#breezy feels some type of way

[brujahinaskirt]

Okay, I obviously made the above post as a leetle joke, but since it's getting not insignificant traction, I do want to offer a more serious note.

I love this about Arthur. It's probably my favorite thing about him, but let me use this fresh new RDR2 meta post to clarify exactly what I mean. Despite the aspects of his personality & appearance that are traditionally hypermasculine, and despite how often he is annoyed with people (especially incompetents or people who meddle with his plans), Arthur is decidedly NOT annoyed by the social performance of femininity or by traits that are/were frequently stereotyped as feminine. Ever. Regardless of subject. I might go so far as to say he seems to canonically prefer hanging out with women and with "feminine" men.

Your long-winded, bullet-pointed analysis is below!

The Girls. Most noticeably, Arthur actually sits down to talk with and actively confides in the camp Girls (Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen) more than anyone else around. These three are the most traditionally "girly" (single, 20s, active, pretty, unattached, highly social, feminine, chatty) members of the gang, though of course they are still criminals and don't perfectly adhere to all period-typical standards of feminine comportment. He doesn't mock the girls** like he sometimes does with other auxiliary members of the gang (like Uncle and Pearson, playful or not). Notably, he doesn't even gently tease Mary-Beth for writing her "silly" romance novels, a highly feminized hobby which she speaks about in a self-depreciating manner, much like Arthur speaks about his own artistic hobbies. Rather, he talks to her about writing like a peer and encourages her to write more by going out of his way to get her a nice pen. Crucially, there is no canon romantic or sexual interest in any of the girls on Arthur's behalf. He just feels the most comfortable in their company and seems to value their advice/opinions on life the most. To me, this is much stronger proof than his forever-burning torch for the cultured & ladylike Mary, which is (or was once) rooted in romantic desire. ** Unless the player persists in Antagonizing them, and these lines (while sometimes shockingly cruel and offhandedly sexual in nature; see Arthur teasing Tilly about pursuing Javier) are largely about goading them for laziness or, in Karen's case, her alcoholism. That said, many of the Antagonize lines strike me as clumsily tacked-on & poorly rooted in canon, which could indicate: (1) an Arthur who is deliberately trying to be disruptive (a generous interpretation), or (2) writers instructed to add throwaway content that will make a certain type of childishly misanthropic gamer (think 13 y.o. boys) squeal in glee with relatively low impact on the overall story.

Campmates. Following the above point... who doesn't Arthur hang out with much? The manly men of the gang; the very people social mores suggest he ought to be hanging out with. Bill, Micah, Joe, Cleet, and even Dutch. (To some extent, this includes John and Sean, but I'd say John sort of lives at the edges of gang life anyway, and Sean is, well, Sean.) Conversely, which male gang members does Arthur hang out with a lot? Sweet little bookish Lenny, a wordy, positive-energy, breezy intellectual who has just barely become an adult. Introspective, soft-voiced, long-haired Charles, who is traditionally masculine by some standards (strong, usually calm, can be standoffish) but decidedly NOT so when his appearance/demeanor is judged by the white Christian American male standards that began to dominate masculinity concepts in the later decades of the 1800s.

Algernon. Oh, my, Algernon. Arthur clearly dislikes Algernon's fancy, loud, outrageous clothing. But weirdly, he seems to like Algernon, not just tolerate him. Arthur in fact goes through significant personal discomfort to avoid hurting Algernon's feelings (the awful hat, the POST.MAN. sobbing), and he immediately says yes to having tea with him without any awareness of a coming business proposition, though half the time Arthur clearly has no fucking clue what Algernon is talking about. I am left to conclude that on some level, he just enjoys hearing Algernon talk, which is word-for-word what he says while listening to the Girls argue about romance novels ("I just like listening to you [all] talk." Hello????). I mean, for God's sake, he meets the man while he's choking to death on a nut at a fancy party, and the second thing Algernon does is tell him he looks like a guy who wears a corset. If anything was going to set off the boiling defensiveness of a dude who worships masculinity, thirty seconds with Algie would have done it.

Margaret, Mistress of Fucking Danger. It's pretty clear Arthur doesn't like Margaret. But that has little to do with Margaret's femininity & cross-dressing (this doesn't faze him at all when Charles Châtenay does it; more on that below) and everything to do with Margaret's deceptiveness and highly selective memory. It's not until the bullshittery unveils itself that Arthur starts getting visibly pissed off at Margaret. Conversely, Arthur does seem more positively disposed toward Sally Nash. (That said, this quest has a lot of problems and poorly aged lines that are depressingly easy for a politically motivated jerkoff to soundbite and miscast as Rockstar being pro-bigot. Cue 800 heterobnoxious gamerbro ARTHUR MORGAN ULTIMATE ANTI SNOWFLAKE SIGMA MALE OF THE WEST YouTube videos.)

Albert, my beloved. Rather than goading him to man up, Arthur tries to persuade Albert (whom he very obviously likes) to pick safer animal photography subjects, e.g. horses, and doesn't insult him for his lack of wilderness knowledge (an aspect of traditional manliness that is highly relevant to Arthur's lifestyle). You'd think he would tear into him for this shortcoming, given that they share so many of the same interests and passions, and IMO his genuine eagerness to serve as Albert's protector and facilitate his art is highly convincing evidence that Arthur does not necessarily view masculinity as a net positive.

Arthur is a basic goddamn boyfriend-hater. He pretty much harshly disapproves of every husband, boyfriend, male partner, etc. in the game and is very, very vocal about it... except one extremely unlikely candidate: Beau Gray. Weak, dandy artist Beau Gray, whom Arthur takes one look at and promptly hands the only gun to Penelope. Arthur is curt and impish to Beau at times, but helps him in his relationship troubles willingly (without collecting repayment), and seemingly for no other reason than the fact he can see that soft, fearful Beau is genuinely head-over-heels in love with Penelope. Is he projecting his own young love for Mary onto them? Maybe/probably, but Beau could not possibly be more different from young Arthur, and Arthur seems to believe this difference will make him a good husband for Penelope. A good husband, in Arthur's view, seems to simply be a man who ardently loves his beloved, regardless of his ability to provide for/protect her, and whose only goal in life is to live that life at her side. This is completely antithetical to mainstream late-1800s views on what constitutes a good husband and what it means to be a man.

Châtenay. Arthur shows us some of the most obvious delight and mirth he experiences in the game when he's hanging out with Charles "Allo Boys" Châtenay, who is straight up in drag a third of that time. This baffles Arthur a little, but doesn't disgust or repel him. I've written about this mission elsewhere at greater length because it is one of my favorite disasters, but it's worth mentioning here too.

Trelawny. Arthur clearly enjoys Trelawny despite his grumbly claims to the contrary. Most of these "claims" are just Arthur's established way of affectionate teasing (he does much the same with Uncle and Pearson, both of whom he genuinely likes). His authentic gripes about Trelawny are all about a perceived flightiness/lack of loyalty to the gang, not about his flamboyance. And even these gripes are half-assed, in Arthur's usual way.

Bluegills & Daisy Chains. One of the most genuine moments of softness we have with Arthur in RDR2 is when he takes Little Jack out of the camp to go fishing. Arthur's usually a much truer version of himself when he doesn't have to play the Big Bad Gang Lieutenant role, but this moment of escape is especially important, and not just because Arthur reveals his fondness for children and his natural understanding of how to talk to them. I notice this: Arthur tries to gently teach Jack about fishing, and Jack is completely fucking uninterested. Jack prefers to make flower chains for his mommy. Arthur doesn't scold him for his drifting attention or his lack of attraction to masculine past-times; on the contrary, Arthur goes out of his way to encourage and protect Jack's natural sweetness and innocence. That's a wild stance for a murdering outlaw to have re: the "next generation" of his family. Hell, I've encountered far too many 21st century dads in my own family who flip their shit when their tiny sons prefer hanging out with women & partaking in "womanly" hobbies like art, cooking, and flowers rather than hunting and fishing.

"...and be a god damn man." This seems like classic masculine bluster on the surface, but what does this keynote line mean in the context in which Arthur says it? Well, it's complicated. This statement serves as (a) Arthur's goodbye to John, (b) Arthur's final call to action for John, and (c) Arthur's last wish for his brother's life. But it certainly does not mean standing and fighting or being tough; i.e., "dying like a man." In that moment, it means abandoning all masculine bluster and revenge fantasy, and running away: leaving violence and fighting and brotherhood and all that crap behind to simply be there (alive, present) for your wife and son.

