the gods know what to the little girl he's now dissociated himself into believing is a lab rat from District 12 instead of a living, breathing human being, Coriolanus found himself in the library at the University. He didn't have any classes today, but he was at the library studying. Coriolanus, despite having the best marks in all of his classes, wanted to remain the A+ student that he is; which is why he's cramming for his upcoming finals.

Finals that will determine if he keeps his spot as the valedictorian or not.

And while his nose is buried in a book for his sociology class Livia Cardew spots him. She's in the library to study for her own finals. She's a finance major, being that her mother owns and operates the largest bank in all of the Capitol let alone Panem, so truly none of her classes will be in the same scope as Coriolanus' considering that he's a double major in Military Strategies and Political Science.

Okay, that's a lie. She shares one class with him. An elective course: Communications. Although he sits in the front and is a total professor's pet and she sits in the middle of the lecture hall, they still share the class. Livia's impressed by his natural wit and way with words, how he delivers speeches in the class with such grace. He's so perfect in the craft of communication that he could very well teach the class; show the professor a thing or two.

Livia's not bad at public speaking, but she's not as poised as Coriolanus. She's a typical Capitolite gossip girl and will ramble on and get off topic during a speech if it's not an assigned prewritten one. If it's a speaking exercise where she has to come up with something on demand, well, she's doomed if the speech has to last more than 3 or 4 minutes. She's a proper young lady of Capitol City, Panem, but a snobby elitist all the same; sad to say gossiping is a main part of that.

But seeing Coriolanus sitting alone at a table on the second floor of the library feels like the opportune moment to grab his attention. Yes, Livia has been teasing Coriolanus for years (she was a straight up terror to him in their later Academy years) but she knew that her role in life, other then taking over her mother's bank since her brother was a useless drunk and her father’s been on a permanent vacation in 1 at a ski lodge since she was 10, was to bag herself a wealthy and successful husband. And who better than Coriolanus Snow, the heir to the esteemed Snow family, to raise her station in high society?

So, the dirty blonde walks over to Coriolanus' table with a mission in mind: snatch him up in her claws.

Setting her bag down on the table near the scattering of notes, Livia takes a seat next to Coriolanus all the while asking, “May I sit with you, Coriolanus?”

The young man with light blonde curls raised his head up to look at the dirty blonde who'd just plopped down in the seat next to him. Honestly, he hated her; she grated on his nerves. But Coriolanus knew that demanding that she leave him alone would be bad manners; would make him look rude and ungentlemanly. He couldn't afford Livia, one of the biggest gossiping bitches in his social circle, to spread the word around that he's an ill-mannered oaf.

No, that would ruin all of his future plans of greatness and grandeur.

Nodding, he gives the dirty blonde girl a fake smile. “Of course you may, Livia.” Coriolanus politely says before going back to his studies.

Livia digs her books and notes out of her large designer bag while asking, “What class are you studying for?”

“Sociology of Deviant Behavior. Dr. Gaul, my mentor, teaches it.” Is the answer Coriolanus gives the girl that he hates, who's opening up a book for one of her finance classes.

“I'm a finance major, so I've never taken that class. What's it about?”

Flipping his page in his book, Coriolanus answers Livia with, “Essentially Dr. Gaul teaches about the forms of social deviance, theories on them and the societal responses to them.”

“Oh, so it's about criminal and social control.” Livia concludes, pretending to show an interest in the blonde boy's class in order to reel him in. What? She'll be graduating University soon, she needs to start thinking about finding a potential husband; who better than the Snow heir?

Hearing Livia take an interest in his sociology class strokes Coriolanus' bruised ego. Oh, maybe, just maybe she'd like to hear about his work with his lab rat?

“Dr. Gaul assigned me a lab rat, some wretch of a thing from district 12 that was caught roaming around in the woods, to perform experiments on for her sociology class.” Coriolanus tells Livia as an opening to see if she'd like to hear more about his experiments with the lab rat.

“What kind of experiments can a sociology class on deviancy consist of?” Livia asks, not because she cares but because she wants Coriolanus to think that she does. She wants to woo him and what better way to do that then to appeal to his mind and his accomplishments with his mentor.

“Behavioral correction experiments that focus on reprogramming the mind.” Explains Coriolanus while adding to the notes he has scattered on the table. Apparently he read something in his textbook that he forgot to write down previously.

“Are those kinds of experiments hard to do?”

“Yes,” Coriolanus nods, “usually they are, but Dr. Gaul says I'm a gifted prodigy of hers.” Lifting his head from the book his nose was buried in and turning to capture Livia's attention, he brags, “All of my experiments have been done successfully without any oversight by my mentor; she even told me that I have the potential to be a greater man than my father.”

Hearing that peeked Livia's interest. If Dr. Gaul thought that Coriolanus had the potential to surpass his war hero father then he'd surely be a worthy catch. Smiling, she urges, “Please, tell me all about your successful experiments.”

“Of course, Livia. I'd be delighted to.” Coriolanus grinned like the Cheshire cat before going on to tell Livia all about the expe on his ‘lab rat’, using the exact same language and poetic innuendos he used the previous night with his family.

And when Livia showed an interest in Coriolanus' achievements and accomplishments scientifically, well, it made him feel powerful. It also made it feel like the only one that cares is the girl that bullied him while growing up, the girl whose hyena laugh he can't stand, the very girl he hates.

But by spending time in the library with the snobby, shallow girl he hates, Coriolanus is able to brag about his experiments without being shunned or shamed. Which led to Coriolanus asking Livia out to lunch; of course she accepted his offer.

A lunch offer that would be the beginning of something and the end of something all at the same time.

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[lundenloves]

“ 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍’𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 “

⤷ this was written in around 40 minutes flat. i love you all, thank you for being here to support my ramblings.

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His first deployment. Nothing short of devastating, a ruinous experience not meant for the likes of an eighteen year old. Shoved between a divergence of broken and bruised ageing men that forced a squint from younger eyes. The smell of drink and gunpowder mixed, sat shoulder to shoulder with bloodied uniforms and pairing eyes that sunk to the floor as if by force. “How is it?” A splutter of conversation was hosted through cigarette ends, two older men sat adjacent from one another in the truck. Simon paid an ear.

“The same.” He answered, sitting back and leaving a weighted sigh. “Bad.”

The thump of an impatient fist against his thigh was one Simon had sidewardly eyed, painfully aware of his own crisp green camo. Against its purpose, it did little to blend him in. Each pocket was still with tact stitching, sleeves unworn by others’ demise and his teenage build was a patent sign of his rank. “Lost a dozen or so.”

Unscarred hands white knuckled a rifle, jaw tightening through the ins and outs of that sole conversation beside him. The truck battered against divots in the sand they drove through, his stomach churning with each time pressure had been applied to the breaks. “Bravo?”

“Bravo.” Spare ash from their smoking had tumbled over Simon’s boot, his eyes pointedly watching the grey flake and disappear. “Lost their sniper, stupid sods.” A brief pause for what was assumed to be an inhale, desert now surrounding every side of the four by four, not one clue was to be had of their exact location. “Y’wouldn’t put a young lad on his own up on ninety-two would you? Fuck sake.”

Young eyes reverted toward his gun, heavy and worn with scratched handwriting across the barrel. The day was a fleet. Two lives had been lost that morning, two men to his left on that last drive. Two neat bullets placed into chests that pried the last drop of life they had clasped so desperately to on that desert floor.

Simon watched them die from his dugout. A pit in the sand created by waves of wind, the seniors beside him wrapped a sole knuckle on his helmet in empathy. “Don’t let it stick with you, son.” Seven words that had shaped a military mindset from the beginning.

His eye twitched from the loss of life, watching the last breath leave a soul before going limp. The youthful silence was noted by the men alongside him, apparent trauma was something that hadn’t slipped yet only turned into a weapon the older he grew.

Trauma was key.

Trauma was valued.

Because what was a soldier without trauma? How could bullets take another life without the aid of anger. Not only had two men lost theirs, Simon had also taken his first. A fumbled mess at best, the worst way to go without dignity at the wrath of an eighteen year old child. His ungloved hands fingered at the trigger, equivalent to flooring a pedal in a car his knuckles turned white with the grip and his eyes involuntarily squeezed shut.

His arms had dropped to his sides after the fact, blood spats across his face from a point blank effort that had left a traumatic scene. His kill wasn’t nearly as neat and kind, though heavy and messy. The weight stuck with him, taking five paces backward to the colleague behind him who was only a year older at the time. “It’ll get better.”

And those three words paired with the prior seven had merged to find a mantra. Somewhere hidden between desolation and adrenaline had he finally understood the Who Dares Wins motto of the SAS, nevermind the surface level of Be The Best — an army effort that ironically felt below of his own expectation of himself. Who Dares Wins felt right. It felt deeper and solid, something that resonated and rumbled within his chest.

But for years, Be The Best was the phrase he aimed to please. His first deployment was a testament to that, eyes wide and glassed on the ride back to base that was missing two men save for their dogtags and guns. His hands shook uncontrollably as did his leg that trembled without conscious effort, he felt sick to the stomach and the blood on his uniform now felt like the rest of his life.

He noticed how no one spoke.

How hands aggressively rubbed at faces and boots were kicked up on the two ghost seats adjacent. The quiet wasn’t necessarily due to respect of fallen men but fatigue. Sleep never came for weeks and the start of a nightmarish routine had only just begun, this was living hell but it felt right.

It felt deserved.

The red water that had pooled by his feet that night in the shower wasn’t something he could ever wash off and anxiety had peaked.

By his first deployment, every corner he looked around was now subject to threat. Every fast movement was met with panic and his eyes had went longer without blinking. Hand pats on the shoulder were now cause for fright and the deafening blasts of machine guns made home in his house. Hell, they’d taken a room.

He became completely closed.

No one got in.

No one got out.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbars @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @rayhawk05 @han11dh @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon @loveangelic @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @hayleybarnesx @reignthereigner

MY FUCKING TAGS BROKE

[alexthebordercollie]

I made this for an Encanto secret santa. Glad my kid enjoyed their gift ^.^ you can read the attached short story below the cut.

︵‿୨ - February 14 1912 - ୧‿︵

The hike up the steep mountainside was more exhausting in the rain. Slogging through the thick sticky mud that grew deeper the higher Bruno climbed. The closer he got to the source of the storm. Bruno spotted Pepa’s ruffled yellow dress peaking out against the murky landscape. The winds whipping the bright fabric about like a flag. Contrasted against the murky shadow the clouds coated across the lush greenery. Washing out all color save for that bright yellow dress. Soggy and miserable as it looked.

 “Can I sit?” Bruno carefully approached the small splash of sorry color sitting alone in the sea of sullen browns, greys, and blues. He pointed innocently to the patch of muddy ground next to his sister.

