#and they could have made it so that there were no unfair prices

[pearlashley762]

There are two possibilities that I think can apply.

1. Nothing is determined. The future is a clean slate. Prophecy is just a manipulation tactic for the higher beings because making this particular outcome happen is beneficial to them. They are literally playing gods with people's lives. No regard to humans.

2. Prophecy does exist. Everything is determined. These beings deign it so. They write the fates. I lean more towards this one. The tripple goddess seemed really insistent that the "golden age" of magic happened. To the point that she sent a personal message to Arthur which basically went like "you're not doing a good enough job and I'll kill you if you don't shape up". The disir implied that the Goddess "passed judgement" on Arthur. Well, Arthur didn't know he was even on trial. And this judgement was to make it so that he died. They systematically took these steps, knowing what Merlin would do, and basically walked them to their tragedy. Separating the Once and Future King and Emrys. Tying Emrys to the mortal world and the Once and Future king to the world of the dead.

They clearly have power to dictate what happens. Now...I know it's a long shot, but if they could dictate what happened, why would they be okay with countless magical folk dying at the hands of one man. Why even let those circumstances occur in the first place? Why could they not pass a judgement on Uther?

It all leads me to believe that the non-human magical folks had vested interests in the tragedy and they didn't care what it costed or how it impacted the lives of humans and magical beings who didn't have the power to make such decisions. Maybe the union of the Once and Future King and the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth is too great a power that threatens their authority, or existence of pre-existing customs and traditions that keep up their existence. (The whole thing with dieties being alive only as long as someone loves them, prays to them or fears them)

Another thing that paints the higher powers/old religion in bad light is the fact that they talk about an arbitrary balance. To bring a life, a life must be taken. To heal Arthur, a life must be taken. But to heal Leon, the cup is benevolent and requires no price? To open and close the veil, lives had to be sacrificed but I think that the Cailleach says that it's her who requires the souls and not the Veil itself? Do these higher magical folk feed on souls? (She's also the one who sets Morgana off about Emrys. And it is only after that interaction that Morgana starts having visions about it. They are controlling her visions and it doesn't seem that far fetched that that was to send her over the edge)

Besides, people die of non magical reasons all the time and that does not correlate to any births. Do the magics of life and death not require balance there? Plus, the powerful sorcerers summon beasts all the time which don't require anyone to die.(The Griffin, afanc, questing beast, formorrah and that torture creature thingy morgana loved to use for interrogation purposes). The balance aspect of magic of life and death does not apply to unicorns and purity of heart revives them.(Wot)

Add to that the really arbitrary nature of afterlife in this universe. On one hand, the dead turn into vengeful dorrocha, or they turn into even more dissapointed fathers, or they retain their personality (ygraine)...not all of them go to Avalon but the ones that do seem to live forever (Freya). You can bring people back from the dead but they would be out to kill(wraiths, vengeful), or be completely stripped of their personality(shade, lancelot). But these magics cost nothing.

Shide live forever but are still greedy. They want to rule Camelot and for what? What does having power in the human world serve to them?

In any case, the waters of Avalon are a lot murkier than explored and no matter how evil Uther, Morgause, Morgana and other beings were, I would like to see how our beloved idiots deal with beings that are playing with their lives, pulling the strings with no regards to what breaks...or who care too much that they are broken apart.

Okay new question: if you were to rewrite merlin who do you think should be endgame villain, why and what is their goal

[cy-cyborg]

Hey, able-bodied folks, if a disabled person is complaining about something being unfair/inaccessible because of our disabilities, you know you don't have to explain to us why that unfairness/inaccessibility a thing, right? Chances are we know it is the way it is. It's still unfair and we still want to talk about it.

I saw a video by an amputee warning other disabled people not to go to Thorpe Park in England, as they paid full price to enter, but were only allowed on 3 rides due to their amputation. This is something I also experienced when I went to the Gold Coast (mostly at Movie World, Wet n' Wild and, to a lesser extent, Dreamworld) and at Lunar Park in Sydney. There were also several others in the comments talking about similar experiences elsewhere.

But among these comments were dozens of people saying, "it's for health and safety reasons! The ride won't be able to hold you in!" And like... yeah, we know why. It doesn't make it any less unfair that we pay the same as you for a fraction of the experience. It doesn't make it feel any less shitty when you scrimp and save to do something like go to a theme park only to have to sit on the side line and watch your friends/family have fun without you. It doesn't make it any less scummy that there's very little warning that this will be the case (most of the time) until you arrive. It doesn't make it any less frustrating that so many recreational and fun activities don't even consider the possibility that disabled people would want to join in.

It's not just this video. It happens a lot. Any time someone complains about inaccessibility, there's always someone there trying to explain why the inaccessibility is there.

A resteraunt or shop isn't accessible? "Have you considered the person just didn't know/didn't have the money to fix it/were renting and weren't allowed to fix it?"

You called to see if some place was accessible, were told it was but when you arrive, it's not? "Have you considered the person didnt actually know/ thought it was and just made a mistake?"

You complain that a device/item/furniture item you bought isn't usable because of your disability despite there being no indication this would be the case before you bought it/no way to further verify it before hand? "Have you considered that disabled people make up such a small minority of their buyers they just didn't realise?"

Yeah, we know. Every single one. We considered it. a lot more than you did, i promise. We know why. We know sometimes mistakes happen, people don't think to consider us, there could be health and safety reasons for the lack of access, that people just don't know, and that it's not usually maliciousness or intentional ableism. I promise, we know all of it. We still need to talk about it though, so things can get better.

[luvth0t]

SLUT! ━ C.L

based off ‘slut!’ by taylor swift

or

in which you work in a man’s world, and loving your competitor is a lot more damning for you than charles.

warnings; smut, driver!reader, themes of sexism and misogyny and touches on inequality, angst, lotta tension tbh, she’s kinda long, unprotected sex, overstimulation, praise, degradation like once, public sex, jealousy and maybe a bad friend reader if u squint, haas suck, manifested monaco win for charles :p

lovelorn and nobody knows

love thorns all over this rose,

i’ll pay the price, you won’t

you’d overcome enough challenges in your life.

you’d constantly proven everyone wrong, do what those said you can’t ━ every step and move you made was met with criticism instead of praise. doubt instead of belief.

you found a way. you broke the records, created your own more so. first modern day female f1 driver, and you didn’t intend to be the last.

haas wasn’t where you wanted to be, and while most expected you to be happy with just having a seat; that’s not why you were here. you didn’t fall in love with the sport to just become a driver.

you wanted to win. podiums, wins, championships. like the other 19 drivers ━ you all wanted the same thing.

for some reason you were the only one who got laughed at when speaking on such wants.

but you got used to the laughter, to the unamused or unimpressed journalists ━ this was a man’s world.

that didn’t scare you as a 14 year old girl, and it wouldn’t scare you now.

all these challenges and obstacles that you overcame, all the doubt and hate you shook off; yet there was a certain something you just couldn’t shake.

certain someone more so.

it killed you inside that a man of all things could cause you so much grief, so much internal conflict.

for some reason when it came to charles, you just couldn’t resist. putting your career first, which you’d done all your life, suddenly became difficult.

you didn’t show it, you also weren’t too hard on yourself. it was unfair to be in this position in the first place. to have to be so aware of your relation to the driver, any other drivers of that matter, was a circumstance only you found yourself in.

friendships and banters amongst any other pairings on the grid was adored; snatched up by social media and cameras.

your friendships caused headlines and unwanted press apparently.

it was something you picked up on quickly, the obsession of romance and the assumption that you wanted to sleep with every damn man you raced alongside.

you laughed at it, spoke down on such thing; then didn’t give it any of your time.

until suddenly the rumours were true; charles leclerc had somehow weaselled his way past every barrier and wall you put up.

it wasn’t something you accepted quickly. and once you caught wind of your stupid little heart and it’s fondness of the monegasque you were quick to try put the friendship and it’s entirety six feet under.

this worked, for a few months.

charles had been confused ━ under the assumption you two were at the bare minimum friends. as good as friends as two drivers could get at least. then suddenly you avoided him as if he was carrying the plague.

he couldn’t question it however; it’d be pathetic. to ask you why you refused to meet his eyes in press conferences and drivers briefings anymore.

why you avoided whatever side of the drivers parade truck he was on. why you couldn’t spare him more than a ‘hello’ in passing these days.

he interacted less with other drivers, and didn’t question them. so he couldn’t question you.

las vegas however, was your downfall.

drinking was unavoidable ━ daniel had made you promise to go out with him the moment you congratulated him on his return; and if it hadn’t been him, you knew someone would’ve of.

with daniel, there was max. that was fine; you got on well with max.

then there were talks lando would make it out, despite having gone to hospital; you knew a couple other drivers would also be in the same club you were. an entry fee so high, everyone around you was oozing importance and wealth.

it shouldn’t have surprised you when suddenly charles appeared at an already drunk daniel’s side; loud laughter and murmurs of a prior vegas trip giving you enough time to down your drink in preparation to be in his presence.

you couldn’t run, not when stood in a group of four; silver slip dress doing little to allow you to blend in with the crowd around you.

you felt his gaze on you before your eyes met his, almost as if it was causing heat on your skin ━ demanding you to look at him.

his eyes had met yours with a slight twinkle, slightly hooded and telling you that he too had enough alcohol running in his veins; and the lazy smile he flashed you had your own lips curving upwards with little resistance.

it was embarassing the way your cheeks went a tint of pink as you watched him weave around daniel who was now speaking to max, too engrossed in a story to care about the way charles moved him out of the way, to stand next to you.

immediately you were aware of his hand finding the small of your back as your body became aware of the closeness of him, breath getting caught in your throat as he leant down towards your ear.

“you look incredible,” the compliment was genuine; the smile accompanying his words rendering you unable to find room to complain.

suddenly it was too hot in here. you’d like to blame the alcohol, or the stuffy club. but the man to your left was the only reason you suddenly craved fresh air.

“thank you,” you hummed, not creating distance between the pair of you despite the idea crossing your mind. he was too close, you should step away. but his cologne smelt incredible. and his hand was still lingering on your back lightly.

his smile only grew at your response, having expected you to wiggle away and disappear into the crowd.

the conversation was harmless, it always had been; but speaking with charles was just a reminder that he was one of the good ones.

he’d only ever been kind to you; kind to everyone. one of the first to speak with you like any other driver, speak about racing and your careers without undermining you.

the more time you spent with him the more clear it became that he was flawless. and oh so tempting.

maybe you would’ve ended the conversation when daniel gave you an out, interrupting the pair of you. but it was with shots on a tray next to him.

three shots later and the four of you were all cringing, scrambling to find chasers; charles offering you a lime that you quickly took ━ managing to squirt lime juice everywhere but your mouth.

it had the pair of you erupting into giggles, your hands quickly landing on his shirt which was now speckled in droplets.

“i’m so sorry!” you exasperated, only now becoming aware of the way you were struggling to stand up straight. using his chest to balance you momentarily.

he wasn’t doing any better, telling you it was fine through his own laughter; his hand lifting to your face ━ thumb brushing a few droplets off your cheek as he too swayed side to side.

your eyes met, both drunken and amused ━ and suddenly all rational thoughts had left your body.

“we need another.” you declared, hand grasping around his forearm; watching as his lips parted to disagree. but he couldn’t. a good time too tempting to resist right now.

max and daniel were long forgotten as you weaved through the crowd to the bar to sought after shots of your own; unable to identify the moment your hands had taken grasp of each other.

it was a fun two hours; innocent as well, flirtatious maybe but his hand didn’t stoop lower than your back ━ drinks consistently being poured; drivers, personnel, sponsors and fans rotating through. but you didn’t leave charles side.

you weren’t on edge either, not thinking about the what ifs. about tomorrow or the next week. just enjoying the moment.

time had gone incredibly quickly. you lost track of how many hours had been spent at the bar, how many drinks you’d downed.

charles too, until you were leaning further and further into his side. his intake stopped the moment he realised you were now struggling to stand straight.

the thought entered his mind to find a member of your team, haas or personal, to help you get you to your room soon.

he was drunk, there was no doubt about it. but he was attempting to sober up in your presence.

when you spilt a drink over the bar however, he took responsibility and declared your night was over.

it was a struggle, as his hands clasped around your arms and attempted to push you towards the exit ━ quickly realising he too was struggling to walk straight.

he’d managed however, getting you into the back of his drivers car not as easy with you dropping your phone. then him his wallet, resulting in drunken giggles and mumbles as you finally got buckled in and situated.

most of the car ride was filled with you rambling, charles more than happy to let you speak. he’d missed hearing from you ━ even if he could barely make sense and keep up with your story.

it wasn’t until you were stumbling in the hotel, through the underground entrance thankfully, and into the elevator that there was moments of silence.

you leaned back against the wall, watching as charles pressed the buttons. admiring more so, head titled aside as you gazed over the ferarri driver.

only then did you realise you shouldn’t be in this position. because all you wanted to do was get your hands on him. admire him up close, the distance of the elevator a rude difference to how the night had been spent.

your arms reached upwards, practically beckoning him over; and with an amused smile he easily fell into place ━ approaching you as his hand pressed against the wall beside your head, eyebrows raising upwards in curiosity as he peered down at you.

your arms wrapped around his neck naturally, neither of you phased from the new closeness and comfortability ━ your eyes flickering over his face, lingering on his lips for a few moments too long.

“i want to kiss you,” the words escaped your lips without any thought; it was as if a weight was lifted off your chest. some form of confession quite relieving.

charles hummed at your words, smirking even as he let out a breathy chuckle.

“yeah?” he teased ━ his breath fanning your face, and you nodded without any hesitation. it’s not what you wanted that had you not making any movements.

“mhm,” you sighed, head falling back; charles having not expected the huff of disappointment. you missed the way his eyebrows furrowed for a split second. if he was sober maybe he’d pick up on your internal conflict.

“kiss me then,” charles chimed, hand finding the side of your head; cupping your cheek so delicately you could only lean into the embrace.

never had you called on such will power and mental strength, fighting every instinct and nerve in your body that was practically yearning for him. begging you to put yourself out of your misery for once and rid the distance between the pair of you.

but you hadn’t come so far for nothing. you could only make so many drunken decisions.

“i can’t,” the words were painful to say, even the slight numbness that alcohol brought; you felt every sting of the sentence.

you watched the way his lips only curved upwards, he hadn’t picked up on the seriousness of your words.

“why not?” the question was teasing, his thumb caressing your cheek making it difficult to stick to your guns.

you looked at him as if he should know; because you’d hope he’d have some sort of idea. maybe if you could see straight you would’ve realised that charles reality wasn’t the same of yours.

“people will talk.” it sounded pathetic when you said it out loud, the sentence sobering you up enough to realise such thing. you weren’t one to usually care what people thought, so the way his smile faltered made sense.

charles took a few moments to process your words ━ he would’ve stepped away if it weren’t for your arms around him.

he wanted to point out that you two were in fact alone, but he knew what you meant. no secret was kept secret for long in the world of f1.

“let them.” charles attempted to dismiss, a cheesy smile to match, one that had you smiling as well. but it wasn’t the grin you’d been carrying all night. it was a sympathetic one almost.

charles was putting some pieces together now, as much as he could at least. your avoidance of him was making more sense with the words currently leaving your lips.

“wouldn’t fair well for me,” you mumbled; the disappointment clear in your tone. the annoyance at the fact there was clearly something stopping you. your mood was falling, charles noticed that easily.

and while he himself wasn’t overjoyed with how the night was concluding, he wouldn’t let it be ruined.

“it’s okay,” charles reassured quickly, his lips pressing to your forehead delicately instead ━ you shouldn’t have to explain yourself, he didn’t want you to feel as if you needed too. “let’s get you to bed.” he grinned.

the affectionate action caught you off guard, left speechless as his hand grasped yours and began to directing you out of the elevator. it only having you feeling regret and self pity for letting the moment escape your fingertips.

which only piled on you tenfold when he left your hotel room barely after making it two steps inside.

climbing into the sheets alone had never been so painful.

painful. a good word to describe the next few interactions with charles.

abu dhabi had you on edge. you didn’t know how to face him.

it was typical, finding yourself sat next to him in the drivers press conference. feeling as if every journalist in the room would take note of the exchanging glances, the way your eyes would quickly find something else if his met yours. the way you listened to him speak a little too intently.

charles however had no worries. not a thought in his mind as he shamelessly admired you, listening to every answer you gave. watching as you reacted to the words of other drivers or questions that weren’t to do with you. he couldn’t look away.

you’d avoided him all morning and yesterday; having not caught you after vegas.

charles was used to such behaviour, except now, he knew why. and your reasoning wasn’t good enough to him.

you two could be friends; it didn’t need to be one extreme or the other. so he had no shame in putting in effort to deter yours.

it was frustrating, almost as if every corner you turned he was there. all weekend, if you were not in the haas hospitality or your motor home, charles was near.

it was no coincidence, leaving the press pen at the same time; passing him after any interview, stuck next to him at the drivers briefing.

you couldn’t avoid the conversation, every moment with him was just pushing you further to the edge ━ your self control was hanging by a very thin thread and you were almost ready to cut it every time those damn green eyes linger on yours.

when you arrived at your hotel after qualifying, it was easy to spot him waiting in the lobby. an odd sight considering the lurking fans.

it made sense however, when charles beelined towards the elevator the moment you did.

you had to hold your breath as you both got inside, biting down on the inside of your cheek to not allow your own frustration bubble over.

“what are you doing?” the question was asked through gritted teeth, and the confusion that masked charles face did little to convince you he was as clueless as he looked.

the twinkle of amusement in his eye revealed enough.

“what do you mean?” the question was almost a challenge, charles peering down at you inquisitively - as if he didn’t know the answer himself.

you took a breath, shaking your head ever so slightly.

to put it simply, you were annoyed. at the world for putting you in this position, at yourself for getting to this point, and him for making it more difficult than it had to be.

“you’re stalking me.” you accused; eyes narrowing into a glare; one that intensified as his own lips curved upwards, and if you weren’t so focused on being annoyed you would’ve swooned over the dimples that lined his cheeks in doing so.

“i am not stalking you,” charles mused, laughing at the accusation as he leant against the wall behind him.

you expected more of an explanation ━ your own eyes trained ahead of you at the elevator doors that remained shut. looking at him was too risky.

“you are. you’re everywhere.” you huffed; not pleased with how clear the frustration was in your tone.

charles wasn’t phased, not in the slightest ━ the grin hadn’t left his face; almost as if any conversation with you was more than enough. even if you were huffing and puffing.

he wasn’t sure how the infatuation had spiralled so quickly; maybe he just wanted what he couldn’t have. the man wasn’t too use to rejection, and last week definitely stumped him.

or maybe he just refused to let you run away from what you clearly both see. feel. there was a connection here, he was sure of it.

“are we not friends?” charles question had you drawing a deep breath, suddenly aware of how slow these elevators were. and recognising the first flaw with being blessed with a penthouse room.

“of course we’re friends.” you rolled your eyes, speaking with such certainty as if you needed to remind yourself. friends.

you two were friends at most, that’s all you’d allow the pair of you to be.

“then you shouldn’t actively avoid me.” charles hummed, no shame in calling out your obvious behaviour that he’d let go on for too long.

it was humorous, the way your jaw dropped in offence at the accusation you knew was true.

“i do not.” your voice went up an octave, not even you could believe your own lie ━ nor try to sell it, avoiding his eye now as your leg began to bounce impatiently. it was becoming suffocating, in an enclosed space with him.

“you do.” charles mocked your voice ever so slightly, but the smile that went along with it left you no room to complain as you glanced over at him; your own lips curving upwards for a mere second.

you had nothing to say. to you it was clear, he knew where you stood. but you weren’t budging. it’s not like you wanted to deprive yourself of him; but you refused to sacrifice your career for a man. call it paranoia; but you don’t want to find out the consequences of adding truth to rumours.