The Best Women People. Who are the best people Arthur knows, by his own crystal-clear declaration? Abigail and Sadie. Sadie's a rough-and-tumble, super-violent gunslinger and Abigail's a stubborn thief & a former sex worker (in the time Arthur has known her), but they are also, critically, two wives: the most traditional feminine role for a woman of the time period (and indeed perhaps most of human history once the concept of "wife" subsumed that of "mother"). It's also important to note that Arthur doesn't truly give up on Dutch until Dutch abandons Abigail, which serves as Arthur's point of no return. The other men left in the gang at this point specifically note that she's "just a woman" and not worth going back for. Arthur is straight-up shocked by all of this; he obviously considers her among the most worthwhile and value-having members of the gang, and certainly one of the most core members of the gang. Without any hesitation or doubt, the instant it's clear Dutch is cutting Abigail loose, Arthur declares: "That's that, then."

tl;dr: Arthur unironically prefers hanging out with women and queens and I love that for them.

[lilystyles]

gingerbread at midnight.

part one of the sweetest thing series by @lilystyles

the sweetest thing masterlist & my main masterlist xxx

authors note did somebody say christmas fic szn??? if there is two things people know about me it is that i love christmas and i love harry styles. so here u go!

brief description during a chilly evening at the bakery, harry learns how to make gingerbread.

warnings! fluffy christmas baking including niall :) (4.3k words)

grumpy!roommate!journalist!H x sunshine!baker!roommate!reader

* * * * *

It was a snowy December evening and Harry finished work early for a change. Being a busy journalist who worked for one of the biggest media companies in the world, he never finished before the sun went down. Even before he’d been promoted to his high position now, and he was just some young fresh-faced Uni graduate assistant who rarely saw the light of day. Waking up early and finishing late. He was always running off much less sleep than your average person, and even when he was at home he was busily typing away on his laptop. But despite his strenuous hours and stressful workload, he loved his job a lot, and openly admitted he was a workaholic.

This was why he needed a roommate. He worried for his sweet girl while he was away during the evenings. 

At first, he couldn’t think of anything worse, he’d had roommates in Uni who literally made him want to pull his (gorgeous) hair out and swore to himself he’d never do anything like that again if he could avoid it. It wasn’t that his job didn’t pay well, in fact, he was very wealthy and he could’ve gotten a sitter for the days but it just didn’t seem practical to have a sitter every day for the rest of his life. And no, his sweet girl was not a partner to crawl into bed with during the evenings, or a child who needed his attention throughout the day. 

His sweet girl was his spotted Dalmatian named Peaches, who got lonely during the long nights he’d stay at the office. 

Y/n had been the perfect candidate for a roommate. Who he had met through a mutual friend Niall, they went to school together apparently and Niall worked with her now. He vouched that she was easy to live with. There had been a period of time when he had nowhere to go and Y/n let him live rent-free in her flat for a month until he could afford to get back on his feet. She was stupidly kind and generous, sometimes to a fault, but if you had the privilege of her friendship you were so lucky. When Niall explained to Harry what a good person she was Harry believed him. Niall had this great ability to see people’s true intentions, and when he looked at Y/n he saw a beacon of light coloured like spun gold.

Y/n worked for most of the week too, sometimes on weekends if they needed extra hands or she felt like going in, but her hours were flexible despite being a baker, which was unusual for her occupation. But she had a good group of workers who all loved their jobs even if it wasn’t exactly high-paying to work for her, which meant Y/n’s day-to-day life was pretty breezy. And during Harry’s hunt for roommates when Niall mentioned that this friend looking for an apartment with roommates happened to be a girl he was happy, because girls were usually clean and smelt good. Y/n very much smelt good and left a warm touch to the once cold large apartment. Quickly after she started living there, suddenly vases of flowers appeared everywhere, paintings were strung up on his grey walls, hand-knitted rugs found their way onto the couch, food was baking in his oven and Y/n’s contagious warmth filled every room. Harry had grown up with just his mum and sister and there was something he liked about having a feminine touch that made it feel homely. He liked how soft, caring, and gentle they were. Y/n was so sweet, whenever he had a bad day she made a tea and let him complain for however long he needed. And she and Peaches got on great, Y/n took her for long walks in the park near their flat and sometimes she even took Peaches into her work and the gorgeous pup would just sit in the front greeting customers.

The tires of Harry’s car rolled against the snow as he steadily drove through the busy middle of the city to the familiar route of Y/n’s bakery. She’d ran it for a couple of years now, having bought it fresh out of culinary school. It used to be a bookshop that was owned by a lady called Miss Green, now it was called ‘Sweets & Things’ and very successful with all the locals. Before they’d became roommates and he’d even known of her existence Harry remembers eating a particularly delicious danish pastry with blueberries in it, funny that a few years later his roommate made him fresh ones when he’d had a particularly rough day at work. 

During the Christmas season the little bakery picked up a lot more. Y/n found herself catering for lots more events starting from October and she didn’t know why but people seemed to need more sweets around this time of year. Halloween needed lots of cookies and sweets, but something about Christmas drove her sales right up. Maybe it was what got them through the bleak winter weather. And since Harry knew she’d been a bit stressed by it all lately, not that she would ever complain that wasn’t her way because she loved her job and was grateful to live out her dreams, he thought it might be nice to drop her some dinner since she’d been neglecting proper meals during the work week.

He picked up some takeaway from this little mexican place near his office, Niall had raved about it a few times now, he got an array of food from the menu and asked what they thought was best. Now he had three big bags of spicy smelling goodness heating up his backseats. He knew that Niall and Y/n would be eternally grateful and Harry wouldn’t mind eating with their company tonight. He forgot not everyone ate takeaway at their desk in the pitch black like he did.

His car pulled up out the front of Sweets & Things and he saw the golden bright lights were still on in the front area of the bakery, but no one was behind the counter manning for costumers. Snow littered the grass and concrete out the front, all the benches people sat at were caked in a thick layer of white and Harry shivered at the sight of outside. His office heaters were broken so he was actually always sweating, no matter the season. 

He parked his car lethargically and the sound of Fleetwood Mac cut off with the engine. He knew that the bakery stayed open until nine during the holiday season since Y/n had been working much later than normal and he’d asked about it, Harry checked his watch, and there was a little bit until they would shut down but it didn’t seem all that busy. And his friends deserved to eat after all.

He locked the car and walked along the path shivering and hugging the food to his body in attempt to warm himself up. He wiped his dress shoes against the welcome mat as he pushed the door with his broad shoulder, his dress shoes clicking on the tiles as he entered the bell above the door rang and he heard Y/n’s soft sweet laugh from behind the counter and footsteps. A warmth wrapped around his body and the smell of sweet baking and pastries filled his nose. 

The shelves with glass casing showed to be practically empty of sweets. This made him smile. Y/n always felt particulary chirpy when people liked her new creations of the week.

He felt his face start to warm up now and he sighed to himself.

“Hello! Welcome to Sweet & Things, what can I get y—” Y/n’s voice began in her usual script to customers stopping when she saw him, “Oh, Harry! What are you doing here?!” 

She rushed around the counter to come give him a cuddle in greeting. That was something about Y/n that took him a while to get used to, she was very physically affectionate. He opened his arms for her and held her happily. 

She looked cute as ever. Dressed in an apron that was covered in all sorts of powder and a little pink blouse that hugged her figure, paired with her favourite well-loved Levi’s, her shoes were these dark pink boots that made little clicks on the tiles. She looked beautiful, despite the fact she was running off less sleep than usual, she’d been here since the early morning and was probably very tired by now. Her hair was up in a messy bun that she’d thrown back with a pen and her face was bare of much makeup today. She was just in some lip balm that he could smell was strawberry-scented.

She pulled back from his warm arms and smiled up at him as if she hadn’t seen him weeks when in reality he’d driven her to work that morning. They carpooled and in the evening she’d either walk or catch the bus but usually Niall offered her a lift home.

“I just thought I’d bring you and Niel dinner, it’s from that Flaming Green Jose’s place he was talking about.” He said showing the bags of food. 

Y/n smiled this really big grin that Harry loved to make appear on her precious face. 

Y/n knew Harry was a bit of a grumpy old bastard sometimes, he tended to complain and not like new ideas, but he really was the sweetest thing underneath his stern face and scary resting stare. He was a sweetheart underneath it all. Even though he was so intimidating and tall Y/n always thought he was quite delicate looking. He looked pretty even under the harsh light of the front room, he was in one of his usual business outfits he wore to the office that made him look especially good. Today’s suit was all black and he had a big beige-brown coat over the top to keep him warm in the cold and this deep dark crimson scarf that Y/n had bought him when she noticed he had no scarfs, he said how much he liked her purple one day it was so soft he said and she decided then he needed one too. His long curls of brown hair were dusted in snow and messier now that it was the end of the day. She was sure it was from running his hands through it, he did that a lot when he was concentrating or thinking.

She rushed forward hugged him again with a big squeeze and kissed his cheek in thanks, he smelt so addicting and her head was the perfect height to smell his clothes that smelt like he always did. Like tobacco, vanilla, and his citrusy and woodsy shampoo. 