Pepa looked up at Bruno with the fattest pout. The rain blended with the tears that streamed down flushed red cheeks. Indistinguishable from each other. Green eyes narrowed before looking away. Pepa scooted an inch to the side to make space on her little patch of mud. Bruno sat down beside her. The ground squelching unpleasantly through his trousers. The wind blew Bruno’s hood about but he didn’t bother trying to keep it on his head. There wasn’t much point. He was already soaked clear through to the bone and had been for a while. From up here, the two siblings could watch the wild tears stream down the mountainside and into town. Occasionally a stray neighbor would step outside to brave the storm. They looked like ants. Scurrying wildly about the empty streets to dodge the rain.

“Julieta’s talking to Mamá right now.” Bruno stated awkwardly. Unsure how to make conversation. He knew Pepa didn’t want to talk, but Bruno figured she might feel better if they did. 

He didn’t have much reasoning behind the conjecture. After all, he was the one who caused this storm. Him and his big mouth. His bad luck. Bruno had a habit of making most things worse. He knew Pepa was upset but in her moment of stunned silence, he made the rookie mistake of trying to lighten the mood with a joke. He was stupid. He knew that, but then again… things couldn’t get much worse than they were now. He still wanted to help. Even if he wasn’t very good at it.

“Good for her.” Pepa huffed.

“Mamá’s pretty mad.” Bruno observed. He pulled his poncho over his lap and watched the water collect before wringing it out tightly in his grip. Not that it mattered. He’d stretch it back out again to watch another puddle form.

“Mamá’s always mad.” Pepa spat back in frustration.

“That’s not true.” Bruno countered meekly. Wringing more water out of his poncho. “She’s never mad at Julieta.” 

“At us Bruno!” Pepa snapped. Furrowing her brow in frustration at her brother. 

Bruno said another stupid thing. Of course he did. “Correcto, porque somos los jodidos.” He replied simply. Not sad or resentful. Just a statement of fact. One he knew Pepa was just as self-aware of as he was.

They both knew they were the problem children. Pepa because her emotions always got the better of her and Bruno? Well… what wasn’t wrong with Bruno? He couldn’t exactly explain what the problem was. He couldn’t answer that question if he tried. He just knew he was wrong. Everything he did or said. He was strange. Stupid. Bad luck…

“Ajá.” Pepa sighed in resignation. 

Bruno was just stating the obvious again.

Bruno tucked quietly under his poncho. Wrapping it tight over his knees and resting his chin on the flat surface the tent created. His rat Lupita squirmed up to his collar to poke her head out. The little doe sensed the tension in the air as the deafening silence settled between the two siblings. The storm was loud and raging around them, despite Pepa’s still silence.

“Estoy bien mija.” Bruno soothed to his furry little friend. Petting her sopping wet fur between the ears. He liked talking to his rats like this. When he talked to them he could pretend to be a grown-up. That was always nice. He somehow had a feeling he would never get to be a grown-up for real. He couldn’t explain why. It was just a feeling.

“Puaj, puf, puf, puf, puf, puf!” Pepa suddenly shrieked. Scrambling back away from Bruno. The thick mud staining the little yellow dress that stuck out against the storm. Smothering that little spark of color. “You brought one of your rats?!”

“It’s just Lupita.” Bruno defended. Plucking the small doe from his shoulder and cupping her protectively in his hands. “She’s nice. She was worried about you and wanted to come make sure you were ok.” 

“It’s all soggy and smelly!” Pepa whined. She shuttering and squirming as she leaned as far from Bruno as she could without getting up.

“But she’s so nice.” Bruno protested. Holding up the dripping little doe to show his sister. Showing off Lupita’s bright beady eyes. 

“Ay!” Pepa shrieked as Bruno shoved the rat into her face. Flailing and trying to shove it away. Lupita began to panic and squirm in Bruno’s hands. Attempting to flee Pepa’s shrieking. A bolt of lightning zapped the ground next to Bruno and made him jump. Barely dodging a very painful strike.

“Just hold the rat!” Bruno demanded irritably. 

“I’m not holding that thing!” Pepa yelled back over the howling winds. “It’s gonna bite me!”

Bruno huffed and puffed up his cheeks. He filled his lungs with air and gathered his courage before grabbing Pepa by her arm and forcing Lupita into her hands. “Ahí, ves?” Bruno challenged. Pepa kept squirming but Bruno held her hands clasped over Lupita. The frightened little doe curled up and shook in their hands. “She’s not gonna bite. Just hold her, you’ll feel better.” He insisted.

Pepa anxiously sucked in her lips. Her shoulders bunched up around her neck. Slowly she opened one eye and looked down. She gradually relaxed as she looked at the caged little creature in their hands. Trembling and sweet. Not an ounce of malice in Lupita’s tiny body.

“Feeling better?” Bruno asked softly. Watching Pepa slowly unwind. Bruno’s chest swelled with a sense of pride. He loved his rats. Knew just how sweet they were. How good they felt to hold. Bruno slowly loosened his grip on the girls and guided Pepa’s hands till she was holding Lupita comfortably. The little wet rat continued to shake for a bit before finally looking up at Pepa with wide pleading eyes.

Pepa sniffled and the wind gradually slowed around them. “She’s warm.”  She muttered softly.

“And soft.” Bruno chirped with pride.

Pepa nodded slowly before her puffy red cheeks began to swell. Her eyes welled up as she stared back down at Lupita. Broken wailing sobs escaped her, rattling her delicate frame.

Bruno’s heart lurched up into his throat. Panic setting in with the fresh wave of icy cold downpour that soaked him to the bone. “Oh, oh no, Pepa, don’t cry, I didn’t mean to…” Bruno rushed to try and hold his sister but couldn’t find an opening through the cracks of lighting and harsh winds.

“He said he dumped me 'cause I’m crazy.” Pepa sobbed.

“You’re not crazy!” Bruno scolded sternly. Shouting over the rain. 

Angry tears continued to pour over Pepa’s flushed face. She sucked in a few sharp wheezing breaths before choking out her words. “I feel crazy.” She hugged Lupita to her chest and sobbed into her sopping wet pelt. “No matter how hard I try… It always rains…” 

Pepa’s words dug into Bruno’s chest like a knife. They struck at something, at feelings he didn’t know how to put words yet. He knew Pepa wasn’t the crazy one. She didn’t deserve to feel like that.

“You’re not crazy.” Bruno mumbled as the howling winds died down again. The rain falling straight down like a bucket dumped onto the mountainside. Weighing Pepa’s hair and clothes down like lead. Bruno pulled Pepa close and hugged her. Resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re just a kid.” He told her. “It’s okay to be sad. It’s not your fault.”

Pepa sobbed into her brother’s neck. For a while, it was all she could do. Just sniffle and grieve. Exhausted and sad and broken. “I tried so hard.” She whimpered.

“I know you did.” Bruno replied softly. 

“I was going to be the best novia ever.” Pepa grieved. “We were going to get married someday.”

Bruno winced and tilted his head. “Well… I mean, I knew that wasn’t gonna happen.” He replied.

Pepa shoved him back with one hand. Lupita still perched in the other. “You knew he was going to dump me this whole time and you didn’t say anything?” 

“Oh, no,” Bruno held up his hands in submission. Shrinking back before he risked getting zapped. “I didn’t know what was going to happen I just, like, your baby, in the future, I knew they weren’t his.” Bruno told her. “I don’t know who you’re supposed to marry but I saw your daughter once in a vision.” 

Pepa grew quiet and hugged Lupita again. The tired stressed little rat looked like she was growing impatient with being squished but made no effort to escape her grip. “Could you uhm…” Pepa looked away and tugged at her limp braid with one hand. “Could you see who my husband is? Maybe then I won’t have to waste my time…” 

Bruno quickly shook his head. He immediately knew how that would go. A deep pit in his gut told him if he tried to it would only make life harder for his sister. “I don’t think that’s a good idea Pepa. What if I jinx it? What if I see you with someone terrible and ugly and then you're stuck with him?” Bruno challenged.

Pepa sighed. Her shoulders sagging. “I guess you’re right…” She conceded. She turned away to stare aimlessly back down the muddy slope at the town. Petting Lupita in her lap. “Mamá says real women don’t get their heart broken over stupid little boys.” She pouted softly. 

Mamá was always telling them what it meant to be a grown-up. All the things they had to do and be. None of it sounded very fun. Most of it sounded impossible to Bruno. He wasn’t sure he would ever be a real man. He didn’t know how to be, and seeing the future didn’t make the answers any clearer.

Bruno curled up and hugged his knees. Staring down at the town again. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” He admitted. Manhood was already hard enough to wrap his head around. He couldn’t begin to figure out being a woman. “I’m pretty sure Mamá thinks I’m a stupid little boy.” He chuckled awkwardly and quacked out of the side of his mouth. “So I guess you better not let me break your heart.” He teased. Turning to look back at his sister. “Then we’ll both be in trouble and I won’t even be able to help cause you’ll be too mad at me.”

Pepa let out a little snort that turned into a laugh. One laugh turned into two, before devolving into more tears again. Her genuine smile a brief flash of light that was quickly snuffed out by a fresh wave of pain. “Dios mío, duele tanto.” She wept. Overwhelmed by a pain Bruno had yet to know.

“Lo siento.” Bruno replied softly. “I don’t know how to make it better.” He looked down at his feet and hugged his knees. His hair clinging to his face and forming thick black curtains over his eyes. He could just see his toes soaking into the mud between the clumps of black. The gentle sound of his sister’s cries just barely audible over the fat lazy raindrops plopping against the ground.

Bruno’s eyes scanned over the mud. Counting the raindrops. Eventually, his gaze landed on a long sturdy branch with a fork at the end. He perked up and squinted at the stick for a moment. A thought occurring to him. Pepa looked up at him curiously as Bruno got up to pick up the stick. He didn’t mind Pepa’s stares. She’d understand in just a moment. Bruno scurried about the slippery hillside and surrounding woods looking for the right sort of branches. It took some searching but he found another similarly forked branch and broke a bit off the end to make them the same length. More sticks, some large fronds that had been knocked from the towering wax palms by the storm.

“What are you doing?” Pepa narrowed her eyes at Bruno skeptically as he approached with his bundle of waterlogged kindling.

“Helping.” Bruno replied simply. 

Bruno dug a couple of holes in the mud on either side of Pepa and wedged his forked branches into them. Drilling them down into the ground and caking the base in mud till it was enough to hold them upright. Another branch draped between the two pillars. Its ends woven into the forks. Once he did so he laid a few other branches he’d stripped of any straggly bits diagonally from the ground to the top branch. He layered palm fronds over the frame he’d created till he’d built a decently solid little lean-to. The walls of packed leaves caught the rain as it fell and offered Pepa a small shelter.

Bruno could feel Pepa’s eyes burning holes into him as he came to sit back down beside her under the palm fronds. “En serio?” She chuckled softly.