“you don’t trust yourself around me.” charles had you read, and he wanted you to know it.

you two could be, should be, able to be friends at least. the monegasque was unsure as to why he was so set on such thing; some of you, was better than none.

“don’t flatter yourself.” you mumbled, attempting to dismiss his words; he was right. hit the nail on the head actually, but you wouldn’t admit that.

“we can be friends.” charles huffed when he realised he was straying from his original intentions; he didn’t want to provoke or tempt you. just make it clear there can be a platonic relationship here. you shouldn’t be scared of that.

“we are.” you reminded, eyebrows raising as you looked up at him; finally holding eye contact with the driver for more than a few seconds.

“then stop avoiding me.” charles repeated; and he’d be ashamed of how desperate he sounded if he had any room to care. but you were more of a pressing issue.

if he hadn’t called you out on a whole range of fronts you would’ve commented on his desperation; the elevator ding beating you to it regardless as the doors slid open.

“fine. only because you care so much,” your reply was playful; attempting to sound amused and unbothered ━ maybe that would distract from the fact you were agreeing with him.

you only had another day of being around him, you could easily do a day with him. las vegas was an example of your strength and will.

but as his grin widened, dimples and all, green eyes still pouring into yours as he backed out of the elevator; you knew it was never going to be easy.

the sticks and stones they throw froze mid-air

everyone wants him, that was my crime

the wrong place at the right time

of course it wasn’t easy.

you’d kept true to your word, he’d called you out so you finally relented.

the only solace you found in allowing yourself to get closer to charles was the fact you were right.

every moment spent with him felt like a ticking time bomb. you were cracking, you knew it. deep down you knew it was only a matter of time until you shattered and he’d be there to pick up every piece.

at first you’d coincidentally ran into him at your favourite cafe in monaco. not the first time you’d seen him there; but the first time he signalled you to sit down.

it was harmless at first, a quick catch up. one you’d have with any other colleague you’d bump into in public during winter break.

but there was something about seeing him in such casual attire, hoodie and sweats portraying him in a new light you couldn’t help but take a liking too.

what should’ve been five minutes of small talk was two hours of conversation; two hours of mind numbing tension, pretending to not notice the way his eyes would linger on your lips every now and then. or acting oblivious to the way you laughed at every second word that left his lips.

he parted with an offer to go on a run together sometime, and you accepted with the assumption it would be an empty gesture. a plan that never gets put in place.

but then he texted you a few days later; and suddenly you were struggling to find excuses to reject the offer. struggling to find the want too.

a run wasn’t dangerous. you’d both be pre-occupied.

and you were, until you were standing there puffed; exhausted and puffed; and struggling to not grow further flustered of the sight of a sweaty charles.

muscles flexing against the tight shirt, hair messier than usual; cheeks slightly flushed.

inviting him up to your place for a drink wasn’t your intention, but your mouth was a step ahead of your brain.

uncharted territory had now been crossed. messages were swapped regularly, weekly runs together was almost routine. then hours of conversation at either your apartment or his.

if you hadn’t fallen for him before, you definitely had now. it was beyond physical attraction. and it was mutual.

it was the way you found yourself always ensuring you had the biscuits he’d practically raided the first time he was over, always in an unopened packet awaiting him.

the way he found himself buying the lime flavoured water you preferred to drink after exercising; knowing your odd quirk of not being keen on regular water.

the way he came over with your coffee order and a chocolate croissant from your shared favourite cafe when you bailed on your run, apologising to him because you’d become run down with a cold.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you’d sniffled, heart fluttering at the kind gesture.

“what else are friends for,” charles had practically cheesed.

you’d like to convince yourself he was still at a safe distance, it made it easier to ignore the fact this wouldn’t last forever.

the limbo state was not ideal to neither of you, but it was much better than doing what you felt was inevitable. avoiding him again.

except that would just be much harder this time. before it was a crush; now you were swoon. you counted down the days to see him. awaited his name to appear on your phone.

there’d been close calls; moments where you thought one of you would crack.

like the time you struggled to grab a glass out of his cupboard, tippy toes and all it was out of reach.

you felt him behind you before seeing him, hand finding your hip as his other arm simply reached over you to grab a glass; quick to turn on your feet you hadn’t expected him so close.

“thanks,” you had mumbled, clearly flustered as you looked up at him ━ trapped between his frame and the counter; eyes finding his lips immediately.

silence fell over the pair of you, awaiting one of you to make a move.

you were glad charles had cleared his throat and stepped aside, returning to a safe distance ━ because you didn’t think you’d be capable of such thing in that moment.

charles questioned how he managed to do such thing, each and every time you got close to him he doubted how long he could resist being selfish.

he’d failed to realise back in abu dhabi that he neither could trust himself around you. he’d put in so much effort to prove to you that friends was possible, so naive to the fact it may be worse than before.

while he loved your company, it was a cruel reminder that you had ruled out the possibility of this going further. any dreams or fantasies of more would always stay that way; dreams. not reality.

it frustrated him beyond belief, not that he showed it. the way you gazed up at him through your pretty eyes; as if you’d do anything he asked. the way you always leant towards him when you laughed; how easily he could make you laugh.

and he couldn’t do anything about it. because he wasn’t selfish, you feared the consequences of being with him so he would not push you to face them.

deep down however, the pair of you knew it could only be a matter of time.

yet it still stung how easily it could’ve been avoided.

you weren’t meant to go out tonight, it had been a last minute and spontaneous decision; pressured by your friends who insisted, claiming you missed too many girls nights as it is. that winter break was there time to make up for all you miss while away during the season.

you got kicked out of the first bar you found yourself in, all because one of your friends picked a fight with the bartender; but that didn’t bother you in the moment.

on to the next.

it took a whole eight minutes being at the club, one you had subtlety name dropped to get yourself and your friends into, to spot charles in the crowd.

your friends eyes had found him first; your own merely following theirs in curiosity, and you were grateful that all four of you were preoccupied looking at the driver so they would fail to realise your own longing.

“i have not seen him in ages,” your friend stella spoke first; clueless to the developed friendship between the pair of you. you hadn’t really told anyone, call it trust issues.

“we should go say hi,” stella continued; looking at you all with hopefulness; eyes having lit up and appearing incredibly eager.

you couldn’t think of a worse idea. alcohol and charles almost ruined you once; and that was a few months ago. you didn’t think you had that much self control left.

“we have our own driver right here,” your friend had joked, rejecting the idea as she nudged your arm; purely because she wanted a girls night. and you laughed at the stupidity, ready to play along for your own selfish interests.

“unfortunately y/n, you’re not one stella can sleep with again,” your other friend joked through a smirk, alcohol causing word vomit, because by the way stella quickly slapped her arm told you that information she didn’t want shared.

the revelation had your face falling flat, not able to hide such thing as you pursed your lips in thought.

“you and charles?” the words escaped your lips with too much interest but you couldn’t stop yourself. suddenly needing to know more.

stella had let out an exasperated sigh.

you were grateful to know your friend beside you who rejected the idea of speaking to him was as shocked as you.

“ages ago.” stella tried to downplay, waving the idea off. although then she peered over her shoulder to look at the driver again, an innocent smile spreading across her face.

you nodded slightly, trying to muster a fake smile. you couldn’t be mad; it wouldn’t be rational to be mad. even in the slightest.

“i’m gonna go talk to him.” stella announced, and you could only swallow intently as your friend whined about it being girls night, watching as stella promised she’d be back before weaving through the crowd.

you were staring, but you didn’t care.

left to watch as stella made her presence known. watch as charles face lit up at the familiar face, embrace her quickly and introduce her to those he was stood with.

you could tell he was slightly tipsy, the way he was swaying side to side; even with his arm now draped around stella’s shoulders.

the sight made you sick. jealousy was an ugly trait but you’d never embraced it like you were now.

jealous of the fact your friend didn’t have to worry in going after what she wanted. jealous that she could quite happily cling to charles without worrying who saw.

your mood had plummeted, there was no hiding it. your friends definitely noticing but not questioning as they too glanced over at stella to note her progress.

it wasn’t until charles’ eyes found yours across the room that you looked away.

not in shame, you didn’t care that he knew you were watching; but more so to not make it clear how annoyed you were from the sight alone.

charles tensed up the moment he saw you ━ he hadn’t known you were here. and now that he did, the company he was with suddenly wasn’t good enough.

he’d picked up on your cold stare though; the way you failed to offer him your usual sweet smile.

suddenly he felt guilty, quick to remind himself he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

the driver distracted himself momentarily, tuning back into the conversation that was going on around him. but his mind was now elsewhere. you were consuming his thoughts now.

intentions to keep his distance were thrown out the window when he noticed you in his peripheral; standing at the bar alone.

he shouldn’t approach you; but the idea of letting you sit there and think he would rather spend his time with the blonde on his arm than you didn’t sit well with him either.

so he found himself excusing himself, heading to the bar where you stood.

you’d grabbed your drink, and the moment you turned around to head back to your seat and continue your moping, you’d spotted charles headed straight towards you.

a creature of habit; avoid him was your first thought. so you attempted to pretend to not see him, a sudden sense of urgency as you headed back to the booth your two friends were still sat at.

charles picked up on such thing however, his own urgency increasing as he managed to get ahead of you; practically cutting you off.

you’d been so desperate in your attempts to avoid him and his eyes that you collided, your drink taking the brunt of the hit as it fell to the ground; pouring ice and liquid on the floor, thankfully missing the pair of you.

you were quick to glare up at him, made to watch as he put his hands up in innocence and let out a quick and not too meaningful ‘sorry.’

you didn’t want to speak to him. he was an easy target for your current anger, so stepping around him was easy; you’d go without your drink for now, wanting to return to the safety of your booth.

but charles didn’t think that was fair.

he’d grabbed your arm before you made it two steps away; your name falling from his lips almost in warning.

“you don’t get to be mad at me.” charles huffed, it wasn’t fair. you told him that friends was the only possibility, so you had no reason to be glaring daggers and avoiding him as if he’d done something wrong.

he was right, you knew he was right. you weren’t even mad at him. but you were mad; fed up with the constant deprival you had to put yourself through, at how much you cared about what people would say ━ that you couldn’t put you and him out of your shared misery.

but unfortunately you had nothing else to aim your anger at; it was just you and charles in this position, meaning he fell into your firing line.

“i think you care too much about what i think of you.” you tried to dismiss his comment; not wanting to admit he was right, calling out his constant efforts of chasing you.

you watched as his jaw tensed, the breath he let out and his eyes drifting aside as he tried to rationalise his thoughts before he said something he’d regret.

“i didn’t know you knew stella.” charles huffed; deciding on what could be a civil approach. he didn’t need to explain himself, but that would be easier than playing into your game and letting you try create a rift between the pair of you.

you wanted to throw the words back at his face; but you stopped yourself. neither he nor stella owed you any loyalty when it came to one another; definitely not back then, so you couldn’t use it against him.

“it doesn’t matter.” you tried to sound calm, remove yourself from the animosity you held. if you could just get away from him, go home, and pretend this never happened.

“it clearly does.” charles didn’t miss a beat; it would have been easier to blindly believe you but how was that possible when you were refusing to meet his eyes and running away from him.

you shook your head, not knowing what to say because you couldn’t disagree there. he was right; like usual, surprise, surprise. truths were harder to ignore when it was coming from his mouth.

“it shouldn’t.” you spoke simply, before turning on your heel and heading towards the bathroom now; anywhere to get away. the thread was getting thinner, you didn’t trust yourself around him.

he’d debated on following you for a couple seconds, knowing what he should do. return to his friends. to stella; there was no complications there.

but yet he found himself just a few steps behind you, refusing to let you get the last word. to let you fall back into your old habits of avoiding him.

a part of you knew he was following you, or maybe that’s what you wanted to believe. your want to get away from him was just a product of self preservation, not true desire.

so you weren’t surprised to hear your name once you were about to reach the bathroom. turning around to face him with a sigh. you should’ve pretended to not hear him.

“what are you doing?” you huffed; looking at him with lost eyes because you were running out of things to say or do, unsure where to go from here.

“what do you want?” charles question caught you off guard, alongside the fact he took maybe one or two steps too many when catching up to you ━ so close and you couldn’t find the strength to create any distance.

you pursed your lips, shaking your head ever so slightly.

the lack of an answer spoke for itself, you knew what you wanted. him. but admitting such thing would be dangerous.

“you know we can’t━” you started to say, needing to remind yourself that as tempting as he was right now it wasn’t possible.

he cut you off however. charles knew what you thought; what you presumed others would think.

“i don’t care about anyone else. what do you want?” charles repeated, speaking with such intent it would’ve been intimidating if your mind wasn’t a scramble of thoughts.

he was practically begging you to spell it out for him; to face the truth of the matter. if you could look him in the eye and tell him you were happy with what you both had right now, he’d walk away.

but you were never going to do that. you could only bend so far.

you finally snapped.

connecting your lips with his was the easiest option, and the moment you did it was as if nothing else mattered. relief washing over the pair of you, as if a giant weight was suddenly lifted.

there’d been the slightest amount of hesitant in the action, but that was forgotten immediately.

it was rushed and messy at first, months worth of tension bubbling to the surface as your hands both pawed at one another eagerly; grabbing whatever you could.

having your hands on him wasn’t something you’d take for granted; gripping his shirt; moving to his biceps before wrapping around his neck.

his intentions were similar to yours, his large hands sprawling amongst the sides of your waist ━ not bothered by the way it caused your dress to bunch ever so slightly. he tugged you closer too, as if he was scared you’d leave his grasp.

he managed to back you into the bathroom without disconnecting your lips; hand only leaving your waist to fiddle blindly with the lock.

the kiss was still messy, eager and heated; gasping into his mouth when your back suddenly hit the wall. charles body enclosing you immediately, your legs suddenly feeling week as his hips pressed forward against yours.

it was not surprising that it didn’t stop their, neither of you were stopping now that the ice had been broken.

the night concluding with your hands spread on the wall ahead of you as charles pounded you from behind, dress bunched around your waist and panties pulled aside.

“gotta be quiet mon amour,” he’d whispered into your ear after your moans continued to grow in volume ━ his hand then moving to your jaw, sliding two fingers past your lips to shut you up.

you would’ve died happily in that moment, moments away from the best orgasm of your life.

no matter what happened, you wouldn’t be regretting it.

and I break down, then he's pullin' me in

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman

you hadn’t seen charles since that night in monaco.

he’d left for maranello not too long after, then you spent the rest of break in america; the season approaching relatively quickly.

messages were swapped, but nothing more.

testing was hectic, you didn’t get to see him or spend time with him even if you wanted too.

you weren’t sure you wanted to however. you missed him, that had been mutually expressed over text. but both you and he were scared; unsure how to navigate what happens now.

because unfortunately the circumstances hadn’t changed, you’d just gotten a taste of one another.

by the time it was raceday at bahrain, all excitement for the start of the season had left your body.

thursday set the tone; all your hard work, months of avoidance and deprival ━ it suddenly meant nothing.

you first caught wind of such in the press conference, sat alongside max, lewis, lando, carlos and alex.

when you finally got asked a question, your breath got stuck in your throat.

“did you enjoy your winter break? a new trainer in charles it seems?”

the question was posed so innocently, you knew the tone. the cheery and amused light heartedness to mask the undertones; it was accusing. you knew it was; any girl would get it.

you knew photos were circulating of you and charles running around monaco, but that wasn’t an issue. there were photos of you and daniel out for lunch as well. ones of you and toto exchanging hello’s.

what a headline; you got along with people you worked with.

“uh yeah,” you laughed off; biting your tongue, like usual. you knew when to pick your battles. “i’m no good at padel so, stuck to running.” you hummed, left to watch as the journalist nodded almost unconvinced.

it was a sinking feeling; they knew, everyone knew. it’d somehow got out. that you’d slept together. paranoia; you had to remind yourself. they couldn’t know.

“is it difficult to have relations off track with competitors?” he was looking you dead in the eye as he posed another question to you, and it hit a nerve.

you shifted ever so slightly in your seat. you hadn’t faced these sort of questions since your rookie year, when journalists didn’t realise what they should and shouldn’t imply.

you had to hold back a scoff; biting down on the inside of your cheek.

“is that a question for all of us or just me?” you practically challenged, and the awkwardness that fell over the room only had the pit in your stomach growing.

it was as if they all knew something you didn’t.

that was all you were asked, all you could think about as you sat on the couch, itching to get out of this damn room.

but that was just the start.

entering the haas hospitality your gut feeling made sense when you were faced with the entirety of the press team awaiting you.

granted, the press team was only four people. but you only ever really dealt with your own press officer if it was without warning.

the whole conversation was a blur, you felt sick the moment it begun.

‘we need to have a meeting,’

‘there’s photos of you and leclerc,’

‘damming to your reputation. our reputation,’

‘unacceptable behaviour and a breach of contract,’

‘negotiating to not let mainstream media run with it,’

‘we’re opening our own private investigation.’

you were being spoken at, no room to reply, no ounce of sympathy. you could feel the disgust as they spoke. as if you’d actually done something wrong.

“investigation?” you repeated in confusion, bewildered as you glanced between the lot of them.

you didn’t know what to say. or do.

deny? beg them to cover it up? apologise?

you felt like that 13 year old girl again, that anything you said wouldn’t matter. keeping your mouth shut as they broke out in chatter again.

short. blunt. your own press officer not even sticking around as they the dispersed, even mentioning that gene would probably be calling later.

you felt like you were going to throw up the moment you got into the privacy of your drivers room, it only taking a few seconds to find the photos flooding your timeline.

monaco. it was undeniable. it was definitely him, definitely you, kissing.

you held back your tears, determined to not let the comments ruin you. your press teams words lingering, but you pushed them back.

the day dragged, you were on edge; one wrong move and an on pour of tears would arise to the surface. just needed to wait till you were in the privacy of your hotel room.

these people would not see you cry.

you hadn’t expected the cold shoulder from your own team. but it was your manager that was the tip of the iceberg.

you hadn’t seen him all day, a close friend you’d consider him, he’d been with you since f3.

“where have you been?” you breathed as you climbed into the car, more than relieved to be leaving the track. and hopefully every conversation that was had.

“cleaning your mess.” he’d muttered in annoyance, and you couldn’t help but shake your head as your jaw clenched.

“not you too,” it was an attempt of a joke, head resting against the window. “don’t know why people are acting like i shared the teams 3 year plan with the enemy,” you huffed.

but you were only met with silence, causing your eyes to glance to your manager who was focused on his laptop in his lap.

“i mean it jason. the way i was treated today was━” you began to speak up at his silence, anger was easier than the self pity.

“what did you expect?” his question was venomous, shutting you up quickly as you stared at him with a slack jaw. it took a few moments to process, how he was on side with them.

or more importantly, not on your side. the guy who you pay to be on your side.

“for my personal life to remain personal.” you spoke like it was obvious.

you had feared this, yes, but that didn’t mean it was right. maybe you held onto hope your lack of faith in the world was misplaced. but everyone was proving you right.

he shook his head simply, so disappointingly you had to laugh, eyes gazing back out the window as you rapidly approached the hotel.

“i thought you didn’t want to be known for this.” his comment was a throw away one, but it cut you deep. his insinuation one he knew would sting, so you didn’t hide the fact it did.

“known for what?” you spoke through gritted teeth; if he wanted to insult you he better not half ass it.

there was moment of silence, hesitance; but not long enough.

“sleeping around.” he shrugged, still typing away on his computer. “great way to halt contract talks. i mean come on y/n,” he groaned.

you weren’t sure if he was right, you’d like to think your talent would over shine paddock gossip. but if he was right, the problem should lie with teams misogyny. not your sex life.

you highly doubt ferarri will hesitate resigning charles because of the matter.

you didn’t say another word, not trusting your voice; it was too much. felt like you were being attacked from every angle. ambushed even.

you’d slammed the door the moment you got out the car, urgently getting inside the hotel; managing to find the elevator through blurry eyes, tears threatening to spill.

almost there.

the elevator ride was testing, the silence made your short breaths and sniffles hard to ignore as you tiptoed on the line of breaking.

the final straw however, was charles himself leaving his hotel room as you navigated your way to yours.

your name had never sounded so delicate coming from his lips, as if he knew that you were fragile, sympathetic eyes as he took a few steps towards you.