“Well aren’t you just a doll?” She said with a smile.

Harry couldn’t help but smile back at her looking down at her as a dimple formed in his normally stoic face. She pulled away from him hand still holding his bicep as she examined all the bags in his hands. Even though he dressed very formal always, he still had his touch on things, like his rings. Harry always wore dozens of amazing large rings, and nail polish too. Y/n had conviced him a few evenings ago to choose this nice lavender colour rather than his normal black. He said he would only if she would match him. So her nails were littered in that same colour and she was reminded of him whenever she looked at the chipping colour while she was kneading dough. And underneath those long shirts and pants were so many inked pieces of skin, that suited him more than you’d think. 

Y/n loved when, usually on Sundays which were his day off, he was sat at home in just some pyjamas that showed all the ink and she could ask him the stories behind each while they did laundry. She liked him in suits of course, there was something very attractive about it, but she liked him all cosy and casual too. He barely ever dressed that way, only at home. She felt lucky to see him that way.

She snapped herself out of her daydreams about his gorgeous hands and that cross tattoo she loved when her tummy rumbled hungrily at the smell of the delicious dinner.

��Niall! Harry brought us dinner!” She called out and Niall stepped out of the kitchen. He looked similar to Y/n, dressed casual too, because she didn’t think uniforms suited her place. The shorter man was in a pair of his own baggy jeans and this brown knitted jumper and a pair of ratty old sneakers. His bleach blonde hair was in messy spikes and he had a pair of glasses on today instead of contacts.

“Haz, is that Flaming Green Jose’s?” Niall asked instantly without even greeting him properly as he walked over to sniff and grab at the bags.

Harry nodded lifting the bags in show, the green plastic was printed in the familiar taco on fire logo that proved it was in fact Flaming Green Jose’s.

Niall practically drooled and looked up at him eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. 

“I could kiss you, mate!” He said, his Irish accent dancing off his tongue.

Harry grimanced at him and handed over the bags. “Please don’t. Just take the tacos.”

Y/n giggled by his side squeezing his arm in her usual way when he said something that made her laugh. 

Niall and Harry quickly began to set up the containers of different Mexican dishes while Y/n grabbed some cutlery, cups, and cold water for them all to enjoy their late dinner. The bakery had a few tables for people to sit and enjoy snacks at, and only for one portion of the day did they serve hot drinks, Niall was also a trained barista, which was perfect because she thought coffee suited a lot of her sweets. 

The three of them set up their food in one of the booths that was a cherry red leather colour. The snow was falling heavily outside now against the windows and it had started to quiet down out there. Not as many shoppers or people finishing work were wandering around outside as usual. The storm was keeping people, hopefully, rugged up and warm inside.

Y/n dreamily looked outside as she turned the big overhead lights off and switched on just the fairy lights she had strung up for Christmas spirit. They were a nice soft golden orange glow for them to eat. 

The three friends enjoyed their dinner quietly as the radio hummed some old jazz Christmas songs, they were all huddled together really close and Y/n leaned into Harry sleepily which he didn’t mind at all. The bakery was warm but Y/n felt chilly now that she was sweating away in the kitchen. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder to help warm her as they lazily chewed down their food. Even though he’d stripped himself of his massive coat and scarf he was still rather warm. 

Niall was right it was quite good food and a family-run business which was always nice to support. Y/n knew how it hard was to be a little business in the busy city of London.

The three chatted about nothing particularly worth noting, just talking about normal Harry, Y/n, and Niall things and enjoying the food. Harry was very hungry so he’d barely spoken a word just chewing lazily beside Y/n. When all the food was gone and they all felt sufficiently full Y/n kissed Harry’s cheek once more. 

“Thanks again for dinner, H.” She said softly eyes drooping, now that’d she been fed she was getting a bit sleepy.

He smiled, a big one for Harry, he was almost showing teeth. 

“I know how hard y’guys have been workin’, just wanted to help in some way.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. And it wasn’t too much of a big deal but the fact he’d thought of them when he’d gotten the night off was sweet, he was so busy and he chose to spend some free time helping friends. That hardly matched his scary persona.

This made Y/n’s heart swell and she spoke softly. “Thanks, Haz.”

“Yeah mate, you’re the best.” Chimed Niall wiping his face with a napkin. Niall had devoured his food contently. 

Their little dinner together was interrupted by the door swinging open, the bell ringing, and a couple of two walked in. 

Y/n stood up, moving from the warmth of Harry. 

“Hi! How can I help you?” She said plastering a smile on her face, walking over and tying the back of her apron back on.

The couple ordered a few Christmas cookies decorated like pieces of art and some cream horns that Y/n had made that morning. Y/n handed them their bags took their change and waved goodbye. 

“Have a good night!” She chirped to them.

They smiled and waved. “You too, Y/n!”

Y/n came back over and sat down again, looking over to Niall tucking her knees up to her chest. “Is it gingerbread time then, Ni?”

Niall nodded throwing his head back with a sigh. 

Gingerbread could be quite tedious. Especially the way Y/n decorated them. She really made them all individual pieces of art just for people to eat them. Which was beautiful, but also very time consuming.

Harry looked over, “I thought gingerbread was quite easy, Y/n makes it so quickly.”

Niall scoffed. “That’s because Y/n’s a machine. But even she can’t do this many cookies alone.”

Harry looked over at the tired pair of bakers and down at his hands. He tried to think of the last time he’d made gingerbread. Must have been with his sister Gemma when they were kids visiting their grandparents. But he thought if he could get an interview with James Hadden (a man who notoriously never answered questions to the media) then he could bake some cookies. How hard could it be? 

“Let me help then. Many hands make light work.”

Y/n blinked. “You hate Christmas,” she stated.

He looked over at her. “But I like your Christmas cookies.”

Y/n decided not to fight him on it. “Alright. Niall find him an apron I’ll start setting up.”

Y/n began getting out all the ingredients they’d be needing this way they could each make a batch to save time. She grabbed flour pouring enough into three bowls for each batch, some unsalted butter, brown sugar from the cupboard, some eggs from the fridge, baking soda, milk, and all the spices. As she looked at the array of ingredients laid out on the steel bench she noticed she was missing the most with most important ingredient; golden syrup.

She walked to the stock cupboard and saw the big bottle of golden syrup sitting on the tallest shelf. Adam, a really tall baker, had been working earlier he must’ve put it there. Y/n tried to reach on her tiptoes though it was no use, her fingernails only just grazed it.

When a hand came out from behind her gripping the big can it startled her and she turned to see Harry standing behind her.

“Oh, you scared me,” She giggled.

“Sorry, Love.”

She followed him back out to the kitchen. He placed the big can down on the bench and she took in his form. His long shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a bun now, and he’d taken off his suit jacket and tie, his black shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the buttons on his collar were undone. He had an apron on now too, one of Y/n’s collection, it was pink and frilly with flowers.

Y/n softly explained to Harry the process of making the batter and he was intently listening to her every word watching her through his lashes. Soon enough the dough was perfect and all three of them rolled out the dough the perfect width which meant Harry had to re-roll it. Once Y/n gave a thumbs up of approval they began using the cookie cutter shapes and cutting the cookies out. 

Harry had the make hearts and stars, Niall made gingerbread men and women, and Y/n made circles and snowflakes. 

Eventually, they put in their first batch, a little after 10. They kept re-rolling the dough and cutting as many as they could until the batches vanished. Harry was very good and gentle with his technique, and some were wonky but Y/n loved that he was helping and it took her years to perfect her cookies so he was doing very well for his first time. She selfishly wanted to keep his batch for them to go home and eat but she didn’t. 

By 11 all the batches were cooked or still cooking. Niall was on oven duty and Y/n was teaching Harry how to decorate. 

The ginger people were decorated all classic. White iced smiley faces and an outline around their body, little chocolate buttons for the outfits and a pinch of icing sugar to look like snow. Harry tried his best to do them and Y/n loved their imperfections it was like real people; all individual.

The others needed to be painted in colourful swirls of festive landscapes and honestly, they looked like individual paintings. Harry was amazed at her steady hand and ability to decorate such creative and individual designs for each cookie.

“Y’like tha’ bloody Andy Wharol of cookies, Y/n.” He said.

And she giggled her concentrated face cracking to a smile. She looked over at him. “It’s just practice.”

“No, it’s not.” Said Niall, from his station. “I’ve been practising for ages, your baking is just pure talent.” 

By midnight the last batch had cooled down and they were all decorating together and Y/n was humming along to the Christmas playlist she had put on. 

Niall twirled Y/n around and they sang along goofily. Niall and Y/n had been friends since culanary school which felt like years ago now. They were only teenagers then. All baby-faced and wide-eyed, now they were older and still just as immature when put together. When Y/n opened her bakery and she needed extra hands he was the first person she called. 