Bruno shrugged. “What? I made a shelter. Now you won’t get rained on.” 

Pepa laughed again. A bit more genuine this time. “And? We’re both drenched. What does it matter? We’re still wet.”

“Sí.” Bruno replied simply. “But now we’re a little less wet.” He reasoned. Hugging his knees and listening to the rain hit the leaves and slide off. “I figure that’s still better.”

“Sí, creo que sí.” Pepa replied softly. She flopped sideways, resting her head on Bruno’s shoulder. Lupita looked up at Bruno pleadingly from her perch in Pepa’s hands. Pepa didn’t really know how to hold a rat right but Lupita was doing her best to be patient. Bruno was considering taking his rat back when the next words out of Pepa’s mouth took him by surprise and disrupted his thoughts.

“Gracias Bruno.” Pepa sighed. Closing her eyes and listening to the sound of the rain.

“De nada.” Bruno assured her. Resting his cheek on top of her head.

More Encanto short stories here-

To love for today - Chapter 1 - alexBDcollie - Encanto (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

[starzshopoflove]

Civil Duties (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

needed a title i think

Notes: fem reader! i hc ghost doesn't wear a mask when he's off duty, this is just whatever rot my mouse brain creates, age gap but not to crazy, sfw mostly ,size kink if you squint, literally just me projecting onto reader sorry i'm terrified of men irl, no smut guys simon doesnt fuck on the first date erm,,

You were probably gonna throw up out of pure anxiety texting him, not like you were scared but this wasn't some guy from school or a random guy who hit on you, this man was an actual man, like he's probably had real relationships and has his own health insurance (both false ahem). Of course you eventually bite the bullet and text him, exchanging basic information; your name, how old you were, what your hobbies are. 

After 2-3 days of consistent messaging mostly on your end with Simon preferring an actual phone call letting you do most of the talking assuring you he doesnt think your rambling and is in fact listening, he finally asks you out for a proper date because his mother raised a gentleman that doesn't call it grabbing coffee then tells you its a date.

I feel like simon would try and clean up a little bit for a first date, you're not some barrack bunny he fucks with a mask on and never sees again!! So he’ll get his hair trimmed, shave his stubble, wear his nicer slacks instead of his usual worn jeans and iron his shirt before seeing you. Checking to make sure he didn't look dirty or smell so you wouldn't make that face from what he was hoping wasnt from him.

He’ll call you from outside the bookshop were your family flat was above and let you know he's here while you basically stomp around upstairs running to do the final touches on your makeup, making sure the dress you decided to wear wasn't too short and your hair wasn't standing on ends while you held the phone between your ear and shoulder hopping on one foot trying to get your shoe while you told him you’d be right down. 

Simon, who checks his watch ( yes he has a watch this man is OLD) while waiting for you only turning his head when he hears your quick steps making way down the staircase in the back of the shop and patterning of your shoes across the store floor where you make your somewhat grand entrance out of the shop. He just kind watches you grip the door frame and place a hand on your knee to catch your breath because he doesn't know you basically just did 2 hours worth of hair, nails and makeup in 45 mins and still pulled it off.

“You look nice” was all he could choke out because he can't simply throw you over his shoulder and take you home and let you be his little live in girlfriend (dw give him time it'll happen) 

You straighten yourself swallowing silently to yourself basically eating him alive with your eyes praying he can't tell (he can't hes busy thinking about how your gonna be late for lunch and doesn't want the good tables to get taken) letting your lips pull that stupid smile you have when your reading the softest part of a book where the mc finally gets what she needs. 

“Really?” Of course when you said that it had to come with a little giggle that tickled his ears because that kind sound doesn’t come to often especially when he can see your face burning just a little and your fighting the fattest grin 

“Absolutely” 

Simon seems like the kinda guy to take you somewhere family run for lunch, quiet but the best damn food you’ll ever eat. Course you chat and you nudge him some of your fries where he placing some of the meat from his plate onto your (THAT'S NOT THE MEAT WE WANT) and you share a little “oh thats good” over your conversation that ends with you both deciding to go on a walk around the square 

You’re just fucking eating up everything the whole time, actually hearing him talk more with that sweet deep mank accent while you explain the plot to some mystery book the shop stocked recently after he mentioned he liked the author, or when he picked his glass up for a drink and his arm flexed a little, oh my god you wanted to climb this man like a tree and pick his brain apart. 

Obviously Simons is a very attractive man but you like your men with some sorta substance, and he has plenty. The way he actually listened to you and had questions on whatever you were saying, not making you feel like you were suffocating him because he happily listened to your blabbering about the latest new installment in a series you've been keeping up with or when you had to explain the concept of reddit to him to explain a story. It was nice, like he didn't mind you had so much in your head and was happy to let you spill it out

You’re like a breath of fresh air for Simon, most of his time off a mission is spent reading anything in a park or at the gym just trying to make the time pass quicker till his next mission, he didn't know what made him give you his number but seeing you twice in one day didn't feel like something he could ignore. Your hands were as soft as they looked, and you didn't smell like smoke or gunpowder, you didn't care that he wasn't super talkative because that look in your eye told him you know he was listening, he especially liked how you didn’t push when he said he just did “contracting” for work 

When the date ended with you both walking back to the shop and you both stood in front of the big glass door quiet and awkward while you shifted from one foot to another not yet ready to leave. At Least not without a kiss, least you could do to say thank you for letting talk your ear off.

“Simon”

“Yeah?” 

“Somethin on your cheek c’mere”

There's was literally nothing on his cheek but he still leaned down to you indulging whatever you had in mind, when you hooked a finger on the collar of his shirt tugging his face much closer 

“Still cant see it?” He gruffed out letting your eyes meet his while his hands made fists in his jacket pockets trying not to just jump out and hold you by the cheeks 

“Def can now ‘ts right here” 

You tugged the shirt a little closer, slotting your lips onto a small hum leaving you when his tongue licked your bottom lip with you happily obliging parting just enough for your tongues to slide over each other, before pulling away. 

“Did ya get it?” hes got a stupid grin now too not as wide and bright as your but its there 

“Mhm” 

You did you it *confetti*

[ominoose]

Any chance I could request a little Jake x reader where reader is Marc's wife? She knows of Steven and Jake (and has met Steven), but Jake is all new to her. NSFW would be so slay 💅

Even if you DONT do this request, please know I read everything you post and I love you sm

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut

WC: 1.5k

A/N: Anon you are so sweet 💞 You said a little but my fingers started acting on their own... Came out more as a mini character study but they shag I swear. Its just heartfelt. ���

Your sudden scream echoed against against the muggy tiles of the bathroom, cutting through the quiet flat so suddenly that before Marc could even finish being startled Jake had already forced himself to the front, feet thudding against the floor before the bathroom door is flung open.

The site of you stood over the window with water dripping down your skin stops him in his tracks.

Marc was smitten with you from the moment he met you, that much was obvious to both Jake and Steven alike. The body's heart raced, their palms began sweating and their eyes always trailed after you no matter where you were in the room. It did come as a surprise when Marc impulsively asked you out, an action uncharacteristic of a man so usually closed off and wary of letting people in.

The bigger surprise came when you so openly accepted their DID. Steven had been complaining about how little he was getting to front since Marc's relationship with you began, going as far as to argue on behalf of their mysterious third alter since even he must be getting less chance to sneak about. Jake didn't get involved.

When Marc finally opened up to you and introduced Steven, and, without hesitation, you insisted you would love every part of him, including any other man living in his body, it was Steven's turn to fall head over heels. Jake still didn't get involved.

Even when Marc and Steven jointly proposed to you, even when you said yes and the three of you vowed to stand side by side through eternity and beyond, in sickness and in health, Jake made his own vow not to get involved.

Just because the other two knew about his existence didn't mean he had to be actively involved. Just because you were married and gave Marc and Steven their hard earned happily ever after didn't mean he had to get involved, that wasn't what he was made to do. He was there when shit hit the fan, when Marc's knuckles went from bruised to bloody, when they needed to bite and clamp their jaws shut over the throat of a threat. When danger reared its head as quick as a belt.

Jake was not made to see the most beautiful women the world could create, with steam curling around her body, water droplets cascading down her skin where he'd learned to expect blood.

The bathroom door slamming against the wall got your attention as the form of your tense, rigid husband filled the door frame.

"Sorry babe, there was a spider. I already let it out the window, didn't mean to startle you." The sympathetic smile you gave him should've been enough to ease him, earn a sigh or a 'Phew' if it was Steven fronting. Not now. The man in front of you stood as if he'd been born into this stance, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed and sharp, jaw set. The man in front of you wasn't either of the men you stood at the aisle with. That left only one other person it could be.

"Jake?" The name was one foreign to your lips, spoken the way people said the names of ancient, mythological figures, of someone they'd heard while curled in bed, covers pulled up to their nose. As if saying the name out loud would invoke something.

It did.

Finally the man reacted, eyes flying up to meet your stare, wary as a beaten dog. Jake knew you were aware of him, knew Marc and Steven vaguely mentioned the fact he existed, but having you say his name was something more. He wasn't a rare, passing conversation topic now, the local cryptid haunting your home. Jake was made real, grounded in the present and not simply the flashes of violence and horror marring the body. Now he was the deer caught in the headlights, frozen at being seen.

With a hesitant step forward you reach for him, placing your hand gently on his shoulder. To you, it was to ground him, connect with him, show him you were open to him. Briefly you wondered if your fingers would slip through him like smoke.

To Jake, it was the first time someone had touched him without the sting of violence, and yet your touch still stung, still set his body on fire, his heart racing. To Jake, now given a moment in time to want, it was all he'd wanted.

His lips were on you before your back hit the wall, ravenous and desperately molding himself against you, breathing you in. When your arms went around his neck, wrapping him up in you, it was a miracle Jake stayed standing. Rough, calloused hands ran over you, fingers pressing against every inch of your skin, every pore. Hands that had only been present to be stained with blood were now being coated in you and he couldn't get enough.

The first chance you had to catch your breath was when you were being lifted without warning, pined between the wall and the panting picture of desperation in front of you. For a brief second your mind managed to catch up with you, 'Was this ok? Would Marc and Steven be ok with this?', but before any answer could've possibly came to you his tongue had laid claim to your mouth.

A key difference between Jake and Marc and Steven was Jake's world was fast, one where you had to give all or be reduced to nothing. Take what you can and take it now, because all you have to your name is a handful of time and the need to survive. That heady desperation defined Jake in all aspects, a fact he was carving into your mouth as his tongue tangled with your own while his hands all but ripped his trousers off.

This was the second and final time you were given the mercy of a breath, because when his mouth left yours, his cock had plunged inside of you. A strangled grunt gets caught in his throat as he holds you in place against the wall, head burrowing into the crook of your neck and taking the chance to bite at you, mark you, leave proof that he was here, that it was Jake Lockley that had pried those gorgeous moans from you.