“don’t━” you breathed out, voice breaking on you before you could say his name. your hand raising to tell him to stay where he was.

the first tear fell, silently.

“i’m so sorry,” he breathed out; cautiously stepping forwards despite your action. it broke him, the sight of you. he’d never seen you so upset.

overjoyed, pissed off, ecstatic, confused, riled up; he’d seen it all. but never had he seen you cry.

“you’re the last person i want to see right now.” you managed to get out.

lie.

complete lie, but unfortunately once more he was an easy target. the face of today’s events and the reason for fractures in practically every professional relationship you’d formed over the years.

charles didn’t take your words to heart, watching as you fumbled to find your room key; your shaky hands had him frowning, behind you now as he grabbed your arm when you took a step inside.

“please,” charles sighed; desperate for you to let him help. let him comfort you. he felt responsible, but it wasn’t guilt that was pushing him towards you.

just the need to ensure you were okay.

he’d barely received a slap on the wrist. told by his press team to ‘be more careful next time.’ and reminded issues would arise if talks of strategy and racing came to light.

that was that. his day went on. he almost got ahead of himself, optimistic the day could end with him showing up at your door to tell you that you never had anything to worry about.

but word spread quickly in the paddock, and charles caught onto the double standards incredibly quickly with how you were being spoken about in comparison to him.

you didn’t trust your voice once more, simply shaking your head ‘no’ as you got inside, attempting to shake his grasp.

he didn’t let you however, which was almost a relief.

the door shut behind the pair of you, charles tugging you towards his chest immediately.

you had no more strength, no fight left; simply letting him do so as the tears poured.

your head met his chest, arms clinging to his shirt as his arms went around you; holding you close as he mumbled encouraging words.

he felt like a safe place, allowing you to be weak and vulnerable with no fear for the first time in a long time.

quiet sobs and sniffles escaped you as you shook in his hold. it wasn’t just a days worth of torment, no, but all the other shit you put up with from the start of your career.

charles wasn’t sure what to say, just that it’d be okay. let it out. i’ve got you.

his hand was running through your hair delicately, and you somehow register the multiple kisses he pressed to the top of your head; such subtle actions that managed to slow your heart rate.

“i’m so sorry,” charles words were whispered, it was what brought you out of your own head; teary eyed peering up at him as you shook your head.

this wasn’t his fault.

“not your fault,” you spoke through a deep breath, starting to gain your composure. still timid, but you’d gotten the tears out.

“it’s not yours either.” charles spoke in certainty, sounding pissed off. because he was. and it made your stomach flip.

it was the bare minimum, but hearing someone be in your corner was exactly what you needed. the fact it was charles was just a bonus.

“i mean it’s more my fault than yours. i didn’t leave you alone, putain, i am sorry,” he began to ramble. the guilt was eating him alive. you’d tried to avoid this ━ he couldn’t help but feel as if he threw you into the lions den.

you disagreed however. deep down, this all felt inevitable. like it was a matter of when, not if. you were so scared of this happening because apart of you knew there was no avoiding it.

“i don’t regret it.” you told him in certainty, hand moving to cup his cheek; offering a sad smile. “it’s just━ not fair.” you mumbled.

his smile mirrored yours, lacking the usual brightness it held as thumb lifted to your cheeks; brushing away the tears staining your skin.

“it’s gonna be okay. i’ll fix this.” charles promised, but it wasn’t a promise he could keep. you knew that, your head tilting aside as you sighed.

his intentions were pure, held your best interest at heart.

“m’ just gonna have to let it blow over.” you told him, taking a sharp inhale. that didn’t answer the question that lingered between the pair of you.

what this was. what you two were.

he nodded ever so slightly, frustration growing at the fact he couldn’t fix it himself. he wanted to help. to rid you both of the outside noise and judgmental opinions.

“but i think━” you’d cut yourself off, you didn’t want to say it.

he knew however, by the way your grip had tightened on his shirt. the way your eyes held sympathy and sorrow. he knew what you were going to say.

“i know,” charles sighed; nodding in reassurance.

this needed to stop. whatever this was, it couldn’t go further. not for now at least; charles knew that.

rumours won’t die down if there is still truth to them.

your bottom lip quivered slightly at the sight of the sad smile he showed you; the way he was so willing to comply.

you hated the fact you both had to suffer, all for what?

“i’ll stay away, i promise,” charles hummed; biting down on the inside of his cheek as he ran his fingers through your hair once more.

you still had no words, because it was the last thing you wanted. yet somehow was what you needed.

you’d like to say to hell with it, to tell him you didn’t care. that you could be together, and figure out the latter.

but today had been hell; you weren’t sure it was something you could get used too.

“thank you,” you whispered out; charles only response was pulling you close once more, knowing when he let you go, it would be for good.

he had to let you go.

but if I'm all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us

if they call me a slut, you know it might be worth it for once

charles stayed true to his word.

it was obvious, the way you two steered clear of each other.

talk of you and him died down, the paddock found something else to focus on within a couple weeks; and it was just another story for the history books that would be brought up every now and then.

their was awkwardness in the team however.

their investigation closed with no findings, something you laughed at.

a motivator; to get the fuck out of there.

it paid off, comfortably beating your teammate. dragging the car into the points most weeks.

talks with mercedes was going well, progressing nicely ━ you wanted to emphasise to your manager that charles hadn’t been mentioned once from them either.

but you weren’t going to dwell on the past.

not audibly at least.

charles was a sacrifice you hated making, and it was mutual.

it was cruel, the way you were too scared to meet his eye if cameras were around. scared one wrong move and you’d be jumped on by prying eyes and gossipers.

charles too shared your fear; he didn’t want to put you in a compromising position. and while it was physically painful to cut you off completely, he managed.

none was easier than some, it seemed.

it was laughable, how the pair of you actually believed the avoidance would stick this time. that it would actually work.

couldn’t even make it to summer break, a few months apart was bound to be all you could endure.

monaco, a race you’ll never forget.

your signing with mercedes was announced on the thursday; a milestone in your career, a highlight.

you were ecstatic, nay-sayers and doubters did little to dull your mood ━ nothing would ruin such an achievement.

but it motivated you.

you heard it all before, when you signed with haas. how it was a PR move, not on merit. for the money you would bring in. the commercial value.

it was the same thing, and the need to prove people wrong was always a blessing when you got in the car.

it’d been a wet qualifying, playing into your favour. putting the car into p3 meant everything would’ve had fallen into place. and it did.

you were overjoyed, the smile had not been wiped off your face. you were proving that contract was yours based off your talent.

you went on to hold onto p3 in the race and secure a podium, you were high off adrenaline and excitement the moment you got out of the car.

you’d handled the pressure, failed to make a mistake; blessed to have had your best qualifying at the hardest place to overtake.

the other headline of the weekend?

charles had finally won his home race.

he wasn’t on your mind, not as you shared the podium. or as you faced the media together afterwards.

you cared deeply for charles, but this was your childhood dream. years worth of hard-work had finally paid off. being near him wasn’t hard, for once, because you had way too many things to currently be happy about.

it was civi and casual, friendly; in the cool down room, on the podium; in the interview.

it wasn’t until later that night, on a random super-yacht, surrounded by drunken socialites and f1 personalities that temptation reached you once more.

you’d barely had a drink, being pulled in every way and direction; talking to many that you didn’t have time to sip the half full glass in your hand.

charles knew this; he’d been watching you all night.

his dream had come true, winning in monaco; in front of his home fans.

call him greedy for wanting more as he stood on the yacht, surrounded by his friends as his eyes settled on you.

he couldn’t help but think of the only way to make this night perfect; you.

the praise and congratulations from everyone else was nice, but he was dying to hear it from you.

to congratulate you as well. on your podium. on your contract.

he thought he was over it, the unfairness of it all. but this was a new challenge.

watching as you stood there, hugging everyone. beaming and laughing, as you should.

would it be so wrong for him to congratulate you as well? to steal a couple minutes of your time? he’d promised to stay away, but this had to be an exception.

right?

so charles went against his word, weaving through the crowd the moment you caught a break in conversations.

uncharacteristically dismissing those who tried to speak to him as he set on his way towards you, nothing would stop him.

“hey,” charles made his presence known; capturing your attention; and the way your eyes lit up and lips curved upwards, he wanted to kill whoever had deprived him of such sight for however many months.

“hi!” you couldn’t help but sound surprised, pleasantly surprised.

you’d been wanting to talk to him; which wasn’t anything new. needing to talk to him however, just unsure how to navigate such thing.

“congratulations. sure you’ve heard it all, but you deserve this.” charles words were genuine; smiling down at you proudly, and while you had heard it all the past couple hours; it meant more coming from him. “the contract as well. huge news,” he added.

your nose scrunched up slightly, grinning ━ pure happiness present because you really were oh so happy.

“thank you,” you smiled; nodding appreciatively. “i should say the same to you. i know how much this win means to you,” you spoke; and charles could only smile at the way you sounded so sincere.

“thank you,” his turn to offer thanks, a silence falling over the pair of you.

that was all you should say, all you were sure was excusable.

it was clear, the way you both had so much on the tip of your tongue; too scared to let it out. neither wanting to be the one to crack. to undone all the hard work.

charles so desperately wanted to rant his heart out, remind both you and himself that the past few months had been undeserved torture. and he was convinced he was going to for a moment.

but he couldn’t. he wouldn’t be selfish with you.

“well i’ll see you━” charles had cleared his throat, ready to do the right thing. to walk away, like he promised he would.

but you cut him off. scared if you didn’t tell him now, you never would.

“wait.” you interrupted, pursing your lips; and he was happy to shut up. he didn’t need any convincing to stay put.

“i uh, with my mercedes contract…” you trailed off; biting your lip. “i made it clear, what expectations would be of me. on and off track, obviously. like anyone would,” you rambled slightly; nervously even.

charles wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you nervous.

you were nervous because of what you were implying.

you’d made it clear you didn’t want to be held to any individual expectations off track, that your relations with others wouldn’t concern the team if it didn’t jeopardise the team.

you were grateful, how understanding mercedes were. a breath of fresh air really. so much you’d basically outright told them that you didn’t want you and charles to be an issue, if anything were to arise between the pair of you.

you’d figured if you had a team that backed you, handling outside noise and assumptions would be made a lot easier.

“me and you, it wouldn’t be an issue.” you summed up; practically spitting it out. it felt weird, suddenly lacking confidence as you referenced a ‘you and him.’ worried that ship had sailed.

you watched as his eyebrows raised, lips parting in surprise.

he hadn’t expected you to say such thing, the one thing he’d dreamt of you saying one too many times.

“if that uh, you know. ever happens, i don’t know,” you added on; feeling the need to back pedal, not wanting to come off headstrong. it was the reason for your hesitance. you and charles had never discussed what you were, because it never seemed possible.

charles wasn’t sure what to say. his first instinct was to kiss you; because it seemed as if this was the best night of his life, with all his hopes and dreams coming true.

but his care for you trumped all.

“people will still talk,” he couldn’t help but remind softly. not to argue against you, but to ensure you knew exactly what you were implying. he knew the rush you were feeling, first podium. fresh off multiple highs, he didn’t want you to come crashing down tomorrow and regret these words tonight.

he didn’t know you’d already assessed all your options, weighed up the two cons. your mind had been made up, you just needed to bite the bullet.

you’d already been through it, called every name in the book. may as well make it all for something.

“let them.” you breathed out, a shy smile following suit, mischievous almost, quoting him from that night in vegas. you’d said it with confidence, such conviction he knew you meant it.

his smile was bright, practically beaming at you as he nodded. unsure what to do next, but he didn’t care. he liked the way things were looking.

he hadn’t expected you to kiss him, in the middle of the crowded floor, but god he wasn’t complaining ━ hands finding the small of your back as yours wrapped around his neck.

you’d pulled away shortly afterwards, not creating any distance as your foreheads touched.

“if you still want this of course,” you spoke; just above a whisper, realising you hadn’t really let him confirm he still wanted this.

he’d laughed, at the idea alone he didn’t. shaking his head at the thought as he brought his hand up to cup your face.

“all i could think about tonight, was that the only thing that would make today truely perfect, would be sharing it with you.” charles confessed; taking in the way you lit up at his words, watching as any last doubts or fears vanished from your frame.

you were relaxed, happy and carefree; not one bit of energy spent on anyone around you. who saw, who cared; it meant nothing to you.

you giggled as you pressed your lips to his again, passionately this time; charles leaning over you as he held your body close to his, smiling against your pink lips.

it felt incredibly cliche, as if you were the only two people on the yacht in the moment.

he’d murmured something about getting out of here only moments later, you being quick to agree.

patience was something you’d both demonstrated incredibly well over the last year; safe to say you both had none left to spare.

navigating the crowd hand in hand almost felt like a rush, relieving to not care as you followed him off the yacht; giddy like teenagers as you climbed into the back of a car.

he’d barely gotten his address out before you were on him again, lips pressed against his as you gripped his shirt.

charles hand tangled in your hair, revelling in the way your lips felt against his. he’d spent many nights recounting your night together; attempting to cling to the feeling and pleasure it brought. this was ten times better than what his imagination could produce.

the only time you kept your hands off him was the short walk from the car to the elevator of his apartment complex, the moment the doors slid shut you found yourself pressed against the wall ━ his hands gripping your hips and lips attacking your neck.

you became breathless quickly, satisfied hums escaping you; head tilting back to give him as much access as he wanted.

“have i ever told you how beautiful you are mon ange,” charles sighed against your skin; only lifting his head when he heard the doors ring open.

you smiled at him stupidly, taking in the sight. his pretty green eyes, slightly swollen lips and tussled hair. more beautiful than anything you’d ever seen before.

“come on,” you mused with a blush, urging him to head to his room; in quick pursuit.

you’d barley gotten your heels off once inside when charles was snaking his hands under your thighs, hoisting you up as your legs wrapped around his waist.

it didn’t feel really; finally able to have you like this.

“gonna make you feel so good,” charles murmured against your lips as he navigated his way through the apartment, hands squeezing your ass which granted a gasp from you. “deserve so much more than a quickie in the bathroom,” he commented.

while your first time together was more than satisfying, it was rushed. muffled moans and chasing release desperately with fear the moment could’ve been ruined in any moment.

tonight you were all his. no need to keep you quiet, no limit to the positions he could put you in.

he sat at the end of his bed; you not taking long to get comfortable in his lap as your lips moved roughly against his; hips grinding as you did so.

“you won,” you breathed out as you shifted your attention up his jaw, teeth catching his ear momentarily as you kissed at the skin of his neck. “let me make you feel good,” you whispered; charles head tilting back as he audibly groaned. “you deserve it,”

charles always loved praise, his ego thrived on it. but god, hearing it from you? his pants were feeling way too tight.

he couldn’t say no to you, not that’d he’d ever want too.

you didn’t give him any time to reply regardless, climbing off his lap and standing between his legs momentarily, hands holding onto his knees as you pressed one lingering kiss to his lips.

sinking to your knees, you were incredibly eager. a scenario you’d play out too many times as your hands got to work in freeing his cock.

charles lips parted as he rested back on his hands, head tilted downwards as he watched you intently ━ biting down on the inside of his cheek at the sight alone.

his breaths only got heavier as you spat in your hand and jacked him off a couple times, hissing as your thumb rolled over his tip.

the sight was better than you could imagine, as you took him in your mouth and watched his head fall back. his clenched jaw, neck muscles and arms flexing as he groaned.

it had your thighs clenching together, not wasting time in bobbing your head; taking as much of him as you could; hitting the back of your throat each time but it did little to deter you.

“putain,” charles grunted under his breath ━ forcing himself to tilt his head back down to watch you work, hand gathering your hair in a makeshift pony tail. and the way his lips curved into a smirk when your eyes met his had your thighs clenching once more.

“there you go pretty girl, taking me so well,” charles huffed ━ noting the way you gagged around him every now and then, yet showed no signs of slowing down. “mouth is fucking heaven,”

his praise only encouraged you further, doe eyes staring up at him through your lashes; tears welling in your eyes.

your hand was holding his thigh for support, watchinf as he busied himself momentarily by ridding himself of his shirt ━ revealing his toned torso flexing with each sharp breath he took.

“pull your dress down,” his words were direct, a clear demand and with him staring down at you like he was ready to ruin you, you didn’t need to be told twice. tugging your dress down to free your breasts.

his admiring eyes raked your body shamelessly, pleasure only increasing from the sight. you were fucking perfect, and he couldn’t believe this was real.

it was as if you caught on to the moment, reading him perfectly as your efforts picked up ━ keen to make him cum.

and by the way he was starting to tug on your hair, you knew he was close.

he came in your mouth moments later with little warning, and you were practically squirming in your place as you licked him clean.

“you’re perfect,” charles breathed after catching his breath, which happened incredibly quickly; signalling you to climb back into his lap.

you giggled as you did so, grinning as you pressed your lips to his once more; straddling him with ease as your hands spread across his toned chest ━ happy to touch him now that he was back in reach.

his hand moved up your leg, pushing your panties aside and cupping your cunt with little warning; causing you to moan into his mouth.

“you’re fucking soaked,” charles spoke, pulling back to watch your face contort in pleasure; watch as you became putty in his hold. “barely touched you yet baby,” he cooed ━ you couldn’t help but whine, hips bucking against his hand as he circled your clit.

he took in every feature on your pretty face, able to live in the moment and not be rushed like last time. make you feel everything he wanted you too.

“who would’ve guessed you were such a slut,” charles mused; practically toying with you. he couldn’t help himself, not when you looked so pretty panting and whimpering in his lap.

“for you.” you whimpered, hand gripping his bicep tightly as your hips moved against his hand; yearning for more.

he grinned widely at that, rewarding your words as a finger pushed past your folds unexpectedly.

“all for me.” charles hummed in agreement, words still slightly breathless himself as his other hand moved to cup the side of your face, making avoiding his eyes impossible. “all mine.”

the statement had your stomach flipping, words you could used to. something you’d know a long time, but hearing it out loud was so refreshing.

you were his. he was yours.

“please charles,” you whined out impatiently, his toying with your cunt felt good; but you need more, your thighs a painted mess along with his hand by now.

your plea had him hardening again, words sounding so alluring coming from your lips.

“what do you want mon amour?” charles spoke through a breath, eyes gazing over you as if you were the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. because you were. “tell me, i’ll give it to you,” he promised; thumb grazing your cheek; such a delicate action that didn’t correlate with his thumb teasing your clit expertly.

you whimpered again, cheeks a tint of pink as your eyes fluttered shut momentarily, but they found charles gaze once more.

“all of you,” you spoke. “wanna feel you,” you sighed; his cock was pressing against your inner thigh ━ not helping with the urge to feel him inside you.

his lips curved upwards, pleased with your answer; and unable to deny himself any longer either. you’d both been through enough torture, he wouldn’t be delaying this any longer.

“want me to fuck you yeah?” charles paraphrased for you, hand leaving your cunt to find your waist; lifting you off his lap with ease and laying you beside him.

he was hovering over you within seconds, leaving you to nod eagerly below him. your hands found the hem of your dress, tugging it up and over your head as if that would help entice him.

but he didn’t need any help; he doesn’t think he’d last another second without being inside you.

he slid inside you without another word, your gasps intertwining as your own head fell back against his pillow; eyes fluttering shut at the stretch.

he gave you a moment to adjust, his head falling into the crook of your neck; light kisses peppered on your skin, a contrast to the way he was about to fuck you.

your hands tugging on his hair told him you wanted more; thrusting into you slowly and deeply at first, your mouth fell agape at the angle it hit ━ moans beginning to fall from your lips.