Niall was her best friend, and Harry had easily become her other one. Even though she was so tired and it was late, and her feet ached. The boys made it better. Niall singing into a spatula and Harry refusing to dance or sing was what kept her going the final stretch. She stopped decorating to go over to Harry, she looped her arms through his waist forcing him to step away from the bench and she tried to make him sway with her. 

His body stayed still and she moved closer to the front of him, in hopes of seeing his face. 

“C’mon! Dance, Grinch!”

“I don’t even dance when it isn’t Christmas, Y/n.”

She huffed arms crossing, “Please?” she asked, fluttering her eyes best of her ability in hopes of convincing him. 

Harry melted at the sight. She was so cute, even Harry couldn’t say no to her. He sighed like it was the most horrible task anyone could’ve asked him and she held out her hand with a smile. He grabbed it and she raised her hand for him to twirl under and he obliged spinning even though he was much taller than her. She leaned in close to him hands landing on his hips as his landed on her shoulders in an embrace while they swayed. She sang softly, and very off-key and Harry just shook his head. 

She was like a ray of sunlight, and he was like the moon. She looked up at him, “Thanks for helping,” she said softly.

“Of course….you’ve done way more for me.” He said.

She just shook her head and was about to reply but Niall cut them off. 

“I gotta’ get home to Max soon.” Max was Niall’s recent boyfriend. 

“Sorry, let’s get back too it.” Y/n said pulling away from Harry.

By almost 1 AM they were finished with every cookie. It was perfect. They would probably all sell out tomorrow. Y/n grabbed two handfuls one for Niall and one for Harry. She wrapped them like she would for costumers. She tied two pink ribbons and handed one to Niall. 

“Thank you for all your hard work, Ni, I’ll see you Monday?” He nodded smiling in his easy going way, and pecked her cheek.

“Bye, Pet, see you Monday.” They waved him off and they heard him leave when the bell chimed.

Y/n and Harry turned the lights off and grabbed there things. Y/n put on her layers of clothes. A big red coat, her lavender scarf, and her blue beanie that had a fuzzy ball on top. She grabbed her bags and keys and they locked up the shop. 

At least tomorrow both her and Harry had the day off. 

The walk to the car was brisk but short, the snow had stopped now and but it was still freezing. The pair stayed close by to one another, trying to keep warm as they walked quickly to the car. 

Harry started the car as fast as he could and cranked the heat and while they waited for it warm up they finally tried the few pieces of gingerbread she’d saved for them.

“Y/n this is so fucking good.” He said looking over at her. His hair was back down and he’d put on all his layers too. She smiled. 

“All you, H.”

He just shook his head. “You’re the best.”

She looked over blushing. “And you’re the sweetest.”

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Good Girl’

Dr Strange x fem!reader

- i got a request for a forbidden love type fic and fuck me this took long. but this inc the best smut i’ve written in a while so bon appetite. enjoy sluts x

You caught onto Stephen's stare, he was glaring at you with that severe look you've come to expect from him on nights like this. It was like he was testing you. Teasing you. Punishing you for something neither of you could have freely. But all you could do was meet his cool breezy eyes that were filling to the brim with a near calculated hubris and undignified jealousy. The kind you haven't seen since all of this started

-

You found yourself tossing and turning over thoughts you shouldn't have about a person you shouldn't even be focused on. What was it about Stephen Strange? The man was an anomaly, you don't think you've ever seen him smile let alone blink. Stephen was interesting, you wanted to know more about him, uncover all the secrets wrapped up like a movie reel but he'd never let anyone come close. His trust was always compromised and he had to protect his peace, he was the ruler of self preservation but...you wanted to wreck the bubble he lived in. Before a mission briefing, he held the door open for you, his face was hard and expressionless but his eyes bore into yours with a certain sincerity that made you halt in your tracks.

You had an inkling about the way this made you feel, and you didn't like it. Why? Because it was against the rules, the rules that were designed to be adhered to or you'd get the boot from this team that you worked so hard to get onto. Though it was difficult for you to deny that there was a weird spark settling over your heat everytime you were near him, what made it all the more embarrassing and terrifying was that you were sure he caught onto it

These thoughts buzzed your brain awake. Constantly glancing at your clock didn't do yourself any justice either, for fucks sake it was 1 in the morning and you still couldn't sleep. It was suddenly becoming too hot. You flung the covers off of you and sighed into nothing. Your mouth turned dry and to your dismay you had no water left in your bedside bottle. You hung your head and groaned into your pillow, though it was surprising to see your feet had finally found the floor. Grabbing your bottle, you trudged into the light praying that this was all just a fleeting whirlwind that would end soon

You were good. You were a good girl. You listened to the rules, you were happy in your position. All you needed to do now was stay good. Not matter if the void was calling you

Stephen wasn't an angel. He was blinded by his own self importance and he's made a few albeit questionable decisions that could have put the others at risk. He looked as if he'd seen every single aspect of life-the good, hopeful and the downright ugly. He was experienced...you weren't

All you had to do now was avoid him, no matter the expense.

You left your room and padded down to the kitchen to fill up the bottle, maybe grab a midnight snack in the process- you more than deserved the treat. Although to your suprise, the lights leading to the kitchen were still on. It was probably Natasha or someone else that didn't care about your appearance at this moment, you were counting on it. You approached with caution, however.

And suprise fucking surprise. It was him- the one you had planned on avoiding.

Stephen darted his head up, he was fixing himself a stiff drink at such an unholy hour. You stopped in your movements, stilling at the sight of him like a deer in the headlights. Your heart stopped and pounded against your chest when you finally regained the breath that fled you. Why the fuck was he here? He's not supposed to be here

‘’Oh. Hey.’’ Stephen regarded you with a thick heavy voice. It was so incredibly jarring to see him wear normal clothes, your wild eyes scanned to see he was wearing a plain dark tee and some sweatpants- that clung onto him like a second skin.

"Hey. Aren't you supposed to be at the Sanctum?’’ You found your way around the counter to the sink.

To Stephen's shock, you attempted to keep your cool. He wanted to laugh. He had never seen you ty so hard to act normal- it was amusing and slightly endearing.

Hm.

‘’I just needed to pick up a few things. Most importantly this bourbon.’’ Stephen's gaze was unflinching as he surveyed your every waking move, committing it to memory as a means to figure you out. His eyes were fervently observing what you were wearing. A button down, the kind of dress shirt a guy would wear under a tux, a quite literally nothing else.

Stephen raised a discerning brow at your purpose. You were so subservient yet you were freely showing your bear legs shamelessly. What a twisted inclination, so out of character. He liked it.

You scoffed. ‘’The difference between us is you're drinking alcohol, I'm drinking water at this hour.’’ A ghost of a smile landed on your lips. You turned the tap on and started filling up the bottle.

‘’Well aren't you the poster woman for sobriety.’’ Stephen joked and you stilled at the words landing on your ears, Strange joking was like a lunar eclipse, it rarely happened and it was kind of magical. You turned your head and bit your lip playfully as your eyes locked with his.

‘’I'm happy being healthy.’’ You smirked and he paused for a beat to study you.

‘’Not healthy enough to join me for a drink?’’ He offered. It would be prudent not to take him up on it but your heart rate was kicking into overdrive and you were slowly getting addicted to the rush he was giving you in such a shot amount of time. Fuck. This wasn't good.

‘’Sure.’’ You replied bashfully and he took out another glass and started pouring, you haven't even had alcohol in you and you were starting to loosen up already. You were finally coming out of your shell. It was rejuvinating to Stephen.

You inched closer to him as you leaned agains the cool marble counter, you were close enough to feel his air and to smell his rich cologne. The sensation of it was heating your blood tenfold. Stephen could feel your eyes raking him up and down- like you were checking him out. It boosted his ego indefinitely.

If he had to describe you, a litany of words came to mind. Shy. Intelligent. Flirty. Hotter than the core of the fucking sun. Sometimes reality is stranger than fiction, he wouldn't have guessed he'd have an actual conversation with you.

‘’Whose is that?’’ Stephen pointed a pinky at your shirt before he passed the glass to you. Your face blushed a muted red and good Lord you looked incredible. Traces of desire were evident on you but he had to keep himself composed. You quickly hung your head and glanced at what you were wearing.

‘’Uhm.’’ You pondered momentarily. "You’re assuming that this is someone elses? That's presumptious of you.’’ You sneered with a certain flirt in your voice, it was fun. Cute. He chuckled lowly before taking a sip.

‘’I was actually going to ask who the lucky guy was.’’ Stephen declared very matter of factly and it made you splutter into your glass, Stephen smirked like an asshole and you had to regain your posture and square you shoulders to retain some sort of dignity.