His thrusts were as imposing and hard as the rest of him, wasting no time at setting a brutal pace, cock never fully leaving you as the sound of skin slapping skin and your gasping cries filled the bathroom. It was raw and primal, his hands like claws as he squeezed you as close to him as he could, bottoming out thrust after thrust, fucking you the only way he knew a man could.

The angle had his pubic bone grinding against your clit, creating an accidental rhythm while he slammed into you over and over and over. There was no let up, all you could do was dig your nails into his shoulders, wrapping your legs around him as he held you there and had his way with you, not even able to arch against his vice like grip on you.

Pleasure was being pulled from you so suddenly, so rapidly, it was already overstimulating, but Jake Lockley didn't work in half measures. It was all or nothing, fast and furious, there was never time for him to stop and catch his breath before, and he wouldn't make a habit of it now. Your clit was throbbing violently, walls clenching sporadically as he panted over you, both of you heading towards joint ruin with open legs.

When said ruin came, it was complete and utterly so. Your orgasm was quick but completely overwhelming, legs twitching and trying to clamp shut around him as he fucked you through it, rutting against your abused clit with no remorse. Jake's own ruin was quick to follow though, and it came over him with a roar as he barely managed to suppress the loud, rumbling moan clawing out of his throat. He was panting like an animal as he spasmed inside of you, his pace becoming frantic and stuttering as his body fought to keep moving. His moment couldn't end.

Despite his efforts, end it did, with his dick softening as he was left panting, staring down at your neck with a gaping mouth. He'd left his mark on you, bruises were scattered across your skin, crescent moons denting into the flesh of your hips, carved by his fingers. Was this it? Was this all he'd get from the world, this fleeting moment with you? It was more than he'd wished for, but now that he'd finally been allowed to want, he wanted more. He wanted you.

A soft hand on his jaw brought his gaze to you and the breaths he'd just fought back into his lungs left him. Your eyes were soft, slowly tracing over his face, savouring a moment to just look at him, the face of a man without the shadows that obscured it. The face of Jake Lockley.

He was too entranced to react as you leaned closer to him and placed a gentle, delicate kiss to his parted lips. After what he'd just done to you, the pleasure he'd ripped from you, after you'd let him all but claw his way between your legs, now you were opening your heart for him to claw his way into as well.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Jake." Now, for the first time, Jake was truly involved, body and soul.

[angelofthenight]

What Doesn’t Kill Me Pt.3

(Yandere!Alex DeLarge x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Yandere, Dark themes, Ladstat, Swearing/Language, Unhealthy/Abusive relationship, Physical abuse/Violence, Sadism, Blood, Paranoia, Objectification, A v brief suicidal thought, Jealousy/Possessiveness, Controlling behavior, Intimidation/Coercive control/Power imbalance, Emotional/Mental trauma, Spying, Gangs, Murder, A parallel if you can catch it, Alex is his own warning, You are responsible for your own content consumption

Word Count: 3.6k

Table of Contents

~

You and Alex sat shoulder to shoulder on your couch as you ate dinner on the short coffee table, a movie called ‘Lolita’ playing on your television. Alex’s thigh that was pressed flat against yours did nothing to ease the nervousness that stirred like a whirlpool in your stomach. Though your head was gradually succeeding in telling you that you had nothing to worry about. Unless he had cameras in your apartment, Alex had no way of knowing of your-

“What did that malchick want?”

He asked the question so casually that you almost didn’t register the words over the tone. “What?” You didn’t mean to play dumb but you just didn’t want to answer too quickly, plus you wanted to be sure who exactly he was referring to.

“The one that was at your door.” He responded simply as he continued to eat and watch the movie with his elbows resting on his knees. Despite the fear that gripped around you over the fact he knew you had a visitor, you tried to brush the conversation away as quickly as possible. “He was just trying to sell me something.” You grumbled with the shake of your head, trying to appear as if you didn’t care about the interaction at all.

Alex swallowed his bite of food. “And why would he go to you?” He asked, as if he was looking for a reason to get worked up. “Alex, he went to everybody’s door.” You rationalized the lie, your grip on your fork weakening yet tightening. Said boy chuckled cheekily as he leaned back into the cushions of your couch like you just told him a good joke. You felt his stare on the back of your head like a hot laser, the pressure and tension of the situation humidifying around you to create sweat.

“That’s quite funny you say that. Because I precisely recall sitting downstairs myself and when he strolled in, he went straight to the front desk and he asked the lobbyman what floor your door number was on.”

Your wide gaze was strongly glued to your half-eaten plate while your features began to shake terribly. Your heart was eaten by a pulsation and you felt as if the room was closing in on you; a nasty mixture of terror and panic suffocating you. You wanted to throw up, you wanted some air, you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream till your uvula burned just to let it all out. Why did God seem to despise you so much for this to happen? Did the universe just not want you to get out of this prison of endless pain and fright, thus slamming the door closed right in your face when you were so close to slipping through the opening to escape it?

Alex’s evil grin tried its best not to turn bitter and tight. The thought of another man at your door, and the thought of another man inside your living room, made him livid on the inside. His mind fogged with the brimming of a dazed insanity as he fought the urge to destroy your living room like a savage gorilla just because of that visualization. His possessiveness was sensitive, similar to a child throwing a tantrum if someone merely touched their teddy bear.

He spoke with a mocking yet tempered tone. “So are you trying to tell me he was selling pol? Is that it? He was just trying to spat with you-” “He has a girlfriend, Alex.” You interrupted while glancing at him over your shoulder, trying to shut down any jealousy before he got too heated in the head. Blood had spilled out the corner of your mouth too many times because of that possessive jealousy of his.

But that did not give comfort to Alex’s angry greed at all. “You think that’d stop a man’s primal instinct when they clap glazzes on you and your horrorshow groodies?”

Your brows slightly furrowed down at your plate as your quivering lips pursed together, tears that you tried your best to resist finally began to sting your corneas. Alex never wasted a chance to install it in your brain that every man had no other interest than to fuck you when they looked at you. It wasn’t just degrading or objectifying, it was dehumanizing.

It sounded like he was waiting for you to say something yet you didn’t know what he wanted you to say. You never felt like you could win against Alex. Even if your IQ was higher than his, you still felt like he was smarter than you in every way. Or maybe it was just that domineering and overbearing attitude he had towards everyone around him. You’ve seen up close how successfully he intimidates both his parents and his friends, no one daring to stand up to him. But no one knew his force quite like you. No one was as intimidated by him as you. Not just because you were the weakest link or of his commanding and bold aura, but because of the techniques he used to cow you into submission.

You just wanted to lower yourself to the floor, curl up tightly into a ball, tuck your head into your knees, and rot away. That’s all you wanted to do; fantasizing that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Allow me to ask you again, my darling. What did that prestoopnick want?” He put emphasis on each word like they were laced in venom.

It was too late, your first lie failed and that was your one and only shot. No matter your fake answer now, he wouldn’t believe it because he had already caught you lying. And if you had to lie about what Patrick wanted, Alex knew for sure it was something he wouldn’t like at all.

Alex rolled his icy blue eyes and huffed out a sigh, slapping his hands on his knees to push himself up to a stand. “Well then! If you won’t tell me then I’ll go ask that gent myself!”

Your eyes sprung wide open, a breath sharply inhaling up through your nose to burn your lungs. He was only able to take three steps before you had thrown yourself onto your knees to his feet and clutched onto the fabric of his pants. “Alex, no, PLEASE!” You wailed hoarsely as if he was leaving you alone with a poltergeist. You couldn’t let that poor boy be subjected to such pitiless inhumanity just because he associated with you out of the kindness of his heart. The thought of it was equally as painful as anything Alex could throw at you.

You whimpered out pleas as you pawed at his legs with tight embracing arms, burying your face in the back of his knees and undoubtedly dampening the fabric with tears. You knew you looked pathetic, most definitely stroking his superiority complex, but Alex murdered your dignity long ago. You were more than willing to beg.

He took a turn to look down at you. Surprisingly softly, his hand leaned down to allow his fingers to trace your jawline. His unreadable gaze stared back into your leaking eyes that held a begging look. He smiled, and for a moment you had a hopeful belief that he would grant mercy and maybe instead take it out on you. But that naive, childish hope was shattered like an ornament the second you noticed that malicious glint in his orbs.

And before you could feel your fear warn you about what was to come, Alex had snatched your throat, receiving your sharp wheeze as he engulfed it in his big hand. He compressed tightly to force you up and off your knees, slowly as to enjoy the sweet sounds of your choking gasps. He slammed you against the wall by your throat and held you there, his strong grip never once faltering. Your hands swung upwards, switching back and forth between trying to pry his grasp off to allow a desperate breath for air and clutching onto his sleeve and forearm for support and something to hold onto through the dizzying pain.

Numb fear filled your bloodshot eyes to the brim and his reaction was a toothy smile. He leaned his sinister expression close to the side of your face that was paling close to a bluish tint. “Such a bad girl for lying to me.” He husked in your ear which would’ve sent shivers spiraling down your bones if you weren’t so distracted by the lack of oxygen to your brain and the spots that began to form in your vision. You heard his voice ring in your ears yet you didn’t understand what he said, but you just knew it was something dark and chilling.

He suddenly removed his face from your cheek to look directly into your dilating pupils to show a kittenish smirk and bright eyes, but his squeeze remained unforgivably tight on your windpipe. He said in a mockingly innocent and forgiving tone, “But all relationships go through a bit of a rough patch, don’t they? We’ll push through this just like we always do. Any bastard that tries to skvat you from me just doesn’t viddy what we’ve got, my love.”

Your overwhelming wheezing, deep gasps became more turbulently desperate as a red substance began to rim your eyeballs. That was when Alex decided it was time to release you, gently letting go of your neck. A powerful gasp of air shot down your esophagus before his hold on you weakened enough to allow you to fall. However, when you fell, you fell right into his kick to your stomach. You landed on your side on the floor with a pair of pained whimpers and grunts, blood smearing around your gums and teeth.

Alex didn’t stay a second longer after the kick to torment you as he instantly continued on his way. “Love hurts, sweetheart!” He called out over his shoulder once he grabbed his cane that he left leaning on the wall beside your door and rested it on his shoulder blade. He escorted himself out like he was just going to run an errand.

You were left to tremble on your floor with one arm hugging your assaulted stomach and your free hand softly touching your burning throat. You moaned from the awful pain for a while, dealing with the difficulty and pain with breathing and swallowing. Your head was aching and you felt sick. When you finally managed to get a steady breath you used it to retch out the blood in your mouth while still laying on your side, creating a crimson splatter mark on the floor. The foul tasting blood still dripped down from the corner of your lips.

As your tired eyes grew lachrymose, a wet sniffle was heard from your petrified form. More followed. And more. And more. And more until one inhale with your frowning mouth triggered an agonized sob to escape from your burning throat. Hot tears finally streamed down your face, so hot you felt like they were leaving burn streak marks.