“charles, fuck,” you mumbled ━ fingers moving down his back, sure to leave marks as he gradually picked up the pace.

his thrusts got quicker, but not softer; fucking you into the mattress, all you could do was whimper and moan ━ eyes rolling back at the pleasuring sensation.

“so perfect for me,” charles grunted; the way you were squeezing him was better than he remembered, keeping his focus on your own pleasure because if not, he’d probably cum within moments.

“oh my god,” you all but practically squealed when he moved your leg over his shoulder, feeling as if he was splitting you open; you bit down on your lip to try shut up the now constant sounds.

charles wasn’t having a bar of it however.

“ah, ah,” charles breathed; hand moving to tap your cheek. “wanna hear you gorgeous girl. every fucking sound,” charles told you; eyes pouring into yours which made it clear he wasn’t joking.

you nodded weakly, on cue charles delivering a harsher thrust that had you choking out a moan once more.

it didn’t take long, for you to get brought to the edge; stomach growing tight as your eyes rolled back once more. cumming without warning, unable to process the pleasure you were feeling.

a moment of weakness for charles, watching as you shook beneath him and screamed his name; squeezing him suddenly, he almost came too. he didn’t though thankfully, because his focus was still you.

you weren’t prepared for him to not relent, instead feeling his hand snake between your bodies and find your clit, eyes flying open.

“o-oh,” you gasped, the onslaught of pleasure hard to cope with as your hands gripped onto his back tightly, nails digging into his skin as he smirked down at you.

“take it baby,” charles grunted; eyebrows raising momentarily. “too much?” his question was teasing, and he couldn’t help the breathy chuckle when you shook your head; scared he’d stop. you didn’t want him to stop.

you weren’t sure you could take it, but you were going to try. you’d do anything for him when he was touching you like this.

“so good,” you moaned; tears welling in your eyes quickly from the overstimulation, body jolting with every thrust which hadn’t relented.

his stamina impressive, having not slowed down nor gotten sloppy as he pounded into you.

you were struggling to keep your eyes open now, lost in the pleasure. but charles wanted to watch you, and wanted you to watch him as you pushed you over the edge once more.

“look at me baby,” charles grunted; pinching your clit lightly which had your eyes flying open, meeting his. “gonna watch me as you cum again yeah?” charles told you, his own breaths heavier now as he struggled to not let himself revel in the feeling of you.

you nodded, again, like a broken record; all your effort focused on watching him as your face contorted in pleasure. maybe even a tear or two fell, the familiar feeling washing over you again suddenly as he delivered another harsh thrust. and another. and suddenly it was as if he found new energy somewhere.

you all but screamed his name as you came again suddenly, coming undone on his cock. he was close behind, unable to resist with the way your walls squeezed him again.

your heavy breaths filled the room as charles helped you both ride out your highs, before sliding out of you, he remained above you regardless.

he was looking at you in awe, hand pushing some of your hair away that had gotten stuck to your forehead, earning a lazy smile from you in return.

“i could get used to that,” your words broke the silence; eyes flickering to his lips which gave charles the hint to place a kiss on your lips, a delicate one unlike those shared earlier.

he’d chuckled at your words afterwards, humming in agreement as his hand ran up and down your side comfortingly.

“me too,” charles agreed with a grin; pressing yet another kiss to your lips, a longer one this time; passionate and slow. enjoying the moment. the peace of it all.

when you pulled away moments later, you practically beamed as you urged him off of you; moving to straddle him instead.

you had a lot of time to make up for.

━━━━━

a/n: oh she’s bACK BACK CHARLES FIC YAY

hope u liked, still rusty lol i don’t rlly like the smut but i did enjoy writing the angst hehe

unedited sorry i’ll get to that later like usual oOps

as always feedback is always greatly encouraged and appreciated, means the world to me so pls share ur thoughts 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

luv u all !!!!!!!

[ohdeerfully]

Requests? I got you 😌

Reader who made a deal with Alastor, be his informant, and he'll provide aid when needed. And reader was damn good at holding up their end of the deal, while Alastor hasn't really needed to uphold his since aid hasn't been asked for.

So what might happen when his dear little informant hasn't came back from gathering info on the Vee's?

EATING IT UP idk i love this kind of stuff thank you so much. im making this a two-parter! it was getting kinda long and i wanted to get something posted (:

Your Half of the Deal (i)

Alastor x Reader part i part ii part iiiTW: kidnapping, cursing, alastor is manipulative (per usual), alastor is in denial if you want to be tagged in the next part, let me know! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Deals with Alastor were, for a lack of better words, a big deal. Not something to mess around with. His twisted nature allowed him to create so many loopholes for himself, forcing one to do more than what they bargained him for. It was unfair, but that’s what happens when you make a deal with the Radio Demon.

You weren’t as lucky as the other demons at the hotel, not receiving the typical advice Vaggie debriefed any newcomer. Alastor got to you first. He got you soon after you fell into Hell, before you even knew exactly what was going on or the whole ‘soul’ thing. 

“My,” A light voice cooed from the shadows, causing you to jerk your head up. Your ass still stung from the tumble you took after falling down into god knows where. You were curled up in a dark, moldy corner, a brief respite from all the freaks that you kept running into. Your fingers–no, claws?--still aches after defending yourself from a pair of spiked thugs.

“What a poor sight. How dreadful!” He continued. You could barely make out the form of the speaker. You just knew he was tall. With blazing red eyes. His voice had a radio-like filter over it, with a general low frequency humming around himself during the silence.

He had seen you, a new fallen demon, fight yourself away from those two earlier, a wild look in your eye. How it pleased him, seeing that look somebody gets when they are desperate for their life. But you, in particular, piqued his interest. To be able to acclimate to a new body, in a new place, and fight for your life at the drop of your hat.

You seemed capable, and he liked that. He knew you were naive, fresh meat always was. And he liked that.

You had yet to speak, only looking up at him from your fetal position. But he could tell you were tense and ready to spring, if need be. He played a grin on his face and leaned down closer to you.

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m Alastor,” He held his hand out to you from his bent over position. You shook his hand cautiously. “I saw that scuffle earlier, and dear if I may say, you fight like a wild tigress.” 

You quirked your brow at this comment. “Thanks,” You replied plainly. “(Y/N).” You didn’t want to talk right now. But, you were at least glad to see a face that didn’t immediately go through your throat. 

Alastor, of course, didn’t go after those of the ‘fairer means,’ as he would put it. At least, not in a violent way. He was all for the typical manipulation.

“Even still, a fair lady such as yourself needs someone to protect her! And,” He stood up straight again, a dangerous glint in your eye. “For a price, I could be at your beck and call.”

“A price..?” You responded weakly. You had to admit, seeing this tall, confident man in front of you did seem to put you at ease. He seemed kind. And it wouldn’t hurt to have some help, if there were more creatures wanting to attack you.

“Your soul!” He said, all too cheerfully. Your mouth dried up at this. With everything that has happened to you so far, you had a hunch that the term ‘soul’ actually carried meaning in this place. But, how much..? Was it worth the protection he promised?

“More like a mutual contract, really! Mutual benefactors!” Alastor lied, seeing that hesitance in your expression. “I get your soul, you do what I ask, and I protect you! Simple enough.” 

The expression he held, with that tall grin of his, didn’t do much to calm your nerves. As chipper as he seemed, there was something to it. Something more, but you couldn’t quite tell.

“Deal?”

His glowing eyes seemed to darken as he squinted them in anticipation, his smile somehow growing wider. The static in the air seemed to crackle with more energy, almost violently, as you considered his hand that he had held out. There was an ominous aura that made your skin crawl.

Ah, what the hell. Flashes of those thugs from earlier was enough to put you on your feet. You could only imagine the other shit that lived in this place, and had a feeling they were the bottom of the barrel. You had only just managed to get away from them.

You made eye contact for a couple of seconds, the prickling sensation on your skin becoming harsher and more aggravating the closer you stepped to him. You grabbed his hand.

You were thinking about your unlucky situation–which you often did in your free time–as you gave yourself a onceover in the mirror, black eyes examining your tight outfit. A little spy getup–a little stereotypical, something you would definitely see in the movies. But, hey, it never failed you.

Thinking back, you could tell now that his words and smile were filled with deceit and manipulation. You often got pissed at yourself for how naive you were. You hadn’t even called on him once since then, and you’ve been stuck as his little pet for nearly four months now. He runs you around like a doll in a big playhouse, sending you this way and that to get intellect from his various enemies.

“I’m much too popular to be roaming in those areas!” He had claimed when you questioned why he, the Radio Demon, couldn’t just do it himself. “Demons flee at the sight of me. The Vee’s would see me from a mile away.” You had a suspicion that he just didn’t want to be seen in public making such a petty fuss over his television rival.

There was no point in dwelling on it, but you couldn’t help the occasional feeling of regret that twinged your chest when you thought too long. You were stuck as his, whether you liked it or not. 

Slicking back your hair, you finalized your sleek outfit. Another day of being thrown into precarious situations by that red asshole. It was becoming a weekly thing, with Alastor requesting more and more information, especially from those Vee’s he hated so much. In fact, now that you thought about it, they were the only demons you snuck by. How obsessed they were with each other.

It was no easy task, getting through the security of that place. In fact, it was nearly impossible, seemingly getting harder every time. You had a cautious feeling that they knew what you were up to, and kept falling short of catching or stopping you. There were cameras pointed in every direction, every angle, in the highest quality imaginable. Every trip left your heart racing with adrenaline.

“On your way now, are you?” Alastor asked coyly. He waited for you at the entrance to the hotel, a glint in his eyes. Oh, how he loved playing with you like this. Watching you bend and break for him. He loved it. And you hated him for it.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get killed this time,” You said snidely, referencing the increasing danger of each trip. “Wouldn’t that be a treat for me.” You said this in a whisper, but Alastor still heard.

He bent at the waist to be eye level with you, that sinister grin of his lowering slightly. It seemed he had wanted to say something, his teeth parting for a moment before closing again. His grin perked back up and he straightened himself into a stand. He simply reached out and patted your head.

“Now, don’t go out with that kind of mindset! Why, you know our deal!” His lips curled in reference to the rather one-sided promise you made each other. To be honest, considering you never had to call for Alastor’s aid, you weren’t even comforted by the notion. Who’s to say he even shows up? How will he even know if you need help?

Alastor stepped towards you, his hands flapping as he shooed you out of the door. “The night is only so long! Go along!”

So, now you’re here. Tucked behind a corner near the Vee’s residence. There were cameras everywhere, obviously, and you swore you saw more than last time. What point does Alastor even have, making you come here so often? What more could he want? You knew him and Vox were rivals, but it wasn’t like Alastor didn’t know how to take care of the TV-head.

You had a sick feeling that Alastor just enjoyed making you do bullshit for him like this, and didn’t care much for the actual information. The thought drew a sneer on your face. If you weren’t literally soul bound to this guy, you would probably just let yourself get caught and likely killed on the spot. But, of course, your deal made that dream impossible. 

With a couple hops on your toes, you began your brisk walk towards the back of the manor. You were hyper aware of all the cameras, and hoped that your dark outfit helped blend with the shadows. 

However, the second you lifted a window and stepped foot into the building, lights flashed and an alarm rang. Fuck.

The television demon himself got to you surprisingly fast. As if he had been waiting. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have surprised you. You briefly wondered why it took them so long to have an alarm system in the first place, and began frantically looking for a way out. The window behind you had shut and locked. The hallway was incredibly narrow and Vox stood in the way.

Fuck it, you made a mad dash for the Overlord, hoping to catch him off guard. You raised a clawed hand and swiped at his television head. A pointless attack, you realize, as the screen nearly flickered for a moment; his wide, pixelated grin staring into you. Before you could move again, his arm tightly gripped at your throat. You felt an electrifying sensation, stinging through every nerve, and blacked out.

“Heyy, Al?” Charlie’s voice rang through the doorway of Alastor’s radio tower. “Have you seen (Y/N)..? She was supposed to help with some decorations.” She had opened the door without warning.

He paced back and forth in thought, gripping the top of his cane with one hand and tapping the end of it in his other. He didn’t respond to Charlie, but the question did ring in his head over and over. You hadn’t come back from the night before. You always came back before the day broke.

He didn’t know the feeling that stirred in his chest as he watched the minutes pass by. The hours pass by. All without a sight of you. He never thought to keep watch as you worked, refraining from sending his shadow to spy on the spy, as he always saw you as capable enough. 

Besides, he thought to himself. What a waste of my time that would be. Fretting over a single demon.

“Alastor,” Charlie said again. He craned his neck to her, stopping his train of thought. His grin had a strain to it and his nose wrinkled in aggravation. Why was she in his space? He hated intrusions.

“What?” He said bluntly.

“(Y/N)?” She spoke your name again, hoping to prompt some conversation out of the Radio demon with the implied question.

Alastor composed himself, acting unphased by the… worry? That he felt. “Why would I know where she is? I take care of this hotel, but not so much the residents.” It was a true enough statement, as he preferred just watching the demons Charlie try desperately to rehabilitate and fail miserably every day. 

“Now, if you don’t mind,” He interrupted Charlie before she could say anything, her mouth hanging open and words dying on her tongue. He briskly turned on his feet and walked towards her, standing at the doorway. “I would prefer you knock next time.” He shut the door on her.

He couldn’t handle the heavy feeling that threatened his lungs as he thought about what was happening at the Vee’s residence. 

Did he really care to go out, risk a scene, risk the intel, just to get you? To make sure you were okay?

Yeah. He had to. He hated that feeling in his chest, especially as it just grew heavier and more overwhelming. He just chalked it up to the deal he had made with you putting a pressure on his own soul to hurry up and deal with it. But he couldn’t help the tightness that consumed him when he thought about what you were doing in that place. Or what they were doing to you. He brushed the emotion aside, trying his best to ignore it.

He argued with himself that yeah, he was only going because of that deal he had made. No, no way did he have a soft spot for you. No way in Hell. He was just doing this to hold up his deal. Yeah.

With a heavy sigh and a twitch at the corners of his lips, he brushed his talon-like fingers through the fringe of his hair, pushing it back before letting it fall into place again. He tried to maintain a leisurely composure, but a wild glint in his eye was proof enough that he was stressed out.

Best to get this over with. He had a deal to uphold. He opted for the faster route, melting into his shadow.

part ii part iii

[the-californicationist]

he comes closer and closer...

Price/Reader - TW: bondage, explicit consent, anal fingering, begging, male whimpering, edgeplay, blowjobs

“I want you to remember, especially in an hour or so, that you asked for this,” you kissed his bearded cheek softly, smelling his cologne, “Begged for it, even.”

“Aye. I did,” he replied, his accent thick and heady.

Captain Price was fully naked and strapped down to his office desk, tied with a length of paracord. His body was stretched out like a rubber band, his skin shining from sweat and covered in dark hair. You could hear his labored breathing and feel his eyes on you, watching you as you walked around the desk, rubbing his arms and legs with your hands, playing with his nipples, fondling him everywhere except where he wanted you to. 

“And yet, you say I’m being unfair?” You pouted playfully, settling yourself between his knees, purposely avoiding his twitching cock.

“Edging involves at least a little…attention. Touch me, love. Please.”

“Begging again? How desperate you are tonight,” you smiled, lowering your mouth just above where his pink head could reach. Watching his hips and cock strain towards you was enchanting. 

“Baby, please, it aches. You can’t…please, don’t just leave me like this.”

“Maybe just one little taste, hmm? Just to see if you’ll be a good boy.”

“I will,” he strained harder, fighting the ropes, “I will, I promise. Please-please-please…”

“I don’t know, Captain. Do you remember the rules?”

“Yes, love, I remember. Please, just -”

“Tell me.”

He sighed, and you watched his abs flex on the exhale, his belly convulsing with his ragged breaths,

“I have to warn you when I come, and…”

“And?” You drug out the word like a sticky strand of taffy, pulling it to the point of breaking. 

“...and if I don’t, I can’t have your cunt.”

“No, you can’t. So, be good, John. Show me you want this pussy.”

He growled, 

“Fuck, I want it right bloody now. Please, baby, I -”

“Shh. Enough. You need to learn patience, my darling. We’re just getting started.”

You put a dollop of lube in your hand and rubbed it all over his shaft. He was so swollen, and the cockring you put around him had kept him that way for a while. It was wrapped around the base of his shaft and under his balls, stretching the skin and keeping it rigid. He was grunting as you worked him, his whole body reacting to your touch. The desk creaked as he strained against it. You were a little concerned about its integrity. If he broke the straps, or the desk, there were no rules left to bind him. 

“Mmm, unhgh…yeah, just like that. Fuuuuuck…” Price groaned loudly. 

You stopped, pulling away from him with a wet pop. 

“Ah! No, no, no…” He complained. 

You ran your fingers up and down his torso, threatening to touch his cock again. Every time you got close, you could hear the wood of the desk cry out, stretching from his strength. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked him, licking his nipple, biting his skin. 

“Oh, fuck, yes it does. Please, come back.”

You returned to his cock, but instead of quick solid strokes, you pulled him slowly, painfully slowly, and at an odd angle, so none of his regular sensations were available for him to hold onto. Each time you pulled up and over his cockhead, he would grunt for you, like an angry bull. 

Changing your grip, you massaged his balls and he sighed. Then, you rubbed his inner thighs and the skin behind his sack and between his legs, pressing on his internal root, jerking it as if it were his cock at the surface. It made his dick flag up and down as you did so, and he did everything he could to move you either forwards or back, being cruelly teased by your positioning. 

You stopped again. You heard him groan deep and low. His cock was rosy pink, flushed with blood and thicker than you’d ever seen it. You put some lube on your finger and dipped between his legs, finding his asshole, warm and covered in thick hair. He jolted, as much as the ropes would allow.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you remember Warsaw?”

His eyes were wild, but then they went ice cold, the realization washing over him. You chuckled, continuing, rimming your finger around his hole as you spoke, 

“You found me during our field training, and you held me down, plunging those fingers into my pussy and my ass, not allowing me to come for a whole evening, telling me that only bad soldiers got caught, and since I was bad, I didn’t deserve an orgasm. Have you been bad, John?”

You slipped a finger past his outer muscles, feeling the smooth skin inside of his asshole, massaging it in slow, aching circles. He held his breath, but he was shaking his head back and forth, protesting against your appraisal of his sins. You checked in with him, pausing your movements.

“Green or yellow?”

It took a few moments, but he growled out a very clear, 

“Green, love. Green.”

You pushed your finger in until you found the spot you were looking for. You began to rub little firm circles inside of him while jerking his cock with your free hand. There was so much to love about the feedback you were getting from him. His face was wide with intense pleasure, and his pupils were fully blown. You thrust your hand around him faster, focusing on his head. As soon as you saw his eyes clench shut, you removed yourself from him entirely. 

“No! Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, frustrated and desperate for you to let him finish. 

“Mmm, about to break a rule, Captain? You never were good at following orders.”

You sucked his cock into your mouth, softly, gently, and applied almost no suction. He bucked against the table, slamming his hips and back into the wood. You could hear the ropes tightening against their bites. He was groaning and shaking from your warm, wet mouth. You lay your tongue at the base of his head and began to lap at his skin in long, slow licks. It was too slow and soft for him to feel any release, but it was enough to drive him past the point of normalcy. 

“Fuck! Fuck, more. More, love. I need more, please. Please. Please! Fuuuuuuck.”

You put your finger at the entrance of his asshole, but you didn’t enter him again. Still, he throbbed in your mouth, just the idea of you touching him inside gave him the same sensation. You pulled him out of you and leisurely massaged his dick again, keeping him right on the edge of his pleasure. Price was literally trembling with every moment of your touch, loudly grunting, unashamed of his behavior. 

Then, you decided to finger him again, taking it away the moment his breathing changed. You put him back in your mouth. Then, you took him out. At one point, you left him altogether, making a cup of tea and drinking it while you sat in his office chair, watching him watch you. Smiling. He thrashed against the ropes. 