‘’Lucky guy? There's no lucky guy Stephen.’’ Your eyes bore into his scorchingly, wildfire swirling against wildfire- completely uncontrollable and heady as fuck.

‘’Any red blooded male would want you in their bed.’’ Stephen flirted deadly serious in his inflection but you looked at him through challenging eyes.

‘’Including you?’’ You blurted without thinking.

‘’Mhm.’’

Oh?

‘’But you're a good girl.’’ Stephen's eyes darted away from yours in dismissal as he focused back on his bourbon.

What?

‘’Good girl?’’ You repeated like a dumb parrot, it was impossible to contain the shock in your voice.

‘’There is actually a difference between you and I: you're good, I'm not. I don't think you want me to ruin whatever sunshine cocktail you've got going on here.’’

‘’Maybe I've been silently begging you to.’’

He paused to regain a breath.

‘’The things I'd do to you-‘’

‘’Why don't you do it?’’

‘’Don't you always follow the rules? Stephen raised a condescending eyebrow at you, completely knowing of your true nature- you didn't exactly hide the fact that you were a goody two shoes. He traced a fleeting finger around the underside of your jaw, you practically melted into such a cursory and short lived touch before he pulled away. ‘’Isn't that your whole shtick?’’

‘’Don't you like that?’’ You shot back and he was disarmed once more, it was written all over his face. If only he just opened up his eyes and shut his mouth to just see what he's been missing. ‘’Or do I have to put it in words that make it easy for you to understand?’’ You took a swig of your drunk and Stephen just stared down at you like a dumbfounded idiot.

‘’I don't want to taint your perfect record.’’ Stephen grumbled heavy, his eyes turned pale as they alight with a real candor and earnestness that made you loosen up a little more.

Stephen took your pause as a means to drink you in like the bourbon in his hand. Except you weren't fiendish or burning his throat like the liquid courage, you were sweet- so sweet you could throw up. Fresh, full of light and wonder, completely entrancing and you didn't even realise it. But after a while of studying you, you were everything that he wasn't. You were good. A good girl and to be honest he felt like the big bad wolf in your presence. His curiosity could be countered with that of a cat, you were just so different than all the other women that wanted him. Stephen thought that you wouldn't be his type, but he could completely understand how your heart and turnons could be multilayered. What a cliche. You were interested in the older more experienced guy and Stephen would be lying if he said he wasn't so damn pleased about it. He glanced at your shirt and his mood soured slightly, he didn't like the idea of you wearing someone another guy's dress shirt. It should be his. No one elses.

Slow down, Strange. Let's not be hasty here.

That look on your face though made his dick twitch in his pants. Your eyes were wide and guileless yet flirty and playful, Jesus.

‘’Do you want me to put it crudely?’’ You bit your lip, your mouth already running a full course marathon to the man that was already making you wet with his words

‘’Go for it.’’

‘’I want you to fuck me.’’

Stephen looked a little disappointed with your response.

‘’Is that how vulgar you can go? Damn, you really are a goody two shoes, aren't you?’’ He quipped and you were slightly offended, but he want wrong. The fact that you were talking like this to one of your teammates was making your nervous system kick into a hyperactive overdrive. You could lose everything because of this...but it seemed that none of that mattered now. ‘’I mean have you even fucked before?’’ Stephen asked genuinely. He was actually wondering for real this time, have you even considered being adventerous in bed before? Have you ever even been to bed with another man before? Did that mean he would be your first fuck? Your first proper orgasm? Shit, he'd better make this good then.

Calm down. You both aren't doing anything right now...you're just talking...like normal people. That's it.

Stephen took a minute to bridle his thoughts and act like a proper human being. You probably haven't even said the word 'fuck' out loud and it made him want to laugh.

‘’My own fingers don't count, do they?’’ You bit sarcastically, a snarl forming on your face alongside the twist of your lips. Oh you weren't happy and it was easy to see it

‘’Did I strike a nerve?’’ Stephen gave you a look of faux sincerity and you scoffed at him.

You just glowered at him through heavy lidded, lust clouded eyes- the outlines of a plan briefly forming in your head. You took a step back from him and his gaze followed you. You hands slowly fell upon the buttons of your botton down, you teasingly unbottoned the the top botton...then the second button…and then finally the third button. Stephen's eyes watched your ministrations intently and he was goddamn hypnotised by it all; he was also getting slightly annoyed at watching you tease him. You stopped before going any further so it was only your cleavage that was on show. No bra? Stephen thought that was pretty ballsy of you considering how sunshine-y you were.

‘’Is this heading somewhere or am I just wasting my time? Or am I gonna get myself into trouble for something that isn't even worth it?’’ You breathed as you crossed your arms in defiance. So tired of the fact that he was dragging this along...but was the risk worth the outcome? You weren't sure- but you were aching to know.

’We're both asking a lot of questions. I mean if Tony or Fury finds out then-‘’

You cut Stephen off from his words with a searing kiss, you grabbed at his face like it was the last thing you would hold. He was startled at first but he melted into your embrace fairly quickly...Lord, he was yearning for something he wasn't allowed to have. He couldn't have this freely. this freely. No. But he didn't give a fuck when you tasted that good.

‘’I don't give a fuck about Fury.’’ You gritted against his lips.

-

You couldn't give a shit about him. You wouldn't give a shit about him- not here, not now, not when everyone was prying and wandering eyes saw what everything has come to. Stephen and you were both far too intelligent to let get something as stupid as emotions get in the way, but fuck, it was getting in the way - everytime you looked at him you could practically see the sparks explode in a line from your gaze to his.

You were both private, closed off people; you were both getting good and pretending like Stephen was just another teammate, just another random guy you had to work with professionally, it never had to be too friendly. If anything you would avoid it in most social situations but this was different. You were at a party. Stephen hated parties, you knew damn well. Pillowtalk can actually be helpful. You tried conversing with other agents but you could feel Stephen's stare burn into the right side of your skull, when you quickly peered you saw him with Wong and fucking Tony...it was like the world was against you today and you attempted to surpress your frown. Your fingers tapped at your glass in order to aid in dealing with your scattered thoughts.

Even your fucking drink reminded you of him.

Stephen's glare was that of a lingering one, he couldn't fucking take his eyes off you when you looked so sweet and delicious- he thought you looked incredible in dresses but he preferred you in his shirts, or more specifically nothing at all. He had to conceal the smirk that was so obviously forming on his face; all of the experiences he's had with you seemed to play like a movie reel in his mind and it only made him that much more restless. His scowl formed inwards to himself. He hated being bound by rules and he hated himself for letting it dictate when and how he can see you, it was tampering with his rational steady head.

Stephen was eyeing you like an animal starved of a meal, like a wild salivating dog with rabies and even when you flashed him one simple look, the urge to just grab you and fuck you hard in the bathroom seemed like a less and less insane idea.

Don't be stupid, Strange. She's not all yours to have whenever you please.

Stephen felt indefinitely embittered and apprehensive over the male agents fawning over you and being sycophantic in your presence. They couldn't say no to you even if they tried, but Strange couldn't help but agree with them entirely- you looked lovely...and he was the only one that could actually see you naked. Feel you. Touch you. Kiss you all over, wherever you wanted. Though it does dampen his spirits because he wished he could just grab you and show all these people who you belonged to. He was being quite literal when he said that these agents were chasing you like boys in a schoolyard. Stephen's temple thrummed with an easily identifiable envy, it pulsated in a frisson of annoyance and irritation. Fuck. Your gaze lingered and you didn't back away this time. It was fixed. It was intent. It was an incentive. Stephen just threw his head to the side a little bit as an indicator to follow him in the direction he was pointing to. He excused himself between Wong and Tony and headed through the halls You kept a stiff upper lip and your non chalant and placid character seemed to work to the outside world, but as your feet hit the ground towards him, your inhibitions were fleeing you like ashes from wildfire.

Stephen found a quiet sleek hallway that no one was inhibiting and waited around for you, his hands went into his suit pockets as his primal urge remained the strongest of them all, stronger than the jealousy, stronger than the envy. He wanted you so bad, it reminded him of the first time he truly realised it in the kitchen. His mind was frenzying, he had a thought that startled him: was he in love with you? He felt like a madman but the tension didn't ease when you were here...right in front of him.

You melted into his immediate embrace but you stilled once you realised that anyone could be watching.

‘’Not here.’’ You mumbled but you weren't in any hurry to push him off.