Gut-wrenching sobs filled the dead silent room and your face flushed pink from the intensity of your breakdown. Your tears poured out of your eyes like there were faucets linked to them as you weakly pushed yourself up. Anguished sobs and snivels still continued with full energy. You got yourself to stand, though with a hunch from the pounding pain in your gut, and walked yourself towards your bedroom with a shake to each step while leaning against the wall for support.

You finally reached the side of your bed, yet when you put one hand on it your knees buckled. You crumbled to the floor and into the corner that was in between your nightstand and bed. More sobs escaped you as you cradled into that corner like a child scared of the monsters in the closet. Eventually your cheeks became so wet from tears someone wouldn’t be able to tell what were new trails.

Your quaking hands reached up to grip onto the roots of your hair as your lips quivered over the faint hyperventilation. You released a manic, miserable yell as you began to slam your head against the floorboards. You couldn’t live like this anymore, you couldn’t bear another day of being Alex’s little doll to play with as he pleased. How could he claim to love you and adore you more than Beethoven when he did such awful things to you?

You contemplated if the fall from the height your window was at in the building was high enough to kill you. Yet you were more scared of more pain. You contemplated plotting out Alex’s murder. But you knew you didn’t have it in you to do it. Even if someone put a gun in your hands, saying you could either put the bullet through your head or his, you’d probably drop the gun. Alex had shaped you into a coward. Your old self would’ve been disgusted and furious at you for becoming this.

You didn’t sleep at all. All night long you lived in the haunting fear that he was going to come back to punish you for the attempt to break free from him; every minute was spent thinking it was going to be any second now. Any second now. Any second now…

Your red puffy eyes shot open from the clanking sound of your mail slot that squeaked throughout your flat, your daily newspaper sliding through. The daylight that peeked through your shades caused you to squint back, your hand moving up to touch your head from the way it ached due to your lengthy mental breakdown that had lasted for the majority of the night. It also probably ached from the position you woke up in, not even realizing that you fell asleep while anticipating Alex’s chilling return.

But he never came back. Which was… strange… for Alex.

You fearfully and fidgetly did your best to go about your day, at least your day inside. You were far too beyond frightened to leave the building, having a deep rooted fear of coming home to Alex hiding somewhere. And the thought of going out in public nearly made you sick because of the anxious agitation that clung around you like heavy chains.

But Alex never came back.

It would’ve been amazingly nice to have a full day off from Alex… if you had a notice. The whole day you kept the front door in your peripheral vision just because of the overwhelming fear that he would come back at literally any second. So after you contained his cold dinner to put in the fridge and you tucked yourself into your sheets, you had realized you wasted the entire rare day of Alex’s absence by being maddeningly paranoid.

Even in the morning you were very off-putted by the fact Alex still hadn’t come back, not even in the night which were his most active hours. You stirred your coffee in your kitchen as you stared off into space, debating if you should call off work today… again. You knew they just had to have been thinking about firing you due to how many times you called off, Alex of course being the reason. You believed the only reason why you were still employed was because your motherly and sisterly coworkers vouched for you endless times and also rationalized your excuses.

You jumped at the sound of your mail slot, the sound of your morning newspaper hitting the floor following. You swallowed and placed your hot mug down to walk to your front door. Crouching down, you picked up the thick roll and opened it up as you walked back to your kitchen. The first three pages were nothing interesting, just articles of oil and advertisements for wall painters and city politics.

The fourth page, however, caught your attention so intensely it halted your leg movements. Because there, right before your eyes, printed in black ink were the words about the arrest of a young man named Alexander Delarge. Your widened eyes stared at the printed name for some time, your mouth hung agape and your heartbeat nearly silenced.

This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t… It was too good to be true. Your psychosis was playing a cruel, hallucinated joke on you to mock you and your childish hope.

But you finally dragged your disbelieved pupils across the sentences to see the key statements, only those sticking out to you as the words blended together in a blur. It was as if the two statements stood out in a yellow highlight, “------murder charge—----sentenced to 14 years in State Jail.”

Something dripped on the thin paper you held in your tight hands. Another drop followed. The liquefied form of absolute pure joy slipped out the corners of your eyes as a genuine smile stretched across your face. A breathy laugh escaped your throat. As you cried tears of joy and your smile embiggened, heavy laughter bellowed out of you. You reread the words over and over again while you elatedly laughed like a madman.

You were so happy about Alex’s arrest that your attention didn’t focus on the sickening guilt you owned for the murder of Patrick. But… he did say he really wanted to help you, and coincidentally his death was the greatest help of all. It practically served as a sacrifice for your freedom. Maybe two wrongs did make a right.

Though his death was still caused by your interaction from his selfless concern for your safety. But that was something that could eat you alive tomorrow. Today was yours. So what did you want to do first?

You put on a very specific record. The record Alex claimed was yours and his song, which made you grow to despise the song with every fiber of your being, the lyrics feeling so mocking to you and your predicament that you wanted nothing more than to shove your palms over your ears when it played. Yet now… you found it to be a beautiful melody.

So as Cilla Black’s “You’re My World” played from your record player, you danced as if you were head over heels in love. You spun and leapt around your flat, flailing your arms around and mouthing the words dramatically. You danced to your fridge and swung it open like you were in a stage play, snatching the contained and untouched dinner for Alex last night and gracefully chucked it into the garbage.

“You're my world, you are my night and day~”

You grabbed the two cartons of milk and poured the two white liquids down your kitchen sink drain, still mouthing the song words overjoyously.

“You're my world, you're every prayer I pray~”

Light on your feet, you danced back into your living room in the direction of the framed photo of you and Alex that he put up himself on your wall. It was a picture from Alex’s birthday when he went to your restaurant for the free Birthday Special lunch during your shift. Your manager thought it was adorable thus took a picture of the two of you as you sat with him in the booth. Alex was facing the camera with a big smile and was leaning backwards so that you could rest your chin on his shoulder. He had a hand on the side of your face and was pushing it closer to him so that his and yours cheeks were squishing together. You were forcing a smile yet your eyes remained miserable.

Since it was just such a cute photo, your manager framed it on the Birthday wall at the restaurant and gave you a copy. Alex already had so many pictures of the two of you in his bedroom and didn’t really have any room left for another so he mounted it on your living room wall. You always hated looking at that photo, ironically the pose and position in the photo made it look like Alex was resting your decapitated head on his shoulder.

But now you were dancing towards the frame, pointing at it with a foxy expression like you were trying to seduce a real person. You reached the photograph and dragged your hands sensually down the wall on both sides of the frame as you still dramatically mouthed the sung words of Cilla Black.

“If our love~ ceases to be~”

You caressed the side of his face with the back of your hand before you tapped on his nose with your finger. Then you had grabbed the frame off its nails and spun on your feet once while you wore an overdramatic lovestruck expression. You ballroom danced with it around your living room.

“Then it’s the end of my world~”

You halted your dancing to mimic the singing belt as you put on mocking bedroom eyes towards the Alex in the photo. You leaned forward to kiss his face comically.

“End of my world~”

Your expression then switched to a badly acted and overdramatic face of sorrowful sadness during your lip sync of the song turning sad, the back of your hand on your forehead as you swung your head back like a damsel in distress.

“End of my world~”

Your head snapped back down, a small smile beginning to grow. Then you had chucked the picture frame to the floor with all your strength, glass shards sliding from the impact.

“For~ me~”

[artist-issues]

I find your analysis on the Disney movie “Wish” movie rather interesting. The fact that there are actually a considerable amount of Christians working on Disney movies is actually really cool. I heard from people that the concept art for the movie was “better” than the movie itself and I was curious about your thoughts if its fine by you. I actually have no intention in watching the movie, but I am interested in the reviews. I personally find the idea of a villain couple really interesting and unique. Star having the ability to shape-shift into a humanoid would be interesting too, especially since the movie already has the goat for a marketable toy. Thank you for reading my ask!

Here is a screenshot of a YouTube video about the concept art:

I totally agree that basically anything would’ve been better than what we got. I think having Star be a character that Asha can actually talk to and have a human interaction with would’ve been great.

If they wanted to have a heroine who believed in everyone getting to have the chance to make their wishes come true for themselves, they needed to explain where that idea comes from. Having her realize that that’s what she believes, out loud, in preachy exposition during a two-minute interaction where she suddenly understands that King Magnifico doesn’t grant everybody’s wishes, (why all of a sudden? She’s lived her whole life in Rosas. She knows Wish Granting Ceremonies only happen once a month—didn’t she or anybody else ever think “hey why doesn’t he give them back if they’re not going to be granted this month?” But I digress) fell totally flat in the movie.

They should’ve given us a background for Asha, or at least hinted at how she came to be the bright, blandly-caring character they keep telling us over and over that she is.

They started to, with the mention of her dad. But it was super halfhearted and undercooked. Who was her dad? What was it about him that supposedly inspired her to care about everyone’s wishes getting granted? If it was the fact that she wished he would not die of illness, and it didn’t happen, and she doesn’t want anyone else to “feel grief” (which is an iffy message, but whatever) then show that to us. Show us evidence of how much her dad meant to her beyond her sketchbook drawings. Maybe he was an inventor and he lived by the philosophy of making life better for the people of Rosas. Maybe he came to Rosas when he was a child, because his family home had been destroyed, and they took him in and treated him so kindly that he spent the rest of his life trying to return the favor by creating new toys and tools that the people of Rosas could use to better their lives—and he taught his daughter to feel that same level of “care for the people” that he did before he died! Then, when she realizes Magnifico came from a similar background as her father and chooses to protect wishes instead of risking them destroyed, she would have an opposite role model in the memory of her father, who chose to work toward wishes even though he’d had his own destroyed at a young age.

But no. There’s none of that shown. Just a throwaway conversation, where the characters just outright say, “Your father was a philosopher always talking about the stars; he used to say the stars were there to guide us and make us believe in possibility!”

But if they had a Star character that shapeshifted into a human?

Suddenly, an alternative to Magnifico’s magic takes shape in the form of a person, with his own set of beliefs and a worldview that could directly inspire and change Asha’s.

It would have been better for her character development to have m than a mute icon to interact with. It would have been better for appeal, too. Instead of just…talking out loud and using exposition to outright say what’s going on in her head, like she’s Batman in an old comic strip narrating everything she thinks about, she could’ve had someone to converse with, argue with, be convinced by.

She starts the movie wanting everyone’s wish to come true, for no well-demonstrated, compelling, human reason. And then she ends the movie still wanting everyone’s wish to come true. There’s no well-done character arc. The only thing she learns from Star is that she has his same power if she really believes she can use it. (But like I said, she’s never shown doubting herself in any real way in the movie before meeting him, aside from nerves before an interview, if you can call that self-doubt.)