He really was terrifying, objectively. Price could kill you in less than a second if he wanted to. He was enormous, muscular, and sharp as a knife. There was no where you could run, and there was no chance of you fighting him off. As you watched him writhe and pull at his bindings, you studied his form. His strong legs and huge ass provided immense leverage against the desktop, bowing the edges of its planks downward - ever so slightly - as he thrust against it. The captain’s wide chest bulged with his mountainous shoulders, causing the rope to whine as it tightened on its knot, the fibers stretching past their limits. Every time he threw his hips down in blissful agony, the whole room shuddered. He was like some sort of beast you’d caught in a trap. A tiger by the tail. 

Finally, you decided to end his suffering, but he didn’t know that. As you approached the desk again, he began to beg you,

“Please, love. Please. I’ll be good. I promise. Please, let me come. I’ll be good. Baby, please…”

There it was. That’s what you wanted. An obedient Price was a rare sight, and seeing him unfold right before your very eyes, like a rose in bloom, relaxing into your will - it was mesmerizing. You wanted to rub your nose in those pliant petals, bend them back away from his honeyed center. You were hooked. 

“Mmm. That's it, baby. Surely, such a good boy deserves a reward, hm?”

“Oh, fuck,” his tone was dark now that he knew what was coming. 

You put your mouth on him and grabbed his balls gently in your hand, sucking him with a strong rhythm, massaging his heavy sack with each thrust of your head. Price wasn’t that long, but his girth was a struggle. You pushed past it, giving the man what he’d been waiting for, choking yourself, pulling off his cockring and letting the blood flow back into his core as you swallowed his head in the back of your throat. 

"I'm gonna come. Oh, my God. I'm gonna fuckin' come, baby. Yes-yes-yes...ahhh!"

The wait was so worth it. With each bob of your head, he seized and panicked. It was as if every suckle was giving him a separate orgasm, and he came like a firehose. It squirted down your throat, hot and salty, and he was screaming for you. You were certain the whole base could hear him, even though they were all the way in the barracks. His legs locked out straight, pulling the ropes tight, and his back arched off of the desk in perfect agony. 

You drained his cock by pulling out the last few drops from his shaft, licking them up like dripping ice cream from a cone. Then, you untied his legs and hands. He lay there, panting, his face twisted in complexity, feeling aftershocks and riding them out, sated and drunkenly happy. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, girl, you better start runnin'. As soon as I get my legs, you are in for it.”

You bolted for the door, looking back at him over your shoulder, grinning. He had already rolled off of the desk and was trying to throw on his shorts, stumbling, slowly catching his bearings, quickly getting ready to hunt you down.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

Read Part 2 here.

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

CoD Headcanons: Back From a Mission Gone Wrong

A/N: Hello friends! So sorry for not posting in a while. Will try to post some hcs and fics more often!

Please check out my 200 follower giveaway if you want a chance to win a customized fic!!

Ghost:

He's so pissed

At first, he doesn't say a thing 

But finally he explodes

Yelling, getting up close

He won't back down until he's got it all out

And once he does, he just walks away to cool down

"You're fucking insane! You're a trained soldier, not some war hero in a movie!" 

"LT, it was just-"

His voice raised even higher until he was shouting. "No excuses! It was fucking reckless and you know it!"

"What, and you don't get to-"

"Shut the fuck up! This isn't a fucking game! I'm so sick of you trying to pull these stunts. You wanna be punished for insubordination? This is the third fucking time you haven't listened to me! And I'm so fucking sick of it!"

You felt your face growing hot. Everyone stared at the two of you as Ghost continued to yell at you. It felt so unfair. You were just doing what you thought was right. But now he was acting like you have never done a single thing right. With a thick swallow, you lowered your head. You couldn't say a thing. He eventually stopped. And once he did, he walked away, leaving you to face the stares of everyone else.

Soap:

Absolutely in shambles

He was so scared that you were gonna die 

He's dealt with this before, but not in a way like this

Soap has never been so terrified

So as soon as he sees you, he clings onto you

Soap's arms were wrapped securely around you. Normally, you wouldn't mind the affection. But now that your arm was in a sling and you were trying to eat lunch, this was more of a nuisance. You groaned, trying to shake off your clingy boyfriend. He didn't budge. It's been only one day since you came back, but he's acting like you'd disappear in a puff of smoke.

"Soap, I need to eat."

He shook his head. "Five more minutes."

"Are you not embarrassed? We're literally in the cafeteria and everyone is staring." You tried pushing him off once again. No luck. 

"I don't care. I almost lost you, so I'm never letting you go again."

Gaz:

He tries to make it seem like he was calm

He knows your strengths and how you manage to pull through

But Gaz can't help but let out a sigh of relief when he sees you in the infirmary

Gaz would sit down next to you and flash you a smile

Crack a joke about how you're immortal

"Well, well, well. You made it back. How unlucky." Gaz sat next to you on the cot. 

You snorted and rolled your eyes. "Wow. I love your concern for me."

"I can't be concerned." He reached out, grabbing your hand. "I know you'll always come back to me."

"Of course I will."

Price:

A mix of anger and concern

The type to be super silent 

That's when you know you've fucked up

Lecture in his office

Will hug you after

The office was silent except for the ticking of his clock. You watched as Price sat back in his seat, smoking a cigar. Your uninjured hand tapped nervously against your thigh. He had just spent the past twenty minutes lecturing you on being more careful and vigilant on missions. But now was the scary part. The silence.

"Captain, I'm really sorry." You finally managed to speak. "I thought I was in the clear. They just came out of nowhere, and I-"

Your words were interrupted as he suddenly got up from his desk. He stalked over to you and leaned down. He hugged you tightly. Cigar smoke curled around the both of you like a second embrace. Your body relaxed.

"Captain…"

"Don't ever do that again."

"Yes, sir."

Alejandro:

He's there when you arrive on base

Immediately looks you over to make sure you're okay

Will mutter under his breath at how reckless you are

But praises you for getting out of there alive

Alejandro was staring at you with his arms crossed as you limped off the aircraft. You could already see the gears turning in his mind, deciding if he should scold you or immediately send you to the infirmary. When you finally stood in front of him, he lifted your chin with his fingers.

"Look at you. How reckless." He mumbled under his breath. His eyes traveled over your face.

"Sorry."

"I know. But you did good, getting out of there alive. I'm proud of you."

König:

The type of anxious guy that has to be doing something

He knows your hurt when you come back, but he isn't there to see you

Instead, he's in the gym, working out

You actually have to find him 

When he sees you, he just kinda breaks down a bit

König wasn't waiting for you when you got back from the mission. You wanted nothing more than to collapse in his arms and complain about how everything went wrong. And yet, he was nowhere to be found. You searched practically the whole base before finding him in the gym, lifting weights.

"I'm back." You said, walking closer to him.

His back was facing you. "I know."

"Can you look at me?"

He turned around. You could just see his shoulders deflate as he looked at your injured body. You sighed and walked up to him. He buried you in a tight hug, his cheek resting on your head. He squeezed you as tightly as possibly. You felt almost bad for messing up on the mission and worrying him.

Keegan:

Calls you idiotic, but brave

Has a bright smile on his face

Can't believe you got out of there alive

Tells you to not do that shit again

Keegan's hands slowly ran down your arms as he looked over you. His eyes were shining with pride. You had just come stumbling out of the Humvee, dizzy and disoriented. After throwing off your helmet, you stare up at Keegan.

"I didn't die!"

"No, you didn't. You're so stupid."

"But brave, right?"

"Right."

Graves:

Will make fun of you

Never thought you would fuck up a mission that badly

Will be incredibly annoying about it

Doesn't even offer to help you?!

Bitch

Graves couldn't stop laughing. He was doubled over, his hand clutching his stomach. You stood in front of him, battered and bruised. A glare was on your face as you waited for him to finish. Of course he wasn't concerned. He was an asshole, why would he be?

"I can't believe you fucked up so badly!"

"Graves…"

"You crashed into a ditch!"

"Graves, I am bleeding profusely! Shut up and help me!"

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A taxonomy of corporate bullshit

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

There are six lies that corporations have told since time immemorial, and Nick Hanauer, Joan Walsh and Donald Cohen's new book Corporate Bullsht: Exposing the Lies and Half-Truths That Protect Profit, Power, and Wealth in America* provides an essential taxonomy of this dirty six:

https://thenewpress.com/books/corporate-bullsht

In his review for The American Prospect, David Dayen summarizes how these six lies "offer a civic-minded, reasonable-sounding justification for positions that in fact are motivated entirely by self-interest":

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-10-27-lies-my-corporation-told-me-hanauer-walsh-cohen-review/

I. Pure denial

As far back as the slave trade, corporate apologists and mouthpieces have led by asserting that true things are false, and vice-versa. In 1837, John Calhoun asserted that "Never before has the black race of Central Africa, from the dawn of history to the present day, attained a condition so civilized and so improved, not only physically, but morally and intellectually." George Fitzhugh called enslaved Africans in America "the freest people in the world."

This tactic never went away. Children sent to work in factories are "perfectly happy." Polluted water is "purer than the water that came from the river before we used it." Poor families "don't really exist." Pesticides don't lead to "illness or death." Climate change is "beneficial." Lead "helps guard your health."

II. Markets can solve problems, governments can't

Alan Greenspan made a career out of blithely asserting that markets self-correct. It was only after the world economy imploded in 2008 that he admitted that his doctrine had a "flaw":

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/greenspan-admits-flaw-to-congress-predicts-more-economic-problems

No matter how serious a problem is, the market will fix it. In 1973, the US Chamber of Commerce railed against safety regulations, because "safety is good business," and could be left to the market. If unsafe products persist in the market, it's because consumers choose to trade safety off "for a lower price tag" (Chamber spox Laurence Kraus). Racism can't be corrected with anti-discrimination laws. It's only when "the market" realizes that racism is bad for business that it will finally be abolished.

III. Consumers and workers are to blame

In 1946, the National Coal Association blamed rampant deaths and maimings in the country's coal-mines on "carelessness on the part of men." In 2003, the National Restaurant Association sang the same tune, condemning nutritional labels because "there are not good or bad foods. There are good and bad diets." Reagan's interior secretary Donald Hodel counseled personal responsibility to address a thinning ozone layer: "people who don’t stand out in the sun—it doesn’t affect them."

IV. Government cures are always worse than the disease

Lee Iacocca called 1970's Clean Air Act "a threat to the entire American economy and to every person in America." Every labor and consumer protection before and since has been damned as a plague on American jobs and prosperity. The incentive to work can't survive Social Security, welfare or unemployment insurance. Minimum wages kill jobs, etc etc.

V. Helping people only hurts them

Medicare will "destroy private initiative for our aged to protect themselves with insurance" (Republican Senator Milward Simpson, 1965). Covid relief is unfair to people that are currently in the workforce" (Republican Governor Brian Kemp, 2021). Welfare produces "learned helplessness."

VI. Everyone who disagrees with me is a socialist

Grover Cleveland's 2% on top incomes is "communistic warfare against rights of property" (NY Tribune, 1895). "Socialized medicine" will leave "our children and our children’s children [asking] what it once was like in America when men were free" (Reagan, 1961).

Everything is "socialism": anti-child labor laws, Social Security, minimum wages, family and medical leave. Even fascism is socialism! In 1938, the National Association of Manufacturers called labor rights "communism, bolshevism, fascism, and Nazism."

As Dayen says, it's refreshing to see how the right hasn't had an original idea in 150 years, and simply relies on repeating the same nonsense with minor updates. Right wing ideological innovation consists of finding new ways to say, "actually, your boss is right."

The left's great curse is object permanence: the ability to remember things, like the fact that it used to be possible for a worker to support a family of five on a single income, or that the economy once experienced decades of growth with a 90%+ top rate of income tax (other things the left manages to remember: the "intelligence community" are sociopathic monsters, not Trump-slaying heroes).

When the business lobby rails against long-overdue antitrust action against Amazon and Google, object permanence puts it all in perspective. The talking points about this being job-destroying socialism are the same warmed-over nonsense used to defend rail-barons and Rockefeller. "If you don't like it, shop elsewhere," has been the corporate apologist's line since slavery times.

As Dayen says, Corporate Bullshit is a "reference book for conservative debating points, in an attempt to rob them of their rhetorical power." It will be out on Halloween:

https://bookshop.org/a/54985/9781620977514

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/27/six-sells/#youre-holding-it-wrong

[glassica]

Outsiders

Notes: M!yan transmigrator x Gn!reader reincarnator, isekai, jealousy, mentions of violence

Continued from Second Male Lead, with a different yan.

"Looks like someone got rejected huh?", your best friend tucked head to the side, eyes full of mischief, didn't bother pretending to sympathize with your loss for a bit. This was why you dreaded seeing him so much. You knew well he would just make fun of your miserable love life.

"Shut up! He didn't. I just realize that I'm no match to the heroine!", you groaned, shooting an icy glare at your friend, "Honestly how am I supposed to compete with the universe's favorite?! I know she's the main character but still... isn't it too unfair for us extras?"

"Unfair only for you, I actually have a blast there. Crazy how relaxing life is when you not aiming too out of league.”

He laughed and teased you senselessly, but inside the man was breathing sighs of relief. You didn't want to know what would he do to the second male lead had you two become a couple. Nothing much, just some little stabs on the chest and limbs ripping apart maybe...

At first he was so scared seeing himself transported to this world. He knew about the isekai stuff, but applying those knowledge to reality was a different story. He had no clue about the worldbuilding nor the plot, thus struggled desperately to blended in high society. Besides, he couldn't tell anyone about him belonging to different world, he would be called crazy and outcasted from all circles.

So it was a miracle that he met you, another soul stuck in same situation. Because you had read the series and been living there since birth, you were able to provide him with necessary information about the novel. Through you, he learned about the Kingdom, the protagonists, the future events, etc. in addition to all the etiquette and secrets of nobility. At one point, you confessed to him about the second male lead, the love of your (now and previous) life.

Who you pined after was none of his business, yet the man found himself growing unbearably irritated the more he heard about that name. Your best friend always bore a bitter grin on his face whenever you gushed about your crush, sometimes he sneaked in snide remarks, suggesting the second lead was probably just a mediocre guy. “If he was really charming like you made him out to be,” your friend argued, “he should’ve been the hero instead of getting shoved outside midway to be honest.” You huffed, who he thought he is to downplay the man of your dream like that? And why did your friend like belittling your feelings so much?

No. He didn’t look down on you at all, he just hated the fact that you were paying attention anyone but not him. He couldn’t accept the sight of you longing for another man when he was right there. The one who was aware of your deepest secret, the one who witnessed all your goodness and uglies, the one who could share your struggles of adapting to new world. He knew you the best, obviously he was the right choice for you.

And perhaps the man should admit deep down, he was also terrified of the future without you. You had come and guided him through the puzzling maze of noble life, be there for him when he was on verge of giving up everything. He had been acquainted with your lovely presence, no way he would let anyone steal it away from him. Little dirt on hands wasn’t a bad price to pay if that means you would be chained forever to him.

You might be a worthless extra in their story, but always the main character in his story.

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Revealing Clothing

Summary: Having all of 141 over for Simon’s birthday isn’t the problem, it’s what you got him. 

A/N: Based on the old beer poster trend on tik tok.

Word Count: 1.2k (Barely Edited)

It was only supposed to be a gag gift. Honestly, you forgot about it right after getting it framed and printed. It was stuffed in the back of your closet for so long that you had to wipe away dust from the wrapping paper. 

You were scrolling mindlessly on social media while Simon was away on the job, and the video had popped up. At first, you only giggled at the idea and continued on. But as the day went on, it kept popping up in your mind. It really was just a spontaneous idea, something you and Simon would laugh at and then forget about after you showed him. 

It just so happened to be a few months before Simon’s birthday, and you told yourself you would randomly give it to him as you both sipped on some drinks with a movie playing in the living room. But, since you totally forgot about it, you had decided to invite Simon’s coworkers over to celebrate with you. Simon, of course, had grunted when you told him to invite them over. But after a few pleading looks (and telling him he wouldn’t be able to touch you at all for a week), he relented and agreed. 

They all sat around in the den, reminiscing over old stories while a game played low on the TV. Food was free for grabs in the kitchen for the boys to get up and grab plates of while they sipped on beers and glasses of hard liquor. Gifts were placed on the coffee table, waiting for the time when Simon would need to open them. Honestly, everything was going fine. The boys were in high spirits despite finishing a gruesome mission less than a week ago, and Simon was more relaxed than he would ever admit. 

But then, after Simon sat awkwardly through an out of tune rendition of happy birthday and blowing out candles, it was time for gifts. You had kissed his cheek and carried the rest of the uneaten cake back to the fridge for storing, leaving the boys to their whoops of excitement every time Simon opened a gift. By the time you got back, Simon was on to the last gift. You sat next to him on the sofa and tried not to laugh when Simon unwrapped a pair of socks with Soap’s face printed over the entirety of it. 

As Simon grumbled about them through the boys’ laughter, Price turned to you with a soft smile. “How about you, kid? What did ya get Ghost? Didn’t see a gift from ‘ya,”

That instantly caught the other boys’ attention, the boys started asking the same question while Simon stared at you silently. Your brows were furrowed in confusion about why your gift wasn’t with the rest when the memory of it hit you. Your face instantly went a deep red and you picked up Simon’s glass to take a nervous sip. 

“Oh, um.. It’s in the room but, y’know… it’s fine really. I can just get it later.” You mumbled into the glass, not meeting their eyes.

All the boys groaned in protest, complaining how unfair it is that all they got to see was ugly Soap socks. You could only chuckle nervously while Simon leaned slightly towards you, “It’s okay, lovie. Go get it.” 

The soft look in his eyes made you a goner. You gulped nervously and got up, walking to you and Simon’s shared bedroom before opening the closet. You pulled out the rectangular gift and walked back to the group. They instantly shouted their excitement when they saw you with the gift in hand. 

You sat back to Simon, a shy smile on your face as you handed it to him with a small Happy Birthday, Si. With the gift covering both of you due to the sheer size, he mumbled back a thanks with a small kiss to your cheek. He opened it slowly, brows furrowing as he got more and more confused as he revealed it. When he ripped enough of the wrapping paper off to get a clear image, he froze and tensed with a soft curse. Fuck.

Through the hole in the wrapping, a picture of you in a skimpy (and impractical) military outfit was revealed. It was more of an army green bikini, fake weapon holsters wrapped around your thighs like garters. A cropped military jacket was draped over your shoulders and knee high black boots traveled up your legs. You looked like an overly sexualized video game character, standing in an open legged and confident pose in front of a fake desert background. Simon pushed a bit of the paper away from one of the sides, revealing a skull mask in your hand resting against your leg. Simon gulped as he focused on it. 

“Is it that bad L.T? Let us have a peak!” Gaz spoke up, trying to lean closer toward Ghost to take a look at what he was staring so intensely at.

Simon instantly growled at him, pushing the gift into his chest and away from any peering eyes. He turned his head to you, a glare on his face. Now he understands your hesitance to give him the gift in front of his friends. You gulped and mouthed out a sorry. He turned away from you again, pushing Gaz’s face away from him with a strangled, “No.”

The boys complained again, trying to convince their lieutenant to show them what you got him. He instantly shut it down, telling them to back off before going back to the bedroom to keep the picture away from them. When he left, everyone tried to get you to tell them what it was. You only shrugged and sipped sheepishly on Simon’s drink. 

Soon after, you were showing everyone out. The game was over and barely any food was left. The boys thanked you for inviting them over, clapping Simon’s back with the last of their birthday wishes before closing the door behind them. When the last of them left, Simon shut the door and turned around to face you. 

“Hi,” you whispered shyly, watching as he folded his arms and leaned back against the door.

“Hi,” was his gruff response back. 

Silence developed between the two, causing you to shift on your feet nervously. You were thinking about what else to say when Simon spoke up: “Who else?”

You blinked, surprised he was the first to speak and confused at his question, “Wha-”

“Who else saw that picture?” He clarified, pushing off the door and walking towards you.