‘’I hate pretending like I don't want you.’’ Stephen grunted before he met your guileless eyes once more, his hand cupped your face and his finger smoothed out the skin of your cheek. ‘’And all those boys think they have a chance with you, they're practically undressing you with their eyes and I fucking hate it.’’ His voice was bitter and angry, the way he said it made your knees turn wobbly. ‘’If only they knew I was your first fuck, that I was there before all of them and I was the one that made you cum so hard-‘’

‘’That would be quite an interesting predicament, yeah.’’ You cut Stephen off with a tongue in cheek remark and he wasn't loosening up in the slightest, your feet inched closer to his and your lips were only a few inches apart. ‘’But, doesn't that make us special? Doesn't it make you feel special? That you're the only one that makes me so fucking dumb for you...that you're the one that makes me make a mess for you. that you are the only one capable of making me feel good? I mean just looking at you tonight made me wet.’’ You breathed against his lips sensually, and he was already giving into you and your perfect machinations.

‘’I've made you bad. You've turned bad. I like it.��’ Stephen smirked and his eyes lit with a pale fire.

‘’You got your sling ring?’’

‘’Always.’’

‘’No-one will be at the Sanctum, take me there and do whatever you want.’’ You smiled brazenly and he was already forming a portal to his bedroom...a twisted part of him wanted to fuck you in public...yeah maybe next time. Stephen always had to juggle being brazen and keeping his composure, it was a difficult pairing to say the least. ‘’Or you could just death stare at the boys like you've been so callously doing all night? You know they're afraid of you, right? They think you're intimidating, they wouldn't mess with you.’’

‘’But they'd mess with you, and I don't like it.’’ He declared before grabbing your hand and walking you through the portal with a strut you only saw when he was annoyed.

You've only ever been in Stephen's room once but the bed appeared bigger than you remembered- you couldn't wait to christen it in a night of deep throes of passion, you were desperate for it at this point. But then again, when weren't you desperate for him.

‘’I don't have to admit that I'm a jealous guy because I'm sure you've figured it out already, but I feel like I'm blind and tortured on this. It's childish of me to give into my primeval urge of being the coldest, apathetic guy in the room but with you-‘’ He couldn't even finish his sentence, his big hands just grabbed you by the waist and you fell into him, faces barely inches apart- a fucking sheet a paper wouldn't even fit betwen your bodies, you could sense the heat radiating off of him.

Stephen's words were setting your heart on fire, when he embraced you again your insides were about to explode. His eyes were scorching and wanton and you could only reflect it, you've never seen him this short fused and rousing before.

‘’I'm yours. Only yours.’’ You breathed against his lips before you ducked your mouth to his jaw and neck and planted soft reassuring kisses on his skin. ‘’And I don't want you to not be near me.’’ Your whisper was barely audible and his hands flew up to cradle your face in response. ‘’God, these past few weeks I've had to use my fingers and imagination just to get myself off.’’

With that, he instinctively spun you around and bent you over the front of his bed- using your hair as a personal leash.

Stephen's hands were careless, his fingers pinched you as he worked to get your pretty little dress off, the one that all of the other agents were practically stripping you of with their own wandering eyes. The unwelcome thought only fuelled his roughness, his indifference- the first time Stephen had you, he made sure to be gentle with you because he knew you'd break fairly quickly...but you actually proved him wrong, you were more insatiable than he was. You were a certified freak in bed. He wondered where all of this came from, where you actually got it from specifically. It was unanticipated and prodigious. Your dress turned into a pile of scraps on his bedroom floor, he smirked when he saw you squirming against his sheets.

You only had your underwear on, lacy, classy, cute. After, Stephen ducked down and made quick work of getting rid of your heels and his own suit jacket.

You heated up every room that you walked into.

‘’You gonna tie me up?’’ You questioned bashfully, your cheeks turning a pretty pink.

‘’You want me to?’’

‘’Mhm.’’

You moaned when he grabbed your waist and slammed you further up the bed, tossing you around like you were his own personal rag doll- it only made you that much wetter.

Stephen grabbed your wrists and you raised them above your head, he took his tie off and the silk wrapped around your wrists; he looped the fabric over your wrists in an infinity motion and tightened it around your skin, you stuggled against it and it only bit into your skin even more- just how he likes it.

He then looped the remaining fabric of the restraint over his iron bedframe so you were quite literally attached to the bed, your arms were already about to go limp. As silence settled through the air, a hard smack on your ass cracked through the air and you moaned at the sheer idea of him leaving his imprint on you. He always had to avoid leaving hickeys and bites on areas that were visible but he had full reign all over all the other places.

‘’Fuck, you're so beautiful.’’ He gaped at you and it only made tour blush that much more apparent

Before he could respond, he viciously grabbed you by the waist again and flipped you over so you were face up, so he could watch you while he made you feel good. The thing only he alone can do. You were a panting pathetic mess already and the urge to remain composed fleeing you the longer he spent with you.

He took off his shirt and then he suddenly ducked down so his eyes were in view of your thighs and glistening heat, fuck you were soaked and it was a beautiful sight to behold.

‘’Stephen...please just touch me.’’

‘’I'm gonna explore you...just like I did the first time.’’ He reassured almost drunkenly, his words blurred by the desire he's spent so long harbouring for you. ‘’Tell me you want it.’’

‘’Yes. I want it bad.’’ You reaffirmed so eagerly it was designed to make Stephen's ego soar. ‘’Fuck...I need it.’’

‘’You seem greedy for it princess.’’

You couldn't even give him a snarky remark, his large hands smoothed up and down your thighs and you felt liquid electricity shoot down your body. Stephen's eyes searched yours as he gawked up at you like a salivating animal. His curious fingers hooked onto your panties and shimmied them down your legs and ended up like scraps on his bedroom floor just like your dress. You were naked in front of him like so many times before and you were just begging to be touched. Stephen planted a few kisses up your thighs as a means to tease and make you squirm.

‘’You say you're bad but here you are...saying yes so easily.’’ Stephen taunted and it only made you whine.

‘’Finger me or eat me out you prude.’’ You bit back harshly and it only made him chuckle lowly, the sick bastard was laughing at you.

He reached out and gripped you by the jaw. A threat and a warning all at once and when you looked him in the eye it dawned upon you. ‘’I'll take however long I please. Now spread your legs wider for me. Yeah?’’

To your dismay, you obliged and his fingers meandered from your chest to your stomach, tracing and moving in torturously slow for you liking- Stephen surveyed the expressions contorted on your face so intently it was like he wanted to burn a hole into your face. His lips pressed down to where your heart laid, then his mouth and tongue flew to your tits. He bit and sucked on them ferociously and your breathless pants seemed to spur him on. He was being intensely methodical and you hated him for it- all you wanted him to do was ram into you already

‘’Shit...I'm so fucking wet.’’ Your voice was like a slur, so drunk off of the pleasure he was giving you.

'’All for you.’’

‘’Huh.’’ Stephen scoffed in pure awe and pride. ‘’You're just have to be perfect, don't you?'’

You smiled in response. Fuck, he was going to destroy you. Stephen's mouth travelled south and his head ducked to your sloppy heat, the sweetest little pussy. The scene was filthy. He kissed your clit and it made you throw your head back and tug on your restraints.

‘’Stop squirming or I won't make you feel good, got it?’’ Stephen gritted with a voice thick with gravel and seriousness. You nodded all wide eyed.

His tongue started working its magic, he licked and sucked on you as if you were the last meal he would ever have. He was obsessed with the sweetness of your arousal, it only motivated him that much more. You always provided for him and now he was the greedy one to take it from you. He grunted into your pussy and it sent vibrations up your body, sparking its way back to your core, you whimpered violently, your mouth agape. Stephen was devouring you, feeding off of your light, consuming every inch of you until you understood that you were his alone. You were clenching around him already and he didn't approve of it and he suddenly unlatched his lips from you to glare at you.

‘mIf you dare think about cumming.’’

‘’I can't take it.’’

‘’Well, you're gonna take it.’’

‘'The other agents wouldn't be as mean.’’ You smirked and it made Stephen's blood roar. His mood darkened instinctively at the idea of them seeing you like this.

‘’Oh if any other man thinks of touching you, they'll be in pieces and you won't get my dick stuffed in you for months.’’ His threat was horrifyingly genuine and you didn't want to take any chances.

Your eyebrows tensed at his eye-opening intimidation and before you could even register anything else, you could hear the clank of his belt and the unzipping of his fly.

‘'Stephen..I-‘’ He slipped the head of his cock inside you before you could finish your plead.

His cock was angry and steel hard as it pulsated inside of you. A whimper escaped your mouth and it shot right down him. You looked borderline pornographic which completely underscored that once light niavete and innocance. Once he got his hands on you, he made you a filthy mess for him. Broken for him. Stephen was selfish and cruel enough to take you with him when burned the world to ashes at your feet- for you. He made sure he was face to face with you, eye contact was so important to him while he did this. He fisted your hair and then tugged it back until you stared straight up at him. He thrusted in and out of you and your legs wrapped around him relentlessly.