But if he’d been human? She could’ve been different. She could’ve started out the movie with the seeds of someone who can work toward her dream and take risks, but maybe tragedy from losing her father has made her pessimistic and she no longer “believes.” But then Star, he can come and wake back up those feelings. People are more inspired by a person who teaches them something through a human relationship (like Rapunzel teaching Flynn to want something more than a life of ease alone, or Jasmine teaching Aladdin that royalty can make you feel trapped too if you’re always having to pretend to be something you’re not) than they are by a pet-like, silent glowing ball with a “loving light.”

I wonder what their idea was. Maybe the Star she wishes on is the youngest star in the heavens. Maybe the “stars” are a community of watchers—they all chronicle human lives as stories, and when people need those stories most, the stars remind them and inspire them of why it’s good to dream and take risks. But Star? He’s young, and he naively believes that the stars should do more, fix every problem that mortals have, and so he breaks the rules and comes to earth to help Asha when she wishes on him.

Obviously there’s got to be some limit on his power, and some thematic indication that Star was wrong; you shouldn’t do all the work for people and give them whatever will make them happy in the moment. They need to work for it themselves. So maybe he was slowly getting weaker and losing his power the longer he was on Earth, but didn’t realize it or didn’t worry about it.

Anyway, he’s determined to help Asha with whatever she’s wishing for, but she (kind of like Tiana,) really just wished on him in a moment of vulnerability, and is usually pretty pessimistic. Maybe she almost-instantly gets in trouble with the King for Star’s appearance, and regrets wishing on him.

Either way, they have a difference in views; Star is a hopeful, bright guy who believes mortals can achieve anything they set their mind to if they try, and that’s why he believes in helping them—Asha is a pessimistic teen who’s faith got strangled by tragedy, but he starts inspiring her to keep trying anyway. Eventually Star and she, even though they become friends, reach a low point or failure in the adventure, and they have their big argument, and Asha starts to backtrack and go back into believing “there’s no point in wishing on stars—it’s crazy to think anything will get better; I’m not going to take any more risks, I’ll lose what little I have left.” and Star learns his lesson; yes, mortals can achieve their dreams, but there has to be a part of them that wants to work for it and has faith; he can’t do that part for them. He can’t just positivity-talk her into it.

And then maybe the King captures him and Asha has to take action again or lose him forever, and doing that teaches her that she’d rather try than live a life of no wishing, or whatever—

—Again, I’m not meaning to do rewrites here. I think the main point of the movie was flawed or too vague to begin with, but I DO think they could’ve made something that was at least interesting, even if the main point was problematic. And the concept art proves it, yeah. Thanks!

[yooopii]

another life is ours

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Female!reader

wc: 2,483

co-written with @ems_tpwk!!

You’re sent on an important mission. In the midst, it doesn’t go exactly according to plan.

The mostly quiet clink of Price’s mug of tea being placed on the wood table was one of the only sounds in the mostly quiet common room. He sat down next to his other squadmates, who were busy conversing in-between each other as they played a simple card game. Soap was donning a plain t-shirt with leggings, while Ghost wore a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants. Price himself was wearing a semiformal white V-neck button-up, along with blue jeans. Ghost mumbled something about having shit cards, and Soap threw down one of his and chuckled as Ghost placed a hand on the bridge of his nose.

The door to the common room opens, and the three men seated at the table look up at the both of you. They watch as Gaz nods and greets everyone in the group as he walks to the table, you trailing right behind him, not so far behind. Gaz is wearing a comfortable blue sweater, with black sweatpants, and his famous blue cap. All around the board, everyone looks nice and comfortable in their casual clothes. You were wearing a black hoodie, along with similar sweatpants to Gaz. The both of you take a seat at the table, with you right beside him. Leaning onto him as he asks to be dealt into the game. You loved little domestic moments like this with your taskforce, as rare as they are, as comforting as they are. You hoped you'd get to see more domestic moments with your fiancee, thought. It was his hoodie you were wearing, after all, the smell enveloping you as you took deep breaths in.

You two decided not to hide the fact you were newly engaged, but not to tell it outright either. The compromise was wearing each other's rings, the small, golden band on your finger with an emerald gem on top sparkling on your right ring finger, along with a flat, thick version of yours on his own hand. It had been barely a month since he asked you to be a Garrick, and you were over the moon. You oh so gladly accepted. You two have been through thick and thin together, so why not make it forever?

Price, who knew all too well of the little mannerisms new couples, or old ones for that matter, always did. As he took long sips of his warm tea, he glanced at the two right next to each other. You were wearing Gaz’s hoodie, which was his long ago when he first joined the military but it quickly became too small as he started gaining muscle daily. Gaz didn't exactly like much physical contact for him, maybe a pat on the shoulder every once in a while was fine but full-on leaning, almost considered snuggling? That was unheard of, he knew something had to be up between the two.

“Gaz, Y/N.” He spoke quickly, making both of them wonder if they fucked something up. The two of you look over to your captain, who is wearing a smug smile as he places his mug back down.

“Why did the two of you,” He glanced in between you, making you squint in confusion. “...ask for time off, at the same time, for the same time?” Gaz’s eyes widen just a smidge, and glances over to you, who sighs softly as nods at him with a half smile. It was time to tell them the news anyway, even if they were getting the invitations later that month. Soap and Ghost glance over at you, curiosity filling their gazes, wondering if he was about to admit a deep dark secret of his.

“We’re getting married in a few weeks,” You added onto that, with a bigger grin this time. “And apparently, nobody here has enough patience to let us create an email… we haven't even sent out the invitations yet.” She smiled as she hugged her lover's arm tighter, watching as the other three’s eyes widened, Price giving a content chuckle and nod as he congratulated them. Soap and Ghost do the same with a smile on their faces, but then Ghost kicks his leg under the table. Soap scowls, mumbling some incoherent shit about betting against shit he knew he was going to lose. He dug into his pocket and fished out his wallet, throwing down two notes on the table as Ghost laughed and pocketed them both. Gaz noticed the transaction, and laughed himself hoarse, asking in between strained breaths if they really bet about him and you being together. Soap grumpily explained the bet, and even Price couldn't hold in his laughter. Neither could you, as your shoulder shook with silent chuckles.

A couple of days later, your captain had called for a briefing. He had said that he had received information that Konni was in London, that they had complete access to the train networks, and that Makarov planned to take over the tunnels and destroy them with civilians still inside. That leads you to where you are now, TF141 along with SFO’s, headed to the channel tunnel where your info said Makarov would be. Your task force had to split up into two groups; you, Gaz, and Price in one, along with a handful of SFOs. Ghost and Soap lead the other, with the remaining SFOs.

Trains run through the tunnels as Konni gets a hard grip on the network. You had multiple intense shootouts with Konni as they defended their plan as you attempt to pursue Makarov until he's marked as confirmed KIA. Minutes later, you and your group find an active bomb, which is close to detonating. You and Gaz end up stuck trying to disarm it, while Price and the SFOs defend off the Konni as you two desperately try to disarm the bomb. Price calls for reinforcements over the radio, your palms getting more sweaty as each second ticks by. Gaz asks for a couple of things needed to disarm it, like the manufacturing logo and the serial ID. You hurriedly repeat them back, looking over at your fiancee as his finger touches the very button needed to disarm the bomb, but he is rudely interrupted. The tablet gets knocked out of his hands. “Bloody hell—” He barely gets the sound out as he turns his head, and sees the very person you're trying to kill, Makarov.

Gaz raises his gun in defiance, but before he can make any decision on what to do next, his gun gets knocked out of his hands, and he takes a bullet in the shoulder. He hits the ground with a wince, watching as you get the same fate as him. You hiss at the pain radiating off of your shoulder, but you ignore it as you watch Konni surround him. “Y/N! Shit—” He curses out as he's dragged off the ground harshly, landing on his knees as he attempts to fight back, but it gets him a hard punch to the cheek. “Tie them up.” You hear Makarov’s degrading voice order, sending a nasty glare his way.

Your lover's hands are roughly yanked forward as he grits his teeth, whispering curses to the Konni doing this to them. He is now immobile as his hands are tied above his head, his feet being handcuffed and tied. His shoulder was bleeding tremendously, but he ignored the pain radiating off in waves through his body, it was the least of his worries. He keeps searching for you in the chaos until he finds his love tied up on the ground in front of him. Price was dragged right next to you, with the same fate. He growls curses at their attackers and does his best to escape, but that leaves him with a blow to the head from the butt end of a gun, his head falling limp to the side. You call out his name, but there isn't a response. That sends a shock of worry and fear down your spine, eyes widening as you realize the SFOs have all been killed.

A warehouse door opens, revealing Ghost and Soap, along with the rest of the SFOs, who have gotten to the scene too late. They're immediately surrounded by hostiles, unable to break through the wall and get to the three of you. At this point, the only thing on Gaz’s mind is that his fiancee is bruised up, bleeding, and tied up in front of him. You were about to speak, but Gaz beat you to it. “Let her go, you fucking bastards!” He curses out, as you spit insults at the men, never staying still for them. Makarov slightly side-eyed you as you spat curses at him and his men, but the annoyance dribbled away as he noticed a glimmering gold, emerald gem ring on your right hand.

“Well, well… look what we have here.” He chuckles as he approaches you, crouching down as he rips the rings off your finger. You go to protest, but you realize it wouldn't get you literally anywhere. He orders his men to do something in Russian and they all nod, checking Price and Gaz for a ring as well. One of them calls out, claiming he found a similar one on Gaz. He pulled it off of his finger as he gave it to Makarov. You grit your teeth as your head hangs low. Makarov lets out a low chuckle as he takes the ring, a malicious grin on his face.

A chuckle vibrates low in his throat before speaking, “The one-four-one…back at it again, huh?” He smirks. “Shadowing your failures with the aspect of love? Чертовы тупицы.” He looks back down at his hand, the two rings shimmering in the dull light, then back at the three tied-up members on the cold concrete.

“Убей его.” One of the men quickly raises their gun to Gaz’s head and your eyes widen in fear, and your pupils dilate as well. “DON'T!” You scream out and try to free yourself of your restraints, but it’s no use as Makarov points his gun at you, keeping you still. Tears beam at your eyelids as you realize this isn't something quick and easy you can get out of. This is the end for either You, Gaz, or both of you.

You blink rapidly in an attempt to get rid of the tears, but it only makes them worse. You look into your lover's eyes, yours saying much more than words could ever speak. He returns the expression by staring into yours. His eyes have a mix of sorrow, and a very apologetic look. One loud ringing shot in the air, one shot was all it took for your fiance, the love of your life, your soulmate, to fall limp on his side, blood pooling near his head.

Your eyes widen big, more than you thought possible as you inhale a giant shaky breath before letting out the loudest ear piercing scream known to mankind. You dont have a chance to do anything else except stare at his lifeless body before you barely hear Makarov order something in Russian to the men. If you weren't stuck staring at his dead body, you would have seen Ghost and Soap starting to push through the men surrounding them.