You gulped at his closeness, watching nervously as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear gently. “Uh, my friend, you know the one who does photography during her free time, took the pictures and edited them. But I printed it at the self-printing center.”

Simon hummed in acknowledgement, lazily running his fingers up and down your neck and jaw. “Good.”

Another wave of silence stretched after that. You stood quietly as Simon continued lightly tracing the skin around your face before you spoke up again. “Did..did you, uh, like it?”

Simon chuckled lightly, bending down to place his face in the crook of your neck. You shiver as his warm breath and lips graze the sensitive skin of your throat. Simon’s hand runs down the side of you, until he grasps your hand. Ever so slowly, he drags your hand up to the front of his pants, holding it to the bulging fabric of his jeans.

“You could say that.”

The writing is BAD! I'm so sorry this is literally rushed and Simon is so OOC.

[calliesmemes]

DARKNESS STILL HAUNTS YOUR NARRATIVE

ASSORTED ASKBOX PROMPTS from various sources with dark and / or unsettling themes. The ominous feeling from before is still there, and its prominence has only grown …

* TRIGGERING THEMES MAY BE PRESENT, such as death, wealth inequality, and war. Please exercise caution and curate your space accordingly.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed

SPECIFY muse for multimuses

❛ When I look at a person, I see a person — not a rank, not a class, not a title. ❜

❛ What a strange girl you are. ❜

❛ History is written by the rich, and so the poor get blamed for everything. ❜

❛ I could corrupt you. It would be easy. ❜

❛ How many centuries deep is your wound? ❜

❛ You’ll be remembered more for what you destroy than what you create. ❜

❛ Bitter are the wars between brothers. ❜

❛ Power comes with a price. ❜

❛ Your power might destroy you if you don’t learn to control it. ❜

❛ I’m not going to let you anywhere near a battlefield! ❜

❛ War is sweet to those who have never fought. ❜

❛ Cowardice is everywhere in this country. ❜

❛ Which appeals to you more? Power, or love? ❜

❛ Inside my head, the war is everywhere. ❜

❛ You look like your grief and guilt and rage are eating you alive, bit by bit. ❜

❛ Good and evil are a question of perspective. ❜

❛ The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is the press coverage. ❜

❛ Your place is at home; you will fight another day. ❜

❛ How many more children do we have to sacrifice in this war? ❜

❛ When you talk to the dead, the dead will talk back. They’re always there, even if you can’t hear them. ❜

❛ I am half child, half ancient. ❜

❛ You’re like me. You’ve seen too much, too young. ❜

❛ Every word from your mouth, every turn of phrase, will be judged — and possibly used against you. ❜

❛ I prefer the most unfair peace over the most righteous war. ❜

❛ A love like ours could burn down a city. ❜

❛ In my experience, men only call women ‘mad’ when they are doing something inconvenient. ❜

❛ I will do anything to keep you safe from harm. ❜

❛ You wield an incredible amount of power with just your voice. ❜

❛ You know, everything old can be made new again. Like democracy. ❜

❛ You laugh like a little girl, and think like a martyr. ❜

❛ What is a home if not the first place you learn to run from? ❜

❛ Do you understand what it means when you have nowhere else to turn? ❜

❛ The war is never over. ❜

❛ We are products of our past, but we don’t have to be prisoners of it. ❜

❛ I dream of the past as if it were yet to come. ❜

❛ You have endured terrible suffering, haven’t you? ❜

❛ Your beauty terrifies me. ❜

❛ This is war — you never know who’s listening. ❜

❛ This is a land of dreams and madness, where childrens’ stories come to life. ❜

❛ The Earth is littered with the ruins of empires that believed they were eternal. ❜

❛ I’ll never get used to being alive. ❜

❛ We’ve been fighting this battle for too long. ❜

❛ We swore we’d never bow to tyranny. ❜

❛ Young men fall, I see their agony. ❜

❛ We all carry things inside us that no one else can see. ❜

❛ Your suffering can’t end until you stop identifying with it. ❜

❛ You have to be a bit of a liar to tell the story the right way. ❜

❛ I’m so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything. ❜

❛ You collect scars because you want proof that you’re paying for whatever sins you’ve committed. ❜

❛ You can escape reality, but you can’t escape the consequences of escaping reality. ❜

❛ Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn’t you rather be passionately and voraciously desired? ❜

❛ Sorrow found me when I was young. ❜

❛ The very heavens conspire against me! ❜

❛ Do you like the person that you’ve become under the weight of living? ❜

❛ The evil that men do lives on long after they themselves have gone. ❜

❛ You are not safe here. ❜

❛ I don’t know any places I can hide from the voices that are tearing me apart from the inside. ❜

❛ I am not a legend; I’m a fraud. ❜

❛ Destiny is a worrying concept. I don’t want to be fated; I want to choose. ❜

❛ I am not merciful, and I am not kind. ❜

❛ Until the lion learns how to write, every story will glorify the hunter. ❜

❛ Vulnerability is courage in you and inadequacy in me. ❜

❛ You cannot save people. You can only love them. ❜

❛ This isn’t going to be like last time. ❜

[forestshadow-wolf]

Tw: offscreen mcd (Price), suicidal ideation, grief, implied mcd (soap) (at the end)

"Hi, uh I'm looking for someone, I'm told this is where I can find them?" He had to clamp his hands behind his back to stop his fidgeting.

"Well then, let's see what we can do, shall we?" The nice lady who'd opened the door for him gave a kind smile. Too kind for him, but she didn't know that, and there's no joy in taking it from others so he kept his mouth shut and gave her one as well. "If I could just get a name for who you're looking for?"

"Kyle. Uh Garrick. Kyle Garrick, Ma'am" nerves were eating him alive, and he really wanted to be anywhere but here at the moment, but he had to do this.

"Of course, just a minute."

The woman, maybe in her 60s, returned inside. It felt like an eternity, but John had only counted to one hundred and ninety five and a half before the door opened again.

"Hello?" Gaz's voice carried through the door before soap saw him with his own eyes. He looked. Good. Better fed. He cut his hair short. Shorter. And he was. Older. Like he should be. Older but still young. He looked good. Really really good. And happy.

And John was about to shatter it all. In a moment he was going to take away all that happiness. That youth. The civilian. And replace it was an older, battle-hardened, was traumatized soldier. It made his throat dry up.

"Kyle." It was all he could manage. He wanted more than anything to not have to do this.

"Soap!" And then Kyle was wrapping him up in quite possibly the warmest hug he'll get for the rest of his life. He even smelled good. Like- warm and fuzzy something. Not sweat and fear. "Christ, I've missed you man."

"Yeah, you too." It was a weak response as Soap's ever given, but gaz was here and he'd understand. "Listen," he extracted himself from the embrace after a long, reluctant moment, "I- do you wanna go on a walk with me?" He was stalling, and they both knew it.

Gaz followed him out the door and down the road. It was a long few blocks before either of them said anything. Partially soaking in eachother's presence, Partially soap was greiving both the information he had to give and the moment he was in.

" I have some bad news."

"Okay. Yeah." Steady as always.

"Price..." they stopped walking. "I'm sorry, man, Price is... he didn't make it. I'm sorry. Im so sorry. I'm sorry, Kyle." He was rambling, and he couldn't remember who pulled who in, but they were hugging again, and crying. And it was cold and neither of them had coats. And price wasn't here. And he never would be. And soap just couldn't comprehend how it had all gone so wrong so quickly.

They may have made an odd sight, but there was no one out to see them, so it didn't matter anyway.

It was a long while before Kyle pulled back, the had both gotten cold by then. Soap wanted to claw him back in. Hold him just a little longer. Protect him a little more. He had gotten out. How could Soap just drag him back like he is. It was unfair. Soap hated it. Hated himself for it.

"How?" Kyle's vouce was rough, and shakey. Fragile. It broke Soap's heart. But suppose he deserved it.

"There was a bomb. They- the files will say the blast killed him, but-" Soap's voice broke, but Kyle deserved to know. "It was a bullet to the lung. It was agony, Kyle. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to. I had to. I- he was in so much pain. I had to, Kyle."

"It wasn't your fault, John. You had to." Kyle cupped his face in firm, but trembling hands, and lifted his face to meet his eyes. And it was that look. That damn look he got every time he stood by Soap's side for every beating and punishment and battlefield. The fierce determination. And it should have been soap comforting his best friend, but instead he was the one being comforted. And it felt so good. "How's Ghost with this?"

"I haven't- he doesn't know yet. We haven't spoken in... a while." An understatement, but it got the point across.

"What happened? I thought you two were inseparable." And they were. They had been. Before everything fell apart. Before everything soap touched in the military started to tarnish. Went bad like rotten eggs. And it left sulfur in its wake. So soap stopped putting his grubbly hands on things.

"He retired, as well." It's true. Four years and ninety-three days, not including this one, Ghost had handed in his retirement request. And it had been approved not an hour later. And Soap wouldn't ruin him if he was far away. So he didn't follow. Couldn't. He heard he'd moved somewhere in the scotland hills. Soap had always wanted to live there. He hoped he was happy.

"You didn't...?" Kyle had a, rightfully, confused look on his face. Soap knew it was compartmentalizing, what he was doing. Filing it away to deal with later. Pulling the more appropriate out. Like Soap and Simon not being in orbit anymore.

".. my life... is out there." It wasn't an untrue thing to say. It's what kept him alive after Simon. But he would've been much more alive without an after Simon. But he kept his distance, for him. Didn't want to watch him curdle into lumps and mold.

"We have to tell him." Kyle's voice was quiet.

"I'll tell him. You shouldn't have to." Soap ignored the thing that remained him he needed Gaz. Needed help hunting the bastard who put Price in the ground. And put him there too. He wouldn't do it. Wouldn't drag Kyle back into it. Won't drag Simon back into it when tells him either. He'll do it alone if he has to. Even if it kills him. Retribution. For killing Price. For not saving him. For not killing the bastard who made him kill Price. For trying to drag Kyle back into this. For breaking Kyle's heart. For daring to go near Simon again. For breaking his heart as well.

It didn't feel right to leave so soon. Not after the news he'd broken. Not with how fresh the wound was. And. He was eager to linger. Always was. Almost never denied himself a linger. Wouldn't now. Especially when he wouldn't be allowed to later.

He took Kyle home. They got in sad and chilly, but they made it. And Kyle poured then drinks when they were settled. And they sat and they talked. And they drank. And the drinks kept coming. And the cried. And hugged. And talked. And cried. And hugged some more.

It wasn't early in the morning anymore when John woke up. His head was pounding, and his heart was heavy. Kyle was sprawled on his couch, and John couldn't leave him like that in his own home. He carried hom to his bed, tucked him in all neat, like his Ma used to do for him when he was a kid. And no doubt Kyle would feel much better when he woke, so John set a tall drink of water and a few aspirin on the nightstand beside him. And John couldn't make him breakfast to say sorry, but he cleaned up their mess from the night before oh his way out, and made sure Kyle would see the note that said he was sorry. For everything.

And when he couldn't waste any more time he was catching the soonest train to scotland. And it didn't take nearly enough time, because suddenly he was renting a car. And then he was surrounded by brilliant green hills. And then he was rolling down an unfamiliar driveway. And the knock on the door feel like signing his own death warrant and he didn't know why?

The door opened less cautiously than he'd expected, and it both hurt and it made him smile. Because it meant that Simon was okay. Better even. Relaxed. But not with John. Never with John. Would be impossible with John's filthy touch.

"Hello?" Simon's voice was gruff, and he looked... softer in a way. Still that battle-hardened soldier, but with a layer of softness well underway.

"Simon."

"Johnny?" Simon, evidently, was surprised to see him. And for good reason. They hadn't spoken in four years and ninety-four days, not including today. Today when John broke that silence. Today when John reset all that progress that Simon had clearly made.

"Can I come in?" He didn't know how to act now. They hadn't spoken in over four years. How would simon react? Was it- did John want to be trappen in Simon's space when he did this? Would it ruin Simon's efforts to be comfortable in his own home by telling him here? Simon stepped back to let him.

"What are you doing here?" Straight to business. Good to know that hadn't changed.

"I have bad news about Price." They both sat down in hilarious synchronicity.

Simon tensed up, full attention on John now.

"He um- we were on an op and... he didn't make it. I'm sorry, Simon. I know how close you were to him. I'm sorry. I-"

"Why are you here, Johnny?" Simon cut him off, and John didn't know how to decipher it.

"I- Price- he-"

"But what are you here?" Oh god he knew. He knew. He knows John was here to drag him back. And he's angry. Angry for not speaking. Angry for the four years of silence. Angry that he finally got out and now John wants him back in. Angry that he finally escaped Soap's touch and now he's back to ruin him again. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows Soap is back to ruin him. Again. No. Ne can't. He won't. He already decided that yesterday. He wouldn't do that to them. He wouldn't bring them back there. He can do it himself.

"I had to be the one to tell you... I-" I need you. I love you. I'll miss you. Goodbye. He said none of those things. "I'm sorry." Is what came out as he stood and retreated towards the door. He needed to leave behind he tarnished anything more. Before he dragged Simon back into this. Before he rotted everything Simon had built.

"That's not why you're here." Simon stood. Soap froze. Simon's eyes narrowed at him. Scrutinizing. "You're going after whoever killed him." Soap's breath didn't catch in his throat, but his heart stopped. No. Simon couldn't know.

"What? No. No I couldn't. Wouldn't even have the clearance to do that, and plus-" he was already shaking his head, and he retreated another few steps.

"You are. And you were going to ask me to come."

Yes. He was. He was going to rip up and tear apart everything that was Simon Riley and put him in a box and bury him again.

"You didn't ask. Why didn't you ask?" Simon turned his head at him like a perplexed animal. It would be cute if he wasn't reading Soap to filth. "You going to go after him alone." Soap saw the moment realization settled in. And, almost hilariously, horror followed immediately after. " You're going to kill yourself, Johnny. It's a death sentence."

Soap wanted to smile and tell him that was a good thing. Tell him it would only bring good. Soap wanted to show him it would stop the tarnishing and the rotting. He wanted to make him feel the retribution it would be for his sins. One last kill. One last sin. To remember a man who saved so many lives. A man who had changed so many lives. Maybe you can't kill the curse, but you can lock it in a box and bury it in the ground until it's not your problem anymore. It would be a good thing.

"It won't be. I know why I'm doing." Not a death sentence, but a final sacrifice.

"It is. You know it is."

"I have a flight to catch. You look good, Simon, sorry I couldn't see it sooner." But he really couldn't have. He shouldn't have this time either. But he's selfish, and he wanted to experience life one last time. "I'll catch you on the flipside." He gave Simon his last genuine smile, and was out the door.

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐔 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝑴𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅

╰┈➤ ❝ shirabu kenjirou x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 6

tags : pwp (without plot), post-timeskip, kissing, cockwarming, teasing, praise, slight dirty talk, vaginal sex (unprotected), tbh nothing much to tag bc this is very much soft and cute, use of pet names “baby” “angel”, lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 1k

an : in which everyone sees the entirety of my second lead syndrome because i really truly love shirabu to death and i wish more people wrote for him too 😭

taglist : @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @thoupenguinman @chemiru (SIGN UP HERE)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS 

After a long day of studying, if there is any reward worth waiting for, it's you.

You did this to yourself.

He'd been in another one of those spells of his where he would lock himself in his room and study, and you felt bad…

You were the one who had offered.

And yet here you were, face buried into his chest, voice muffled by his sweatshirt—

You could feel it.

His cock pulsed steadily inside of you, your eyes fluttering at the mere sensation of being so full. Whines fell from your lips, and you would try to move—to shift on his lap, to try to get even the slightest bit of stimulation, doing your very best to hold keep yourself from rocking against him—but it was so difficult.

It was nearly unfair.

How could he act so casual about all of this?

You could hear the familiar sound of his pen scratching against the paper of his notebook, and while you would normally find it comforting, now it was anything but.

“‘Jirooo…” 

Again you nuzzled into his chest, feeling his free hand dig its nails into the exposed skin on your waist in warning. A little hum was all else that you got in reply; he kept writing, attention focused on his notes with that same aura of concentration that had always had you so completely and utterly enthralled by him. Just the thought of it made you clench around his cock, and he pressed into your skin once more.

Pen placed gently back on the table, you heard the faint flip of a page—his textbook, you assumed. And you knew that there was nothing you could do in this moment to get him to fuck you.

He had his arm draped over you to keep you in place. Mostly it stayed still, occasionally it would rub up and down your back, a silent and wordless encouragement. You had to be good. You knew that. If there was anything you knew about him—and, arguably, you knew quite a lot—it was that there was always a price to pay for going against his wishes. And Shirabu told you not to move.

So despite the buzzing ache for you to chase your pleasure, despite the heat pooling between your legs and leaking down onto his lap, you waited.

You waited.

Until you could feel him let out a slow breath, his cock twitching in a way that had you gasping, and his hand reached up to cradle you in his arms.

His head, too, rest on your shoulder. His breath fanned over your skin, and much to your delight, he moved.

Just the slightest buck of his hips, his cock pressing even further into you.

“Mmh… You've been so good waiting for me, baby…”

He murnured against your skin, leaning over to place hot, open-mouthed kisses, licking and breathing into you as if the last vestiges of his self control had finally begun to dissipate.

His hands trailed down the side of your body, savoring your whimpers, moving to rest on either side of your hips.

“Are you needy, baby?” he whispered.

The nod of your head wasn't enough for him.

“Hmm… But you're so quiet. Maybe you're not so needy after all, huh?”

You could hear the smirk on his face—you couldn't see it, but you could hear it. The image in your head was clear.

“N-no, ‘Jiro, please…” you whined. “M'needy! Want you so bad…”

“Mhm. And you have me. Right, angel? You're so warm around me, I could stay like this forever…”

He almost laughed; you could tell he wanted to.

But instead of doing so, his hand reached up to play with your hair, a delicate silence permeating the atmosphere before he coaxed your head up to look at him.

And, ah, he was beautiful.

Anytime he would do this, you couldn't help but get lost in his eyes, a brown so beautifully alluring that you could, truly, look at him all day and never quite get tired of it.

“Pretty baby,” he smiled at you. Soft, and gentle, and you could see all the stress in the back of his mind slowly begin to fade. “I love you. You know that, right? Thank you for keeping me company…”

A lock of your hair was pushed aside, as if to get a better look at your face, and then his hands were back at your hips—slowly moving them to rock against him, slow, puffy breaths leaving his lips at the friction the two of you were finally feeling.

“My reward,” he whispered. 

He leaned in, and you gladly fell into him, sighing delightfully as your lips met his.

It was a slow, tender kiss. Your hips easily found a ruythm, little jolts of pleasure shooting through your body with every roll of your hips. With gasps and moans swallowed into kisses, he fucked you gently, carefully, equally granting you your reward as much as he was claiming his own.

“Mmnn… mnh—! ‘Ji—’Jiro—”

You fell forward into his embrace once more, frinding down on him, feeling the fat tip of his cock nudge at your sweet spot to make you shudder. Your arms wrapped around him desperately, wanting to feel him as close as possible… and he smiled.

There was a kiss placed on the top of your head before he began to lift you up off his lap ever so slightly, before bringing you down.

Your eyes widened, and you choked back a moan—

“K-Ken—ji—!” 

Again.

Never too much, not quite being rough with you, but not quite being gentle. Just enough to push his cock in and out of you the way that you liked, rubbing deliciously against your gummy walls, fully claiming your heat as his own.

“Yeah, baby? You like that?” he murmured.

You could barely answer. He felt too good.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you whimpered against him, and you fisted his sweatshirt—a mix of yes's and broken moans of his name were all that he could hear, along with the muted sound of skin against skin, the all-too-familiar smell of sex filling the air around you.

“All gone already, angel? I've barely started, you know?” he grunted, picking up the pace, the smile in his voice never leaving.

A smile of satisfaction—a smile of pride.

And when all you could do was nod, he gripped your hips tighter, and easily began to slam you down on his cock, any sense of self-control completely gone.