‘’That's it...look at me. Look at me while I'm ruining you.’’ Stephen instructed before he engulfed your lips in a searing kiss. ‘’Remember who you belong to.’’

‘’Yours... You... Fuck it's always you.’’ You stammered out pitifully and it was such an endearing thing to hear.

He was making you feel so damn good, he was reaching depths you knew no one else could. He was an expert at his craft and it was paralysing you

Your shaking legs stilled as your heart began to burn with an overwhelming determination to just explode. And you did. With abandon. With euphoria. You gushed onto him and it was a design for perfection, a moan ripped at your vocal chords and you felt your throat turn raw. Stephen's chest started to hurt and his cock throbbed harder, a wash of hot shudders rippled through his entire body once he saw the view on your face. The thrumming of his ensuing grunts travelled all the way up your spine once he started dragging you through your orgasm. Faster and faster until the only sounds of that were ragged breaths, flesh slapping against flesh.

Stephen was so rough and he was half expecting for you to tap out, but you never did. And it made him cum so hard into you, painting your insides a thick white it would be leaking out of you. He was an incredible interior decorator and the thought made him smile which you hastily caught onto when pulled out.

‘’What are you so happy about?’’ You asked softly as he was beginning to take the restraints off you.

‘’Nothing.’’ Now he was the one that was blushing with arousal, he threw the tie away and fell back into bed to envelope an arm around you. To hold you. Embrace you. You'd both clean up later, you just wanted to enjoy your post coital bliss.

Stephen's head hit the pillow and he turned his head to look at you in those pretty eyes he'd spend the rest of his days losing himself in.

‘’You're eyes always glaze over everytime you cum.’’ Stephen remarked and it made you scoff.

‘’Hm, your compliments are always so inventive.’’ You let his big arms engulf you into his embrace and you laid on his bare chest feeling his warmth coat your skin. Stephen stroked your hair rhythmically and you nuzzled further into his neck. Although, Stephen turned serious for a moment and his lips thinned and his gaze narrowed- the silence muffled his eardrums.

‘'I don't like hiding.’’ He said impassively, holding onto you that much tighter. The twisted bedsheets curling up alongside you.

‘’We'd lose everything.’’

‘'I know. I just want to want you freely.’’ Stephen seemed forlorn but he knew it was stupid to be bringing this up again but it was the one thing on his mind.

‘’I think I've gotten used to this little routine of ours.’’

‘’Why?’’

"Because it's ours. No-one elses."

[swordheld]

hello! do u have any new music recommendations?

of course!!! going to throw some general pop/indie/rock/instrumental all over vibes at you? these are some of the ones that i've been having on repeat a lot lately because they bring something bright and fun into my days - hope you enjoy them !! 💛

if i'm honest (trousdale) – oh the absolute vibes of this one. the harmonies. the beat. the slow downs and build ups? that ending? it's like easy, slow, growing ease and joy. that point 3/4 of the ways through the song, that building of things? the payoff? those background horns? the drums? i cannot sit through it without some kind of air guitar / drums / chair dance type beat. it's too good that you cannot help it, it just goes so hard.

close one (fizz) – i have been writing so much love poetry to this song. it is soft and slow and serene like light, all golden hour, the soft golden hues of almost, of here, like this, with me? that little 'fuck it' before the chorus is so fun. this group is made of insanely popular individuals (dodie/orla gartland/greta isaac/martin luke brown???) and together .... they are so powerful. cannot wait to see what they create next !!

run (maisie peters) – there is such a fun vibe to this song. that line of the chorus, that 'i've been lied to / i've been cut and deleted / i've heard some things i will leave unrepeated' is sooooo good, that rhyme scheme that syllable count balance? it immediately went onto my writing playlist w/ that fun beat, that synth, that catchy repetition? the whole album this comes off of is so very good too, esp. 'the band and i'? i really enjoy her sound!!

like a brother (hey, nothing) – this song feels like a lullaby, in the way of being swung in a hammock? all late summer, early winter winds? but there is such a lyricism that gets stuck in my brain, the whole layout of the chorus and is just so soft. i feel so many things. another easy one for the poetry playlist.

margo (sally boy) – oh the orchestral, string opening? the easy flow of it, instrumental and light, before hitting that small bit of silence before the guitar and lyrics come in? and then the absolute hit that is the beat of the chorus hitting? obsessed. phenomenal. i love the balance of gentle, light instruments and the slow instruction of the drumbeat, it feels like a whole story that you can experience, the flow of it!

eightball girl (maddie zahm) – i can leave this song for a few days and then out of nowhere it'll just be in my head again, the vibes of it, that beat of the chorus? the layered voice effects? sometimes songs have this balance to them that my brain just sucks up like a sponge and this is one of them. soooo good. i'll be in the supermarket and my brain will just go eightball girllll, tell me how you feel about meeee and it's perfect.

snow angel (reneé rapp) – this was one of the first ones i found on my daylist that was just like, how did i go so long without you. how did i not know about you. and since then it's been a daily listen. the slow, gentle breeze of that beginning? there is such a rising and falling to this song, like seasons, like the breeze? all tide, all here and there and back again, all resilience and ferocity, softness and violence? that electric guitar and the piano and the feedback just makes me want to just. aaaaaaa. this whole album is just banger after banger too!!

grace (henrik) – it's so fun!!! it brings me so much joy and energy, the easy breezy pop vibes, it's so hopeful and gentle and loving. i have it set as my alarm rn because i really do think it'll last through the sisyphean task of getting me out of bed in the mornings, it just feels like sunlight.

[cnnmairoll]

hello hello! may i ask for a luka x fem!reader where luka sees reader taking care of the moles and he just gets this very homey and fluffy feeling within him? :'DD please only do it if you're comfortable + are okay with doing it given your sched!!! have a great day/night ahead!

The Moles' Beloved Miss

Pairing : Luka x Fem!Reader Genre : Fluff a/n : When I saw this rec I immediately stopped whatever I was doing and got into writing. Luka favoritism? Yes but I'm not sorry for it. Anyways hope you liked this anon!!

You had always been the nurturing type. Whether it was tending to your garden, or baking cookies for your neighbors, your heart was as warm as your freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. You had a special place in your heart for children, which is why it was no surprise that you found yourself surrounded by a group of adventurous kids who called themselves "The Moles."

You had become fast friends with Hook and the other members of The Moles, Timmy and Julian. It all started when you noticed them playing in the park one day. Hook had taken a tumble, and you couldn't resist rushing to her aid. Since then, you had become their go-to caregiver, a role you embraced wholeheartedly.

One breezy afternoon, you sat in the center of a circle of Moles, their eyes wide with wonder as you spun a fantastical tale of knights, dragons, and magical kingdoms. They hung onto every word, their imaginations running wild.

Meanwhile, not too far away, Luka watched with a soft smile. He had always been drawn to your nurturing spirit, and your ability to bring joy to these young souls only deepened his admiration for you.

As your storytelling session concluded, Hook, the self proclaimed leader of the Moles, jumped up with enthusiasm. "Miss, can we hear more stories tomorrow? Pretty please?"

You chuckled, ruffling Hook's hair affectionately. "Of course, Hook. I'll have a new adventure ready for you."

Timmy and Julian exchanged excited glances, and Luka couldn't help but be touched by the happiness radiating from the children.

After your storytelling session, the Moles led you on a little expedition through the hidden corners of Belobog's Underworld. They showed you their secret hideouts, mysterious caves, and all their favorite spots for games. Along the way, you couldn't help but notice their youthful curiosity and wonder, and it warmed your heart.

As the day turned into evening, you returned to your small cottage in Belobog's Underworld. It was a cozy little place with wooden walls and a thatched roof, and it felt like a second home. You had a feeling Luka was responsible for its comfort, as he often popped by with small surprises, like freshly baked cookies or a bouquet of wildflowers.

Tonight, as you entered your cottage with the Moles in tow, you discovered a delightful surprise. The room was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, and the smell of something delicious wafted through the air.

"Miss, look!" Julian exclaimed, pointing to a table laden with cookies, hot chocolate, and a pile of storybooks.

Hook grinned mischievously. "Luka helped us set up this surprise for you, Miss!"

And there, standing by the table, was Luka himself, wearing his characteristic warm smile. "I thought we could all have some cookies and milk and continue with the stories," he suggested, his eyes twinkling.

The Moles cheered in delight, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of happiness in your chest. You all gathered around the table, munching on cookies, sipping hot chocolate, and sharing tales long into the night.

Luka, with his infectious enthusiasm, added to the magic of the evening. He told stories of his own adventures, ones that inspired the Moles to dream even bigger. As the hours passed, you couldn't help but admire the way he connected with the children, just as you did.

The night drew to a close, and as the Moles left your cottage with tired smiles and full hearts, Luka lingered behind. He looked at you, his blue eyes filled with warmth and admiration.