Two of his men come up to you and grab you by your underarms. “NO! DON'T TOUCH ME!” you try to fight against your restraints as your eyes don't leave Gaz. You scream out for him to no avail. Ghost and Soap barely catch a glimpse of you before going to disarm the still ticking bomb, the British Police covering for them as they do so. You keep screaming till your throat is raw as tears flow freely down your face, not being able to hold them back anymore as they drag you away from your dead fiance.

They finish disarming the bomb as you're no longer able to be seen. “Bombs disarmed.” Ghost speaks to Soap who is now staring at their dead squadmate. To make matters worse, you were nowhere to be found, and Price was still tied and passed out, along with you and Gaz’s emerald engagement rings tossed next to his lifeless cold body on the hard concrete.

You wake up in a dazed panic, your entire body slightly throbbing in pain. Your eyes widen to take in your surroundings. You remember very few things, trying to disarm a bomb, it all going to shit. You remember one very clear image, your fiance on his side, seemingly passed out, but that unfortunately was pushed to the back of your mind as you try to lift your hands, finding them tied to a chair and unable to move. You try your feet, only to find the same outcome. You curse to yourself, looking down at your clothes to see they were changed. It was a flimsy shirt that barely covered you fully, along with poorly bandadged shoulder from where you were shot. At least they did that much. Shit, what did they do to you? 

You sigh as you realize that they probably marked you as KIA. There was no way of contacting your task force even if you tried. There was no way of figuring out time, or what's going to happen to you now.

Minutes later after lots of thinking, you hear that grating Russian accent. You glance up to see the same person who you were targeted to kill. Makarov. You snarl as he comes closer, trying to raise a hand in defense when you seemingly forget your hands are still bound behind you. 

“Ah, can’t do that can you? I need you to answer my questions, and who knows, you might even escape.” His voice has a sickeningly smooth edge to it, knowing very well that he has the upper hand over this siuation, and even your entire task force. You waited till he stood directly in front of you, taking the chance to spit on his vest.

He scowled as you did so, staring at the spot on his vest where you spat. He pulled a hard punch on the side of your jaw, making your head cock in the direction of his fist.

“You will answer my questions whether you like it or not, truthfully, and no hesitation.” He rubbed the knuckles on his fist, glaring at you with a hatred you could only mirror in your own eyes. He puts a sadistic smirk on his face, “Now…let's get started shall we?”

thank you all for reading!!

part 1 / part 2

[pervydollfemme]

thinking about going on a casual date (a picnic, fruit picking, a coffee shop...) with him & wearing a white tanktop with no bra and high-waisted jeans. how cute and sweet it would be to eat sandwiches on a checkered blanket, or to pick flowers together, or to go to a strawberry field with wicker baskets, or to have a quiet conversation in a chatty coffee shop. how lovely and saccharine it would be, how wolf would look at me with softness in his eyes, from my big blue eyes to my lips glossed in pink strawberry lipgloss. how i would admire his dark, tired eyes and messy but smooth hair.

but also...them taking note of the fact that i'm not wearing a bra. of the way my jeans are hugging my ass and hips, creating tantalizing inward dips. ignoring these things pretty easily for most of the day, because having my face to focus on is distraction enough. except as the day wears on and we're going different places, moving around more, his attention starts waning.

wolf can't help but look at the way my tits are pushing against the white material, the outline of my pointy nipples that he wants to get his mouth on so bad. the way my thighs are making the seams of my jeans strain, how my ass is just - right there. they wouldn't be able to help themselves from pulling me somewhere more private. around a corner, into the bathroom.

before i could even get a word in edge-wise, he'd back me against a flat surface. they'd start groping my thighs, squeezing my ass, pinching and rubbing my nipples. i'd throw my head back, forcing myself to stay quiet as much as i want to whine and beg, squirming at his touches. "daddy's good fucking girl," he's whispering in my ear, biting my neck with the intent to leave marks, broadcasting that i already have someone - that i'm his, i'll always be his. people can look, but not for long, unless they want to get punched in the jaw. people can look, but they can't touch. only he can touch.

dipping down to mouth at my nipples through the shirt, leaving behind wet circles. slipping their hand into my jeans, rubbing against my clit and making my curvy hips bounce forward. making me cry out and grab at any part of him i can reach. wolf would string me out until i'm about to cum, until my shirt is soaked and my pink nipples are fully visible through it. part of wolf would want to make me leave the bathroom like that, a big mark in black writing that i'm theirs only. the other, stronger part is too possessive for that, so he throws his jacket over my shoulders and tugs it around until my tits are covered.

i'd pout at him, maybe stomp my foot a little. "why did you stop?"

he'd shrug back, a teasing glint in his eye. "i wanted to. come on, let's go home so i can finish what i started."

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

In more ways than I’ve ever been able to tell you

summary: You and Sirius are best friends and flatmates. You’re also in love with each other. Too bad neither of you has admitted that to the other. When you decide to move out because you can’t take the unrequited love anymore, feelings come up and come out.  

tags: friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, angst, reader gender not specified, implied marauder!reader

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader word count: 2.6k

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Sirius said as you avoided his gaze while you tidied up your shared kitchen just after dinner. You’d been off all evening, for a few days in fact, and it was driving him mad. You told each other everything. You had since you were eleven and had become best friends during your first year at Hogwarts and still did so now that you were flatmates in your post-school days.  

“It’s nothing really. Not a big deal.” “Nothing? or nothing big? C’mon, just tell me what’s giving you wrinkles.”

“I do not have wrinkles!” “Well you don’t now, but you will soon with how scrunched up your pretty face has been all night,” he laughed as he reached over to you and smoothed the skin in between your furrowed brow with the pads of his fingers. 

You glared at him, but the coldness was lost in how quickly you melted into his touch. In one smooth motion, he moved his fingers across your eyebrow, running a strand of hair behind your ear, then letting his hand rest easily where your shoulder and neck met. His thumb lightly caressed your jawline. 

“So? You gonna tell me what it is or…” “Like I said, Pads, it won’t be a big deal for you… It’s just… Well… The thing is, Siri… I’m kind of… moving out.”

He froze instantly, hand going stiff mid-caress. After a beat of silence, he let out a single disbelieving scoff. 

“Ok, well, at least now I know this is some kind of ridiculous joke.” “What?” you asked, voice softer than it had been mere moments ago when you had finally confessed what you hadn’t had the heart to tell him all week since you’d made your decision. It’d been spurred by a conversation with Remus. You had been crying softly on his shoulder after a session of his comforting you about your unrequited feelings toward one infuriatingly charming, unfailingly kind, grey-eyed flatmate / best friend. Nothing new there. Remus had been your rock since your early school days when you gradually realized you loved Sirius a bit differently than you loved Remus or James. Remus, being the annoyingly observant, empathetic boy he was realized it too. Though you were initially mortified when one evening in the library he looked up at you from his book and casually asked, “Are you in love with Padfoot?,” you soon came to be eternally grateful to have such a wonderful friend to confide in. You knew that you would have never told him, or James, about your feelings had he not guessed them himself — not because you were afraid to admit them as much as because you didn’t want to put them in a difficult position given he was one of their best mates as well. 

Last week, when you’d decided to move out of yours and Sirius’s flat, Remus had kindly but firmly told you things would never get any easier if you never gave yourself space to be you without being you and Sirius. You knew it was true, had known it for years, but being without Sirius always seemed like an unthinkable proposition. It would have been almost funny had it not been so disturbing. 

Sure, it hurt like hell every time you saw him with someone else, or every time either of you said “I love you” and your heart broke a little bit at how differently two people could mean the same three words. But even still, that came with all the good things about being Sirius Black’s best friend. It came with the nights of so much laughter you both ended up crying and clutching your sides, creating inside jokes that would become staples of your interactions for years to come. It came with the nights of holding each other after Sirius had had a nightmare about his childhood and come tiptoeing into your room, reduced to the boy you had first fallen in love with. It came with the nights of you holding on to him for dear life, a life you felt more intensely than ever in those moments, as he sped through the skies on the flying motorbike you had helped him perfect the charms for during countless days and nights. But, at some point, the moments of hurt had started catching up to the moments of joy, and recently, there were even times when they surpassed them. 

Now, here you stood in your little kitchen, waiting for him to explain how the hell the hardest decision of your life so far was a ridiculous joke. 

“Well, you can’t be serious.” You waited for him to make his overplayed, yet somehow still charming quip about how you couldn’t be Sirius because he was Sirius, but it didn’t come. Instead, he went on, mouth in a smile but eyes mirthless, “You can’t be serious because saying that my best friend in the entire world leaving would be ‘no big deal to me’ is probably the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard… and I spent seven years rooming with Prongs, so I’ve heard plenty.” 

“I didn’t mean… I just thought that… I’ll still come over…”

“Oh? You’ll visit every now and again? Alright, then, how silly of me! You were right! I probably won’t even notice you’re gone!” he sarcastically interrupted your rambling, arms flailing about. 

“Sirius…”

Your voice broke on the single word, and you had to swallow quickly to keep the lump down in your throat. You felt the first tear make its way down your burning cheek. 

The frantic look that had come into his eyes dissipated at the sight of you. His next breath was slow, the exhale particularly loud. 

“Darling, I’m sorry… I… I didn’t mean to be such a prick, I’m just confused.” He stepped closer to you again, hands coming up to your shoulders, eyes searching yours. “Why do you want to go? Did I do something? If it’s something I did, I can change it, really, I can, I know I can be a pain to live with sometimes, but I’ll put in more effort.” Silly suggestions about cleanliness and noise levels and cooking started racing out of his mouth as he looked at you pleadingly. You were desperate to comfort him. To tell him the truth. 

“No,” you’d say, “No, Sirius, you didn’t do anything wrong, and you’re not a pain to live with. I’m just absolutely madly in love with you, and I have no chance of getting over it if I stay so close. So close to you, so close to everything I want with you, the life we have together but just that little bit more…” Instead, you opted for a pathetic, “No, Pads, it’s not your fault. It’s me,” and you cringed immediately at hearing the words come out in a voice you were struggling to recognize as your own. 

“What about you?” he asked, his voice impossible not to recognize as so completely and entirely his — musical almost, even in its sadness, strained yet still gentle.