“That's my girl. You take me so well, baby. Gonna fuck you so good.”

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[guppybibi]

hai..um heres a wip bcus i realized i have like 10+ wips

Ever since Johnny made what seemed to be an impulsive decision of joining the military, you two have been the talk of the town. “He had the potential to be an artist.” and “He could've been an artist, what happened?” Those were a couple of the various questions asked of you. And if you were truly being honest..You weren't quite sure either. Not once in your years of being together has he ever hinted about signing up for the military.

Nonetheless you continued to support his decision, not doubting him even for a single second. Going long distance when you two have practically been together for who knows how long certainly wasn't the easiest but it looked like everything paid off when you learned that he was the youngest candidate to ever pass SAS selection through a letter, whatever that was..All you knew is that you were proud of him. You wondered why the hell they called him ‘Soap’ though..

Communicating through letters wasn't the worst thing in the world, in fact, it left you with more longing than ever before in your life. Well except the longing progressively watered down when letters from your Johnny stop coming through. Day by day it felt like arrows were being shot at your heart, and you knew for sure that it wasn't Cupid’s doing.

Soon you're hit with a large smack of reality when you receive a message from someone named ‘John Price’ about Johnny being killed on an important mission. You wouldn't say you were surprised but he promised. A promise that he would come back home to you, that the deadly silence in your home would be filled with his voice again. What a fucking liar he was.

The world isn't going to stop spinning just because someone got their heart broken from the news of a loved one dying and is mourning, especially if it's a mere girl from a quaint town. The world is unfair. It's always been like that, it probably won't change until a few centuries later either.

So, moving on seemed easy enough. It really couldn't be that hard right? You've lived half of your life without Johnny, you're sure you can spend the rest without him as well. This is just one challenge life handed you, you could most definitely handle it. Yup, no problem. Cleaning up Johnny’s belongings wasn't heartbreaking whatsoever, and seeing the last bouquet of flowers he sent you slowly wilt over the days was fun.

..Okay maybe it wasn't all that easy. Maybe admitting that you're struggling is fine, though that was just a baby’s first steps. In the end, progress is still progress so you decided that maybe your heart could handle finishing looking through Johnny’s things plus cleaning because you haven't been in that room for months now. Particularly the stuff in his office, well not really office per se, simply a random room where he stored random items for hobbies he says he’ll get to eventually. News flash, he didn't so now you're stuck with all of it.

You started off strong, dusting shelves and sweeping floors, until you opened a drawer full of art supplies and manuals that were basically brand new. Disgruntlement bubbles up within you, all of this wasted space and materials. Charity sounded real good right now but the sentiment they held was too much..Though the handbook about sculpting caught your eye.

It wasn't a hobby Johnny really focused on as it was time consuming and difficult despite his natural talent for art hence why he focused on drawing instead. It simply wasn't his thing, no problem with that. You spent countless hours browsing through the handbook, the guide eating your interest up. Hey, this could've been a great couple pastime for you two! Shame on him for not thinking about suggesting it to you! Although you were lucky enough that he stored the clay in such a way that it didn't dry up just yet, trying it out couldn't possibly hurt, right?

Tossing on an apron, you began sculpting away!..Well an attempt to at least, the piece continued to look..rough after a long while but practice makes perfect! Well as I said earlier, time doesn't stop for anyone, it keeps flying regardless of the fact it doesn't have a destination in mind. That's probably how you ended up practicing for days, so much so that your fellow townsfolk started getting worried sick and sent out one of the kind ladies to check up on you. And it was a lovely surprise!..Because they had a basket of goodies, who can say no to that?

“Oh dear, look at you! Everyone has been worried about you..” The lady says in relief, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face while she looks at the state of your clay-stained clothes. Thank goodness for aprons. “Well I hope you're doing alright after your husband's passing dear, we all made this goodie basket for you!” She chirps, extending the basket out to you. Your eyes immediately lock onto the fresh baked goods, looking like you have something to devour when she turns away..

“So you know, all of us are here to help, you aren't alone in this. I’m off, I need to pick some groceries up at the store. Bye-bye!” She waves, walking along the stone path that led away from your home. A quiet ‘thank you’ falls out of your lips, hoping that she’d heard your appreciation towards her caring but totally unnecessary gesture. You step back, placing the basket aside. The pastries could wait, not this. You do appear to be a natural at this, the sculptures you've made so far aren't even half bad for a beginner..It wouldn't be too hard to make Johnny right? I mean, you know his features by heart, you could make it with your eyes closed. Probably. It doesn’t hurt to try, you have enough clay too so there’s really nothing stopping you.

[charnelhouse]

mausoleum (2)

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (other pairings later) Wordcount: 4.5K Warnings: gore. ptsd. references to captivity and torture. implied cannibalism. implied sex. there are mentions of hair. blood transfusion. needles. Summary: Red is grievously injured. 141 races against the clock to save her. A/N: Many thanks to @sprout-fics and @moondirti for reading through this because my damn eyes were crossing. Also, huge thanks to @ghostaholics who helped me with all the blood transfusion nonsense and ghost thots in general

Chapter 1

The rain continued to pour down with a violence. The pharmacy was cold-the kind of cold that was trapped in the linoleum and sunk into Price’s skin. Red’s hair had fallen out of its binding-spreading across the dirty floor. The blood was syrupy and dark as mud. Her eyelids hung heavy; her lips parted around uneven breaths. As if time had shifted, Price was suddenly seeing something else: Red Fox lying on that metal table in Kursk, her wrists bone-thin and strapped down. Her face so swollen it was nearly unrecognizable. 

It had only been a month. How could they have done the damage they’d done in a single month? 

But Price wasn’t an idiot, and he hadn't been an idiot then. He knew their enemies would have seen Red as something worth destroying. The sounds the men of 141 had made at the sight of her would never quite leave him. Incredulity. Shock. Rage. A wellspring of sadness had taken up residence within their circle. Red had been precious to them. Perhaps it was unfair to say that, but it was true. Regardless of what her and Simon had been, she’d also embedded herself into each of their lives and refused to move. She fought well. She survived better. 

Having to witness her be completely broken had destabilized them. It was as if the sky had cracked and fallen. The stars had collapsed against them and they could not push them back up.

Now, she had been nearly killed again.

Soap’s low cursing brought him back to the present. Johnny was hovering over her still form, his fingers gently pulling at the blood-drenched scarf Ghost had wrapped around her shoulder. 

She was conscious, but her coloring was worrisome. Soap worked on her vitals, revealing a penlight from his vest to check her eyes. The backdoor to the pharmacy jingled and Ghost whirled around, gun aimed. It was only Gaz.

“They had nothing,” he said, stalking down the aisle. “Guns had no bullets so it was all for show.” 

Price rubbed his jaw, feeling the tender hump of a bruise from a hit he’d taken outside. Cannibals. He hadn’t been surprised, though he felt like it was too soon for that level of desperation. They were probably the individuals who’d always wanted to-unafraid to commit something that barbaric when cans of food remained on the shelves. He’d seen men like that, especially in the military. They were the ones who signed up because they wanted a license to kill. 

He glanced to his left where Red’s attacker lay, his head twisted at the wrong angle. 

Good riddance.

If they hadn’t gotten here sooner…fuck. He didn’t want to think of that. She’d certainly been through enough with Kursk only a year or so before. Truthfully, it felt somewhat cosmic. Price was a logical man. He believed in what he could see, taste and feel. But after the outbreak, he had lost contact with his reason. 

Today had been lucky.

“Christ!” Gaz exclaimed once he spotted Red on the floor. “She alright?”

“Obviously,” Red replied before Price could. The words were faint, whistling past her lips. “Hi, Kyle.”

“Hey, darling.” Gaz’s eyes swung to Price. His expression worried. 

“Captain,” Soap murmured, turning to look up at him. The “captain” had stayed though Price had told them that they were all on equal footing. He supposed it was easier for them to remain in their positions. It allowed order. Familiarity. 

The fact was that there were no clear plans left. There were no predictable outcomes. Everything was belly-up, ass backwards. Fucked beyond comprehension. It made his teeth itch and his chest hurt. 

“What is it?” Ghost asked, striding past Price and crouching down beside Red. His gravelly voice was cut with a vulnerability he didn’t bother hiding. Ever since Red had been placed on leave, Ghost wasn’t himself. He’d been less cautious and more aloof if that was possible. He took mission after mission and then hid away in his room. Price watched as Ghost’s hand automatically went to her shoulder, his thumb finding her jaw to stroke it briefly before he moved it away. Another memory from Kursk shuddered through Price’s head. 

“You know what they fucking did to her,” Ghost choked out. He was losing it, completely falling apart. “You saw the reports. What the doctor said. What she said. She fucking remembers everything and-and I wasn’t there.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“You know it is. If I hadn’t run…fuckin’ hell…if I hadn’t run…” Ghost couldn’t finish the sentence. 

”I can patch it for now,” Soap explained. “But I need more supplies. We’re runnin’ low.” He chewed his lip as he glanced down at the black bag beside him. “Everything is soaked in rain water and mud. I’m nervous she’ll get an infection.”

Red suddenly lifted her head, fingers twitching against her stomach. “House,” she rasped, lashes fluttering. She coughed and Ghost wordlessly curled his arm around her shoulders before subtly maneuvering himself behind her so that she could rest against his chest. It was an intimate move. She was a little thing and Ghost was unnaturally tall and broad. With her collapsed against him, it emphasized how Ghost dwarfed her in every way. They fit well together.

“What’d you say, love?” Soap urged, nudging her hair away from her face. “Your house?”

She nodded weakly before looking at Price. It took her a worrisome amount of effort to move her eyes. “Up the road. We-we have supplies…Price knows where it is.”

“I do,” he confirmed. “Soap—bandage her shoulder and we’ll get her there.”

“Aye,” Soap said as he began to rummage through his bag. Abruptly, he stopped. “Did she say we?”

***

The rain spat at them while the dense mud packed their boots. Thank god for the road. Gaz sat on the horse with Red, his arms secure around her waist as she rested against his torso. They’d swamped her in their dirty, sweat-soaked jackets to keep her warm. Beneath her hood, the tip of her nose and strands of her hair were the only things visible. 

The path was eerie, cloaked in a veil of mist and shadow. Price had seen the occasional body off to the side, rubbery limbs hidden in the grass or trees. He’d experienced a lot of fucking death in his life, but the kind he was witnessing daily made him prickle. It was wrong. You expect corpses on the battlefield, but not outside a quaint village and wearing giraffe-print galoshes. 

They walked in a single file line. He took the front with Soap. Ghost at the rear, shadowing the horse holding Red and Gaz.

“So,” Soap began as he inched closer to Price. “Have you been to her home before?”

“No,” Price’s fingers itched for a cigarette. “She recently inherited it from her parents. Before she left, she gave me the address.”

“It’s big I presume?”

Price chuckled. “It’s got its own wikipedia page.”

They’d come here for a few reasons. One-he’d wanted to find Red. She was part of their group. She was his family. She was vital and he wouldn’t leave her out here. Truth be told, he’d been scared. He knew her mental state when she’d been put on leave. She was in perpetual rigor mortis—her mind completely brutalized from what had happened to her in Russia. Even he didn’t know everything they’d done to her, though he could guess from her medical records. When he’d sat beside her hospital bed, she’d been so raw that he’d been terrified to say the wrong thing. He’d attempted to be a physical presence, offering her quiet words of comfort, but then she had left. She’d been effectively kicked out and Price wished he’d done better by her. 

It was why he’d been so adamant to find her. 

The idea of Red in isolation as the world ended left him stricken. He’d called and called, attempted to find her on the radio, but had only been met with static. 

The second reason was that he figured moving away from the cities and into farmland was their best option. Many of the great castles and estates had been running since the middle ages. They’d be ideal shelters when modern infrastructure ceased. No gas. No electricity. They’d go old school. 

He hadn’t really asked for the other’s opinions when he’d made the plan. 141 had been forced to flee the barracks, seeking refuge in one of their previous safehouses outside Edinburgh. After he was unable to make contact with Red again, Price had walked into the room, ready to declare the mission, but Ghost had beaten him to it.

“Red?” he’d asked, his mask pale in the dark. His head bent forward with his massive shoulders hunched. Ghost had been a fucking mess, forlorn and deeply angry. 

That was all he had to say. Red. The rest didn't matter. Where else would we go? What else would we do? Because they couldn’t move forward without confirming if she was alive or dead.  

“Yeah,” Price had replied. “We’re going to find her.”

We’re going to find our girl. 

In the distance, Price could see the road split. The entrance to the estate was to the right. He could make out the looming iron gate. There was so much greenery, overwhelming foliage.

Before they’d left the pharmacy, Red had described the traps she’d set up around the property. 

Be mindful of areas with too many leaves. Also, a bunch of trip wires. You’ll get your head shot off.

“God,” Soap drawled. “I missed you.”

“Such a sicko,” Gaz snickered, reaching out to take Red’s hand. 

Slowly, but surely the enormous house came into view. You could only make out the tips of the estate's spires rising above the trees. Red’s family crest gleamed from the center of the gate’s bars.

Soap whistled. “That ‘duchess’ nickname was a little on the nose. Thought Simon came up with that.”

“He did, but I don’t think he really knew Red was-” He gestured vaguely in front of him. “-all this.”

“Captain!” Gaz shouted and Price whipped around, gun raised and ready. Even from a distance, it was apparent that Red had gone boneless, head lolling forward. 

Simon was already beside the horse, his hands disappearing beneath Red’s hood to engulf her face and lift it up. Soap cursed and sprinted toward them.

“She wasn’t responding to me,” Gaz hissed, voice tense with unease. He grimaced as he lifted his arm to reveal the front of his shirt awash in blood. “I-I didn’t realize-everything’s fuckin’ soaked from the rain.”

“Open her jacket,” Soap ordered and Ghost ripped at the top of it, pulling it away from her body. Crimson sheeted down her chest, soiling her thin shirt. Ghost’s hands slipped from her arms to her cheeks, cupping them and incidentally smearing blood across her jaw and chin. 

“Jesus fuck, Johnny!” Ghost’s tone was one Price had heard only a few times in his life. It was wrinkled with nervousness–unhinged fear. “Did you not wrap it right?”

“I did!” Soap sealed his hand to her shoulder, but it was impossible to see shit in the rain. “Could have nicked an artery and we just—just didn’t know.” She was ashen, a waxy sheen clinging to her pallor. 

Price steeled himself. “How much can she lose?” 

He wouldn’t crack. Not here. He couldn’t afford it when everything was already bad enough.

“Twenty to thirty-five percent?” Soap checked her pulse. “Her heart rate is accelerating.” 

“God damn it,” Ghost growled, his eyes darting from her shoulder to her rapidly deteriorating color. “Red?” He shook her gently and her head lolled. She made a soft, whimpering noise before going quiet. “C’mon, Red—wake up for me.”

Her brow furrowed, her lids parting a crack before they shut again. Simon swallowed thickly, the muscles in his neck spasming. The hem of his black mask had ridden up to reveal blonde hair stained dark from rain and sweat. 

“Simon–” Price tried before the larger man suddenly straightened, snapping to attention.

Wordlessly, Ghost repacked the sodden gauze into the wound and rewrapped her shoulder. He shoved his gun at Soap and lifted her clean off the horse. He maneuvered her into his arms, cradling against his chest. 

“I can take her, Simon,” Gaz protested.

“No,” he replied flatly. “Have to avoid the trip wires and you can’t see shit from a horse.” He began to move toward the house. “Price-be my eyes here. Don’t want to get shot. Johnny–what do we need?”

 He was holding her like she was a fragile egg, stalking towards the looming iron gate without jarring her. Soap and Price jogged after them.

“Needle, blood bag, a rubber tube,” he replied. The storm had picked up again and Price wondered if God was fucking with them. “A donor.”

“I’ll give it to her,” Ghost said without skipping a beat. “I’ve done it before…” he trailed off and the rain washed out the rest of his words. 

***

Simon couldn’t think, at least not in a straight definitive line. Not good. He was capable of coldness on the field. He could patch one of his teammates up with one hand while shooting with the other. 

But, Red? Different. So fucking different. 

He’d broken the man’s neck in the pharmacy, but too little too late. She’d still been hit and she was now close to death. He rushed through the front gate, stepping over the wires that Red had described before she’d gone quiet. He should have been more aware. He should have been watching her the second she’d stopped speaking on that damn horse. It was torture as he attempted to race toward the front door of the estate while keeping her comfortable. He felt as if he was straddling a knife edge, kicking up gravel as rain water sluiced into his vision.

The air was frigid. The wind was biting at his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured through the wet seal of his mask. “You’ll be alright.”

 Simon hauled ass up the stone steps just as Soap barreled past him to open the door. It was locked.  

“Fuck,” Soap punched the wood before turning to Ghost. “We can break a window?”

“Ghost,” Gaz shouted–a warning. 

Soap punched the door again, his knuckles splitting. 

“Ghost!”

“What?” he roared, whirling around to find a woman aiming a gun at them that was far too big for her. She glared, long dark hair falling in limp strands around her face. She was dressed in only shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Her green rain boots were covered in mud. 

“Who the fuck–” Her eyes fell to Red and she blanched, her mouth gaping in shock. “Oh my god!” 

Soap stepped in front of Simon and Red. “Alright, lass-” 

She lifted the gun higher. “What did you do to her, you fuckin’ assholes.”

Gaz slid around her, hands up. 

“Nothin’,” Gaz defended, voice steady and calm. “Look–we’re friends of Red’s. She got attacked in the village and she’s bleedin’ out-”

“How do I know you didn’t do it yourself?” The girl's lip trembled. “You-you could be using her as bait and-”

“WE DON’T HAVE FUCKING TIME FOR THIS!” Ghost bellowed. The girl flinched and Gaz slipped between them. Always the voice of reason. 

“She’s dying,” he explained. “Please let us in-”

Price appeared behind her and seamlessly snatched the gun from her hands. “Safety’s still on, love.” 

Startled, she nearly stumbled backwards over the steps before Gaz grabbed her by the arms, tugged her to him, and locked her against his chest. “Will you open the door now?”

Simon was done. He felt real fear begin to pour out of him, his whole frame shivering with it. He was taking on water too fast. He was sinking. Rage. Terror. He could not accommodate them both. He glowered at the woman, vowing to kill her if Red died. “Open. The. Door.” His threat spurted between his clenched teeth. His tone was frigid-dark and unyielding. 

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay–Slim–Slim said never to open it for anyone even if-if-”

Gaz released her and when she stepped toward the door, Simon realized she was crying. The rain had disfigured her features. 

“Just open the door, love,” Price murmured. He squeezed her shoulder and guided her closer. She winced when she brushed past Simon.

Visibly shaking, she pulled a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked it. 

***

It was utter chaos. They’d placed on the table, her injury no doubt staining the expensive wood. Simon scanned the kitchen and found it unadorned. It was all stone and wood, enormous and obviously meant to be utilized by an entire staff. He assumed that only the appliances had been updated, the rest was centuries old. He blew out a breath, feeling uneasy. The corners of the room were shadowed by the storm that howled outside. The windows provided little light and the woman-Bambi-was lighting several candles. Price and Gaz were searching for medical supplies in the storage closet across the room. Red had apparently invested in a plethora of equipment and tools long before the pandemonium had begun. 

Good girl - Simon thought. Red had always been one to prepare rather than wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“What happened?” Bamb was hovering beside the table, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. She looked dazed, eyes focusing on the crimson-drenched bandages at the base of Red’s neck. Soap removed a pair of scissors from his bag and began to cut through her shirt.

Bambi winced. “Oh-don’t-she doesn’t have many-”

“It’s fucked, lass,” Soap replied bluntly. “You should maybe sit in the next room.”

“I can handle it,” she returned with conviction. “I’ve…” she swallowed. “I’ve seen worse.”

Soap shrugged before removing the bandages. Heart thundering in his chest, Simon watched as Red’s blood spilled in rivers, pooling beneath her. Immediately, he flattened his palms to the wound.

 “Steamin’ Christ,” Soap rumbled before yelling at Gaz to bring him more gauze. He turned to Bambi. “You have small hands.” He gestured to the large first-aid kit on the table. “Find the sewing kit, clean and thread a needle for me.” 

There was red up to his elbows, everything drenched and slippery. The room stank of pennies. Tasted like he’d licked a metal instrument. Blood had never bothered Simon before, but he was beginning to feel lightheaded. That’s fear. 

“She’ll be alright,” Soap muttered, glancing momentarily at Simon before focusing on Red’s face. “She’s survived worse, yeah?”

Simon steeled himself, aware that he couldn’t lose his head here. It was bad. Her coloring was frightening and how could they have been so stupid to not have realized she’d been fading out? 

“Foolish girl.” Simon grunted as a deep, unsettling frustration began to simmer beneath his skin. Typical Red. Fucking martyr. Probably, felt herself losing consciousness, but didn’t want to be a bother. 

Anger was an easier emotion to carry. Anger had been the feeling he’d harbored when she’d told him about her condition right before Kursk. He’d run away from her. He’d been an immature fucking child and left her. He’d been inexplicably pissed at her and for what? Something totally out of her control. A complete accident that they were both responsible for. 

“We can figure this out, Simon,” she’d told him. “We don’t have to make any rash decisions. We don’t-we don’t even have to go through with it.”

“I-I just need some time,” he’d said. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back and we can-we’ll talk.”

He’d gone on a mission. Left her. It was only supposed to be for a couple of days, but she’d been so upset and desperate for her own distraction that she’d taken on a mission herself. A simple recon assignment. 

He had never forgiven himself when she didn’t come home.

“Simon,” Price had said, meeting him the second he’d stepped off the helicopter. “Simon-”

His stomach had dropped. He’d known it was about her by the look on Price’s face. 

“Where is she?” he’d growled and Price’s expression dismantled into something distressed.

“We don’t know,” he replied. “There was an explosion. She got separated.We-we think the Kursk faction took her.”

Next to Red, Price had always been Simon’s anchor in certain situations. He was reliable and he withstood every horrible disaster thrown at him. But when Red had been taken prisoner, the Captain had been visibly shaken. 

“Alright-shit’s about to get really messy,” Soap said as he yanked on a pair of latex gloves. 

“Here!” Bambi passed Soap the threaded needle. Soap had become the resident medic only because he had nimblest hands from dismantling bombs. He’d also picked up quite alot when he’d been fucking one of the nurses a few years back.

“Hopefully she doesn’t feel this,” Soap murmured before he poured rubbing alcohol over the angry slit.

Red’s eyes flew open, mouth slanting into a gasp. She twitched and moaned before attempting to shove Soap away. 

“Hold her, hold her,” Soap gritted. “I won’t be able to close it.”

Simon placed one hand on her uninjured shoulder and the other on her face. His palm encased it-spanning the entire side of her cheek and temple. Price appeared at the end of the table and held her legs down. 

Simon said her name softly. Her real one. He said it the same way he used to say it when it was just them and the morning and her shitty narrow bed and they’d probably just had tender, desperate sex. Her eyes found his and Simon smiled before realizing she couldn’t see it due to his mask. 

She hiccuped, her chest hitching. She was beginning to cry. 

“She needs to calm down,” Price barked. “Simon-”

Fuck it.

Simon ripped off his mask and threw it somewhere. Even though all of his enemies were likely dead, the mask still served as a crutch. It was still his armor.

But Red needed him.

Simon readjusted his grip and lowered his face so that it hovered over her own. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he demanded. “Look at me.” She blinked at him rapidly before she seemed to focus. Her lips twitched into what could have been a smile. It broke something inside him. 

“I’m here, alright,” he continued. “We’re all here. We’re just sewing you back up so we need you to relax.” The stench of blood and disinfectant wafted from the table. It stained his boots and hands. He drowned in it. 

Her mouth moved, but he couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. 

“Only a flesh wound, duchess.” His voice was dangerously close to cracking. He couldn’t find his direction. He couldn’t find much of anything when she looked so fragile. 

It’s fine. We’re okay now. Out of the woods. 

And then shit went south. 

Red’s lashes fluttered, her eyes rolling back. Simon reached down to grip her wrist. “Her pulse is elevating, Johnny.”

Soap cursed. 

“What’s happening?” Bambi asked. Simon took a deep breath in an effort to hold it together. He jammed his aching terror into his guts because he knew Red needed him strong. She needed him to be solid and dependable. 

“She’s going into shock,” Soap explained before he continued to stitch her now that she had gone fairly still, pinned to the table by Simon and Price. He was sewing faster than Simon had ever seen him do before. It would be a mess, but it would save her life. 

“Thatta girl, Foxy,” Soap cooed even though she was hardly cognizant. “Doing beautifully, lass.” He cast Gaz a sharp look over his shoulder. “Start on Ghost. Price can help me.”

Simon didn’t need to be told twice as he dropped into one of the chairs. It creaked violently beneath his weight. He ripped at the buckles and straps of his vest before removing it and his jacket. 

“Lucky for us, Red apparently stole multiple sorts of kits.” Gaz lifted an oven tray with a catheter set, elastic and needles. 

“She raided the medical facilities nearby before anyone even knew what was going down,” Bambi said. “Went a little overboard.”

“Typical.” Soap grinned as he poured antiseptic over her shoulder. She was unresponsive, which caused him to frown. “She used to tell us what she’d do in a zombie apocalypse. The girl was ready.”

Gaz slid next to Simon and lifted his left arm, flicking at the inside of his elbow. Simon curled his hand into a fist while Gaz secured the elastic around his bicep, the black rubber blended into the ink scrawled across his skin. It pressed deep into his Fox tattoo. 

Her gaze was locked to the top of his bicep. She squinted, her tongue darting along the cracked flesh of her lower lip. With a gentle finger, she traced the tattoo, her expression melded into a soft sort of wonder. After a moment, her eyes watered and she blinked it away.

“A fox?” she murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Is that for me or another lady?”

He scowled. “Don’t be cheeky, duchess.”

Undeterred, she grasped his bicep and kissed the tiny fox. His declaration for her. He couldn’t help the shudder that vibrated through his bones. The warm, wet pressure of her pretty mouth. A devastating feeling burned through him as he watched her, small and beautiful and his. He must protect her, curl himself around her. Destroy everything else. Start at the root and tear it from the soil. Any fucking threat to her safety.

Well, he had failed her. Spectacularly. 

Gaz pierced Simon’s vein with the needle before directing it into a tube. He sighed, shaking away the dizziness. He was dehydrated and hungry and on no sleep, but it hardly mattered. 

Soap took the other needle and elastic before tying it around Red’s right arm. The IV catheter sat between Simon and Red as the dark - nearly black blood - was transferred between them. 

Simon studied her intently, feeling that if he looked away she’d die. Her heart would stop right on that table and he’d never be able to speak to her again. 

Red had been human for him. He’d watch her cry after a tough mission and she’d allow him to hold her. Burrow her face into his chest, cling to him and sometimes they’d fuck and sometimes they wouldn’t. Simon demanded her tears. Give them to me, love. Let me take your pain and I’ll never fucking forgive myself for being so late—for being unable to find you when you needed me most. Yes - he had failed her spectacularly and it felt as if he’d failed her again.

Your heart is soft, duchess. 

It is not.

Soft as Soap’s.

Soft for you, maybe. 

Gaz taped the needle to his arm, helping Simon elevate it just enough. Simon braced his elbows on his knees as he studied her skin and its new scars. He hadn’t even realized she was completely bare on top. He felt a weight drop in his gut-a basket of stones turn over beneath his ribs. Most of those marks were from Kursk. He swallowed. Rage. Again, rage. It set his nerves on fire and made his muscles spasm. 

You killed them. You killed all of them for what they did. You tore them apart. 

Suddenly, Simon reached out and took her hand. Due to their size difference, it was utterly dwarfed in his grip. He dragged his thumb across the vein in her wrist and felt the delicious thrum of it. 

“Her color is coming back, L.T.,” Soap acknowledged before finally stepping away from the table and dragging both hands down his face. He exhaled loudly. “Christ–I think I’ve lost a year off my life.”

Bambi glanced at him. “She’ll live?”

“Looks like it. Just pray she doesn’t get an infection.”

Simon prayed. 

***

Please share/reblog your thoughts, babes!

[throneofbriars]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

PAIRING: Inner Circle x Reader; intended eventual Eris x Reader

SYNOPSIS: The reader wrestles with being the only Inner Circle member without powers and begins to realize just how isolated she feels.

WC: 1.0K (just a short little snippet from an abandoned fic that I didn't want to keep locked in the vault)

AUTHORS NOTE: This was intended to be an Eris x Reader fic, but I abandoned it 1k words in because it wasn't going where I wanted it to. I might pick it up again someday if people are interested, but, for now, have this little snippet of a powerless Archeron Sister!Reader contemplating power within the IC.

What does it mean to hold power?

Rhysand held power - he was power and he used himself as a weapon, artfully skilled in being both the blade that felled and the shield that defended. Feyre held power, gifted to her by the High Lords of Prythian themselves, who were unaware of the unfettered access she had to the gifts of the Courts - Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Dawn, Day, and Night. 

The power that simmered between Rhysand and Feyre - the High Lord and Lady of Night - was the reason their Court could be as free as it was.  

Cassian and Azriel held power. The Lord of Bloodshed and the Shadowsinger, owners of seven siphons each - a great testament to the raw power that ran through their veins. They used their powers - Cassian’s unforgiving strength and Azriel’s manipulation of the dark - to protect the Night Court. 

Elain held power gifted to her by the Mother - by the Cauldron she so desperately wished to forsake. The female was a Seer, a prophet who was ignorant and inexperienced in reading the prophecies she saw. Elain rejected the Cauldron's gifts, both her power of sight and her mate, Lucien. Though the Cauldron still called to her, still whispered prophecies into her ear, still haunted her with ghosts of a future she had no desire to foretell. 

Even Nesta - bitter, cruel Nesta - held power. It wasn’t a gift like Feyre’s or Elain’s, nor was it inherent like Rhysand’s or Cassian’s or Azriel’s. No, Nesta’s power was taken from the Cauldron, clawed from the damned thing as retribution for the suffering the female went through in the name of its power.  

Lady Death, they called her. A being of frigid night and silver flame; one of the few who could wield the Dread Trove without consequence. She offered the power back to the Cauldron as the price for Feyre’s life and the Cauldron happily accepted. But, Nesta held onto a fraction of that power and it became part of her, the death magic weaving into the very foundation of her being. 

So, what does it mean to hold power? Nothing.

Power means nothing until it’s used - for better or for worse. 

It was unfair, you believed, how meaningless the Inner Circle’s powers were now that they sat idle, waiting to be taken from the shelf, to be dusted off, to be utterly unleashed. 

It was unfair that those who take it for granted were gifted powers that most could only dream of. If you had powers, you would cherish them, use them to make the world better.

But, you didn’t. You weren’t given any gifts by the High Lords of Prythian like Feyre. You weren’t deemed fit by the Mother to be gifted with power from the Cauldron like Elain was. You didn’t have the same claws as Nesta, the claws used to rip power from the Cauldron by force.

You were just you. A Cauldron made female. High Fae. The product of a wicked king’s endless greed. Plain. Simple. Powerless. You.       

“Cassian, you really shouldn’t be using such foul language around Nyx,” Nesta reprimanded, bouncing the winged baby in her arms.

“You should have heard the things said around us when we were growing up, Nes,” Cassian countered, looking pointedly at the female sat next to him. “Your first curse word is a right of passage in the camps.”

“This isn’t an Illyrian war camp, Cassian, and-” Nesta’s words were cut off by Rhys, who spoke up from the head of the table.

“-And that will not be a right of passage we’ll be celebrating. His first flight, sure. When he inevitably kicks your ass- butt- for the first time,” a cunning grin made its way onto the High Lord's lips, “absolutely.”

Those sitting around the table, privy to the conversation - Rhysand, Azriel, Cassian, Nesta, Elain, and yourself - laughed at the High Lord’s words. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that sooner-rather-than-later the little winged child would kick the Lord of Bloodshed’s ass. It was inevitable. 

“The High Lady will have your head if she finds out you’ve been speaking like that around the little one, Cas.” Azriel smiles, equally as cunning as Rhysands, before continuing, “You should keep your big mouth shut.”

“Ha,” Cassian’s laugh is booming, his words cocky. “I’m not scared of Feyre.”

“Why would you be scared of me?” Feyre’s voice rang out from the entryway of the dining room. Flecks of paint decorated her hair and clothing, a testament to her hard work in her studio on that morning. 

Cassian’s eyes went wide, his face falling into one of surprise and - fear? 

“Nothing- no reason,” the Illyrian male floundered. “I mean- who said anything about being scared? I’m not scared; nobody is scared.” 

Azriel snickered as he shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth. Cassian latched onto the movement, a silent conversation passing between the two Illyrians before the Lord of Bloodshed turned his attention back towards his High Lady.

“Azriel cursed in front of Nyx-”

“Eat shit, Cassian.” The words rolled off of Azriel’s tongue before he knew what he was saying, his face blanching as the realization caught up with him. 

“Azriel.”

Rhys and Feyre jumped to reprimand Azriel, the others around the table holding back their laughter. You, however, had stopped listening, withdrawing into the comfortable presence of your own thoughts. 

It was always like this with Rhysands Inner Circle. 

Once upon a time, you had enjoyed it - listening to the familial banter of your sisters and their mates… of your family with their family. But you had grown tired, weary of never feeling the sense of belonging, of connection that you desperately craved. 

You were part of the Inner Circle, part of the family… but you were distinctly separate. 

Perhaps it was your own fault. Life hadn’t left much room for hope - hope for connection, hope for family, hope for love, hope for hopes sake. You’ve become certain it’s too late for you to learn how to hope for anything. 

And, though you were tired, though life and fate had left you thoroughly devoid of hope, you would play the role that was assigned to you - you owed Feyre that much. 

One empty smile at a time.

[fkinavocado]

put a price on emotion

The Honourable Judge Styles has a dark secret. He prides himself on being notorious for his cutthroat sense of justice. But is he really any better than the ones he imprisons? Or is he a victim much like the ones he acquits?

Put a price on emotion - Masterlist, Author's Notes & Warnings / alternatively, read on wattpad

Prologue (word count: 1.1k)

“All rise. The court is now in session. Honourable Judge Styles presiding. Please be seated.”

The imposing man nodded to the bailiff and the other members of the courtroom as he took his seat at the bench. “Thank you, you may all be seated. Call the case.”

“Your honour, criminal case number 23234- People of Chicago, Illinois versus Grace Gwyneth Cohen for homicide.”

The judge did a quick scan of the courtroom as he opened up his notebook for his case notes, and landed his gaze on the defendant. She’d waived her right to a jury trial, which didn’t make any sense to him. It made much more sense for her to want a jury trial. Her chances of convincing that many more people of her innocence were exponentially higher than persuading the state’s notoriously cutthroat judge. 

The man usually presided over hung jury cases. It was his expertise, mostly because he was known for being just and, yes, cutthroat. In all the cases he’d presided over, not once did he have even a shadow of a doubt over who was in the wrong. He’d always served justice, he was sure of it, and as much as he’d have liked to have his innate judge of character take all the credit for it, he had to admit he’d not been this attuned before. 

It was hard to tell anymore, mainly because, well, it had been such a long time since… before. If anything, he could attest that he’d always had an affinity towards justice, doing the right thing, advocating for the right cause, but now, well, he could read right through the bullshit.

He could read people like open books. 

As could all vampires.

So, really, it was nothing special. What was special, though, was that not all vampires chose to put these sharpened abilities to good use. The fact that he’d chosen to do so was still something mind boggling to his… community. But Harry couldn’t fathom just doing nothing for all eternity, like they did. Sure, after a couple hundred years everyone kinda gets tired of trying to spruce things up. But he’d done it all- tried everything in the book- and at one point, you just need to try and give your existence meaning. And this, judging, was a way he could put his abilities to good use, in a meaningful way, giving him a sense of purpose.

And that was pretty valuable when you were immortal. 

And besides, he couldn’t lie; the added bonus of making humans squirm- particularly those that deserved to be crushed by the law- under his gavel, albeit metaphorically, was quite thrilling. 

But most of all, he enjoyed ensuring a bit of balance in this unfair world- the world that chose this existence for him. He’d not chosen this for himself, after all. He was a victim. He’d suffered a great injustice, maybe the biggest of them all- he’d been robbed of his right of living a normal life. He’d been forced into immortality, and there was nothing he could do about it. No one to turn to, no one to give him justice. There simply wasn’t any. And that had always bothered him deeply.

Sure, they had a system. The vampire that had turned him did suffer some consequences. But, really, there wasn’t much you could do to an immortal being to make them really repent. It wasn’t like they were going to be put away for “life”. You couldn’t exactly incarcerate someone for all eternity. The prospect of a death penalty was more of a treat than a threat to most vampires. And so, outside of being ostracised by their community, which ensured an even lonelier existence, there wasn’t much else a vampire could fear in this afterlife. Most of them stayed within lines and regulations just so they wouldn’t have to face the rest of eternity alone, be it as it may in a state of the art manor and not some dingy prison cell.

So what had made this young woman waive her jury trial? Had she not heard of his reputation? Looking at her, he recognized she was an outspoken person, a very headstrong personality, from the way she didn’t seem to pay any attention to her lawyer.

He recognized the defence attorney. He was someone the state had provided the young woman with, so he wasn’t her own choice. Their body language told him all he needed to know. She was not going to heed her council’s advice. He wondered if the man knew it too, but if he had to guess he’d say he was suspicious of it at the very least.

This was going to be tricky, Harry thought to himself as he narrowed his gaze and decided to proceed.

“Is the accused in court?”

“Yes, your honour,” the bailiff announced.

“Alright, arraign the accused.”

The young woman was brought to the defence panel, the bailiff addressing her “You are the accused in the trial number 23234 entitled People of Chicago, Illinois versus Grace Gwyneth Cohen, and the information charges you of the crime of homicide committed as follows: that on the night of 27 of July, current year, in Chicago, Illinois, the above named accused, with intent to kill, did then and there, wilfully, unlawfully and feloniously attack, assault and employ personal violence upon the person of one Silvian Montgomery, by then and there stabbing him with a sharp silver switchblade on the right portion of his torso, thereby inflicting upon him a serious and mortal wound which was the direct and immediate cause of his untimely death as per the autopsy report conducted by the state appointed pathologist. Contrary to law. What is your plea?”

“Not guilty.”

“You will address the bench in doing so.”

The young woman cleared her throat and turned to face the judge who was watching her intently. She took a quick breath, meeting his icy glaze. “Not guilty, your honour.”

“The accused enters the plea of not guilty, your honour.”

The young woman rolled her eyes ever so slightly, muttering something about how she’d literally just said that. And she’d been subtle about it, but Harry was extremely observant. And his preternatural hearing capabilities didn’t hurt, either.

But he was willing to let it slide, because, well, he had an affinity for innocent people.

It felt a bit like cheating, this whole ordeal, a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. Because he was about to preside over a case knowing the outcome from head start. He knew what his verdict would be. He knew before he’d even been assigned the trial.

Not guilty.

Chapter 1

A/N: well, well well. the day has finally come. i've been planning on this fic for over a year now! i was going to post the epilogue for halloween, but life got in the way. in a way i'm glad i didn't because, well, this isn't just another vampire fic to me. it's so much more than that. it's smutty (of course), it's angsty (duh, it's me), but honestly... for a guy whose heart stopped beating a long time ago Harry sure doesn't act like it. and as for the original main character this time around, Grace... well, we'll just have to discover her alongside Harry, won't we ❤️

beta'd by the lovely @adorebeaa ❤️

special bday gift for @freedomfireflies ❤️ btw the name i chose for the mc is coincidental 😅

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