The question had his mind reeling, everything about you he loved, everything about you that annoyed him but that he wouldn’t trade for the world if it meant having you close. He had finally come to accept your place in his life — a slow process especially in his younger days. His family life had made him wary of dependency, wary of love… but you had taught him how to love — how to give it, how to accept it. James and Remus, too, certainly had played their part in giving him what he previously never thought he’d have: a family. But you, you were his air. He’d be lying if he said he never wondered what it would be like to be romantic with you. But in his school days, he was much too afraid he’d royally fuck things up and quickly proceeded to push those feelings so far down that he could (usually) pretend they weren’t there. You were too good for him anyway, he thought, you deserved someone better. And yet, even the thought of you with someone else had gotten more and more unbearable with each passing year. And the thoughts of you with him in ways you hadn’t been before… well, it was a good thing you weren’t a Legilimens…. especially late at night when you’d lay your legs across his lap as you read on the sofa, his hands coming down to slowly stroke up and down your thighs… or when he felt those same thighs tight on either side of him as you held on behind him on his motorbike, the wind rushing past you, your screams and laughter in his ears even more invigorating than the sharp drop below. 

The idea that he could be losing you now terrified him in a way he never had been before in his life. 

“I need a change,” you whispered.

“Then we’ll both move,” he said immediately, “Where do you want to go? I’ll go anywhere with you. You want a house? How about a cottage on a beach somewhere? That’s a change from a city flat, right? Or, we could get a dog? That’ll definitely be different. I won’t lie; I’ll probably have to work on not being jealous of not being the only pup in the house, but I can make it work, love, if that’s what you want.” You had started laughing in spite of yourself, in spite of the tension of the situation. Sirius had a way of doing that, of making even the worst moments better, of making moments you dreaded moments you wouldn’t trade for anything after he put his mark on them. 

“Siri, I don’t want a dog,” you giggled. “…another dog,” you amended cheekily, and he smiled his first real smile in response. “A beachside cottage does sounds lovely, but I think the isolation would be quite the opposite of what I need unfortunately.” 

“Then what do you need, darling?” he implored, expression solemn again. 

You didn’t know how to tell him. You didn’t know what to tell him. You couldn’t tell him the truth, but you couldn’t think of a lie that would account for the fact that what needed changing involved him so intimately. 

Because you were coming up absolutely blank, your mouth resorted to clichés again without bothering to ask your brain’s permission. “I need space,” you said. “Space?” Sirius looked thoughtful, like he was exhausting himself with the effort of finding a solution for you. “Space from what?” After you didn’t say anything for a long, horrible moment, he continued, his tone begging you to correct him, “Space from me?”

“No, not from you.” You paused. “From us, I suppose.” “Us?” 

“Yeah…” “Somehow I think that’s worse, love. At least if it was just that I was a twat, I could work on it, but here you are telling me it’s the best thing in my life that’s the problem in yours.” He attempted a little laugh at the end to lighten the sentiment but failed miserably, the utter dejection apparent in his face, his voice, his demeanor. 

You were gutted. You couldn’t handle hurting him like this. Being the cause of that look on his face was one of the worst feelings you’d ever experienced and perhaps the only thing that could have pushed you to finally be as brave as you should have been from the beginning. If your feelings for him made him angry or made things weird, at least you could get through it. You trusted him enough to know that. The fear of rejection was nothing compared to the fear of letting him go on believing your relationship was a problem, wasn’t the best part of your life as well. 

You flung your arms around his neck, buried your face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him with a viselike grip and breathing him in as you gathered the courage to plunge past the point of no return. He returned your embrace, confused but comforted, and equally as desperate as you. 

“I love you,” you said, trying to explain. “I love you, too,” he replied, unsure what something so thoroughly obvious, so utterly true had to do with what was going on, what was threatening to upend him.

“In more ways than I’ve ever been able to tell you… deeper ways than I’ve ever been able to admit to you…” you went on, pulling back from your hug only enough to look him in the eyes as you said this. “And it hurts so much sometimes, Siri, I don’t think I can take it forever — being in love with you, I mean. At this point, I’m pretty sure I will be, because Godric knows I’ve tried long and hard not to, but I’ll have no chance of moving on if I stay completely immersed in you.”

“Don’t.” He said it firm, certain. 

“Don’t what?” “Don’t move on. Don’t move out. Stay here, with me, because as much as you could possibly love me, trust me, y/n, I’ll match you every bit of it. And forever sounds pretty good to me then, don’t you think?”

The brightness in his eyes was blinding and yours had started crying again without your noticing when exactly, but it didn’t matter as you nodded your head madly. 

He laughed, holding you tighter, pressing his forehead to yours. “Yeah?” he took a tiny break in his enormous smile to ask.

“Yeah,” you responded, “yeah, yes, definitely.”

“Alright, good then,” he said, giddy. “So you’re staying. Glad that’s settled. Really had me worried there for a moment. Not very nice of you, really, messing with my emotions like that. I think maybe we should get a dog. I’m sure it’d be nicer to me than you — a proper best friend, not all of this ‘I’m leaving’ business.”

You were laughing, hard, but still managed to let out, “Pads, please, for the love of Godric, shut up now.”

“You see? This is the kind of treatment I’m talking about. You’re cruel, y/n, very cruel.” “Oh, I’m cruel?” “Wicked. Utterly wicked.” “Hm. I guess I should make it up to you then, shouldn’t I?” “Yes, I think you most certainly should.” 

You giggled. You brought your hand to his nape, your fingers running through his hair. You were already incredibly close, your lips just the smallest decision away from each other. You bumped his nose with yours, and though the playful mood remained, the intensity of the atmosphere increased dramatically, the sliver of air between you heavy with anticipation. 

Then Sirius did something you didn’t quite expect in that moment. He smiled. Simple, yes, but it said everything: how much he loved you, how much you trusted each other, that even though you were about to do something you’d never done before, it was still him and you, and that was everything.

You smiled back for just a fraction of a moment because then your lips were too busy kissing him to smile. You could hear him laughing, feel his chest rising and falling where it was flush with yours, as he kissed you back ardently. You shouldn’t have expected anything else from Sirius. You were already best friends; you knew how to laugh together, now you were just adding a bit more to it… and that bit was beyond imagination. His laugh finally died down as his tongue made its way between your parted lips, and in its wake, a groan rose from his chest to where your mouths were connected. 

[cerastes]

Who are the top must build caster operators? Excluding Eyja and Amiya

The ones you like :) But of course, you knew that, so let's talk Casters.

Casters exist in a perpetual state of weirdness because Hypergryph did an oopsie daisy and created Eyja as a release Operator, forever destabilizing absolutely everything about the class for years because she Did Everything better than other Casters (except Ifrit), even other Caster archetypes that aren't her own. Basically, on release, an objective tier listing for Casters, not just Core Casters, could be "Eyja Tier and Everyone Else Tier" and it'd be correct. Whether it was single target, aoe, constant DPS or burst damage, Eyja Did It Better. About the only other Caster you'd hear about in the conversation was Ifrit, because she was her own weird thing and did her job really damn well, and her unique range and true AoE, plus her ability to land flat DEF and RES debuffs (as opposed to percentage based, which made them very powerful due to the way DEF works and how the numbers tend to be low, thus flat > percentage for DEF) has always been appreciated. In fact, add Ifrit to that list of Recommended Casters, even though we won't discuss her below.

After some years of fighting their own big oopsie, Arknights is finally starting to even out the playing field with Casters. Right now, I'd say the best Caster is in fact Goldenglow (6*), and just, in general, the Mech Accord archetype is solid, with Operators like Kjera (5*) and Click (4*) being, quite honestly, very good! Minimalist (5*) is also an effective fire-and-forget unit, and in general, for your single target needs, Mech Accord is the way to go. The other archetype that's been cooking is the Mystic Caster group, with the likes of Ebenholz (6*), Iris (5*) and Indigo (4*), thanks to their great burst potential. Consider them as the Caster equivalent of Heavyshooter Snipers (Schwarz, Pozemka) in that they need to be more carefully and thoughtfully placed and require a more hands-on approach, paying dividends with incredibly effective Elite and Boss killing power, especially when they don't attack for a few seconds, as for each "autoattack" they have no target in range, they instead save that attack for later, unleashing all attacks (max 3) at once.

So, with that said, I don't particularly like the term "must raise", so let's call this a Hearty Recommended List of Casters:

Goldenglow - Whether it is her S2 for constant output (and AFK strats wink wink) or S3 for a more hands-on approach to evisceration with its great damage per second and global range, Miss Electric WILL send your foes to the principal's office and have them expelled. Her single target damage is incredible and she is absurdly easy to use, plus, thanks to her Talent, sometimes her drones will explode to deal AoE damage, granting her a degree of AoE ability as well. There's not much to say other than Goldenglow is really as powerful as you've heard: Incredibly easy to use, incredibly versatile, and incredibly pink.

Ebenholz - The other big relevant Caster nowadays. Ebenholz tends to have a bit of a worse reputation than Goldenglow, mostly due to incompetence (of the playerbase, not Eben's). The truth is, the absolutely monstrous amounts of damage Ebenholz can put out if played correctly are astonishing, but there's two issues here: 1) He's considerably harder to use than the average unit, as you need to make sure he's placed in a way that allows him to actually shoot all of this damage at the right target, which usually translates to "your entire team set-up, or at least a significant part of it, is built around using Ebenholz properly", and 2) you rarely actually need the amount of damage he outputs, especially relative to the effort needed to squeeze it out of him (when you can just use an easier unit, like Eyja or GG). However, for those moments in which you can definitely benefit from the Big Hits or, let's be honest here, when you just really want to see those big damn numbers, yeah, Ebenholz is a bona fide top pick. For BIG Damage, you'll want to learn to build around his S3, for general use, you want his S2, which is quite similar to W's S2 Claymores.

Kjera - Kjera's freezing ability allows her to output damage and provide team utility -- Freezing is not only a measure of crowd control, it reduces RES by 15 as well -- making her an easy to integrate Operator into pretty much any team, especially if you also use the likes of Gnosis or Aurora for that sweet, sweet Frozen synergy. Even without them, however, Kjera is a solid member of any team and a great team player.

Click - An ol' reliable, cheap, effective damage hose with minor crowd control in the form of Stun, Click is simple to use, cheap to upgrade, and has great hands to high five with after she's done blasting. Not much else to be said about her, she simply works.

Iris - Nice bursty Caster with some fun gimmicks: S1 is her machine gun, making her range a line in front of line and releasing a LOT of very quick attacks very briefly, while her S2 Sleeps enemies for a few seconds (allowing her to charge up Mystic stacks) before waking them up with a burst of Arts damage. Being one of the rare Sleep synergies, it also allows Blemishine to smash enemies over the head with a tire iron, the way knights do, if you use them together. Quite the gimmicky unit, but fun and effective nonetheless.

Indigo - The light machine gun to Iris' heavy machine gun and Ebenholz attack jet-mounted vulcan gun. Her damage is not as high as her fellow Mystics, but she instead has a rather consistent Bind she can apply to her enemies, which is interesting to have on a Caster. A sub-DPS/Support hybrid, and welcome in pretty much any team.

There's other Casters that can get a recommendation, but these are the ones I think are pretty relevant as of right now besides Eyja, Amiya, and Ifrit.