"Thank you," he said softly, "for bringing so much joy to their lives. You have a gift.

You blushed, feeling grateful for Luka and the bond you shared with the Moles. "It's my pleasure, Luka. And thank you for always being there to support us."

With a fond smile, Luka reached out and gently held your hand. "You know," he began, "I think the Moles are right. You're like a guardian angel to them. And to me."

As you looked into Luka's eyes, you realized that this peculiar little corner of Belobog's Underworld had become a place of magic and wonder, filled with friendship and love. And in that moment, you couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the world.

[wickmitz]

what do you think mitzi’s type in men is?

hmm, this is a fun little ask! especially since her love interests, on a surface level, couldn’t be more different. we have :

zib : former long term boyfriend but not quite … they were very loose with labels, as we know from outside information and the way zib lives life in general. but despite this, whatever feelings fostered between them were intense ; enough so for him to stick around years later, resigned to a chained down lifestyle simply because he doesn’t want to leave mitzi. he’s very loyal in that sense! even if it’s not a conventional type of loyalty. we know that before bitterness seeped inbetween their bond that zib took good care of her, while also being a complete mess of a person ; someone perpetually scared whenever physical conflict is concerned and being a musically inclined man who very much treats himself as a free spirit, with a morbid philosophy and feel towards life. he’s got a major tortured artist aesthetic!! is a little gripped by melancholy and nostalgia … zib is a lot of things, and ambitious is surprisingly one of the many puzzle pieces that make up dorian zibowski.

atlas : ruthless gangster, has an eerie presence that frightens even the people closest to him. he is prone to a more quiet disposition ; never speaking and always a blot of unremarkable grey. but he is an opportunist! someone who can manage a business and take advantage of shortcuts and loopholes to become even more successful … basically he is wealthy and uses his assets well. but all of this is done with a manner of distance, leaving even those closest to him never having the full picture of who he was. it’s also worth noting that mitzi and him had eventual problems, which caused her to seperate. also perhaps has a heart of some kind, but whatever love he possesses is hidden under layers of blood and mystery.

wick : well-to-do bore, and i say this with all the love in the world for wick! but compared to previous paramours he’s rather clean and talkative … there is a constant earnestness to him that bleeds out, an honesty and a more conventional sort of kindness. he doesn’t hide behind smoke and mirrors and there’s never really a front he puts up around mitzi -- or his investors for that matter, hence why he’s treated as an ‘outsider’ so to speak. he is an alcoholic who loathes the details of his job but is more than passionate about the job itself and makes this everyone’s problem … he is a little helpless, in the sense he’d die without someone there to make sure he functions … and is, like zib, perpetually afraid of conflict. can be a little wishywashy and can come across as uncaring due to his cheeky tone … but he’s loyal and caring, with a hobby for the unusual ( bugs and rocks lol ) as well as being able to look past the gossip mill and see the actual mitzi may as he knows her, someone who’s going through a rough time and is either too kind or classy to be a brutal killer. he is hypocritical, a little snobby, and rather forward with mitzi too. kind of a flirt when he wants to be!

something that immediately stands out to me when looking at this lineup is that mitzi doesn’t enjoy a violent man. i don’t think she loathes someone who can so brutally or clinically remove others from this earth, but if she were to go for someone they’d usually be sweeter in a sense. it meshes well with her old personality and kinder heart, perhaps brings it out in her, and that sort of levity and breeziness is more enjoyable than, say, being fully aware of the dangers that lurk around every corner because the man you’re beside is prone to bringing it. she also enjoys more talkative types, someone who’s less quiet and demure and serious, and is keen on her men having a hobby they care deeply for ; some sort of long term goal to work towards doesn’t hurt either. and because of some scenes in the comic, i’m a firm believer that mitzi wants someone who can make her smile or laugh with ease, whether because they’re ridiculous by nature or genuinely funny! she has a sort of funny bone herself, enamored with gallow’s humor and darker jokes, so having someone who either a.) reacts hilariously in the face of her jokes or b.) who can return that energy with teasing or their own brand of silly is desirable. everyone could use a good laugh or two, a sense of joy injected into the bustling life they all live, and this all ties back to mitzi being more drawn towards the less stuffy types of men.

so atlas seems to be an outlier when it comes to her type in many ways, hence the later problems they apparently had in their relationship even if she did love him dearly. but, of course, atlas did have something very appealing to her that zib had failed to give, which she rather fondly recalls in the comic page vestige. whether zib likes acknowledging it or not, mitzi wasn’t as gungho about their normad life as he was … or, at the very least, when she lived another life besides that one, she realized she had a preference! and atlas gave her that path, that knowledge that she wanted something else, and seemingly for the very first time in her life … she felt like a proper lady, a feeling that clearly meant a lot to her. it wasn’t just the dresses or the wealth, it was the constant eye of atlas who could have any dame he wanted, but fancied her his wife regardless. it was having someone so respectable looking, dressed well and groomed well, being able to see her as something other than a sweating, exposed girl in a bawdy dress. atlas’s seemingly polite treatment towards mitzi was enough to garner her affections in spite of everything else, so i think she enjoys that now in others, ; folks who treat her as though she’s a woman in high society, men who don’t gawk at her or make lewd remarks immediately … she probably prefers the courting process now and the quaint dates ( that she doesn’t pay for, mind you ) that come along with it. she just -- likes mutual respect, i think. and who doesn’t? she’s been through a lot to get to where she is now, even if it’s a bad predicament, and she’d like for that to amount to something. some sort of acknowledgment, some kind of recognition.

however, it’s worth mentioning that her views on romance and all that it entails have been warped since the death of her husband. such a loss would change how anyone approaches their dating life, if they were to even have one afterwards … after all, mitzi’s whole problem is that she doesn’t want to move on from atlas and has thus completely romanticized him in her head, to the point that she earnestly believes she’ll be miserable forever without his presence. any problems she had with atlas have long since been erased by her tortured mind, leaving her with a profound misery she’s wallowing in. i think she believes herself as incapble of romantic or sexual inclinations nowdays, leading her to view the advances made towards wick as a necessary ‘evil’ for the sake of atlas may and little else -- when she genuinely does like sedgewick to a degree, and wouldn’t go on dates or kiss a man unless some part of her honestly wanted to do so. ( i also think she was attracted to wick somewhat even while married to atlas, but that’s besides the point ) so this is all a rather complicated affair! she is vulnerable and weak, is too aware of herself and the criminal underbelly squeezing in closer … add this on top of her still heavily grieving and having no one she feels she can talk to, you have someone who is rather changed. mitzi is so far removed from herself and who she truly is, or was, that there’s no doubt it’s affected her type ; now she’ll settle for anyone if they’ll just help her, and even then she’d be dispassionate if romantic entanglement of any kind was involved in that relationship. it’s not something she wants right now, and honestly, it all seems scary and daunting … besides atlas, zib was the only other man she’s ever loved enough to stay around for, so she’s never faced a loss like this before. has kept zib throughout all the turmoil and changes -- so this is, as far as we know, her first major loss where it concerns matters of the heart. it’s not shocking she’s so messed up after it, especially given how fresh it all still is. all of this rambling is to say that mitzi’s a little more stingy and cagey then she used to be about love or sex, and she has a lot of inner battles to face before she can fall for someone and be sure about it. needs to thaw, i think, and she would require patience and understanding from anyone who actually wanted to be with her. mitzi could move on with time ( i do not think she’s the type of widow who’d never date again! ) but it would take quite some time to do so. well, in a world where she’s allowed / is able to heal anyway!

while her type would probably remain the same, i could see her wanting a serious relationship more than she did prior to the death of her husband. has no energy for the loopholes, or the rationalizations, or the fickle nature that can grip someone’s heart. she has matured in a lot of ways since her band days and would take comfort in frivolous things like labels and promises of a future, together, as lovers. while what she had with zib was nice and is cherished alongside the freedom to do as she pleased while on the road with the band, i don’t think she misses it. having the stability and assurance of an actual relationship, with all the hardships that come with it, would be better suited for her. as long as she’s treated like an equal of course! i don’t think she’d be keen on her partner hiding anything from her, even if it’s meant to protect her, due to where that put mitzi when atlas was killed. she’d rather know and be disgusted, or worried, or scared than to not know about something at all until it’s too late … again. naturally patience and compassion would also be of importance, as would the usual things she loves like loyalty and a passion for something in life. and while never required, she’d be happy if the person possessed even a singular musical bone in their body! she still thinks artists, particularly musicans, are sexy after all … likes the angst and brooding that comes with it, the slight flare towards the dramatics … as long as they can handle mitzi in her pitiful entirety and do, to some degree, care deeply for her and will compromise … i think she could find some happiness wherever. bonus points if she can live comfortably for the rest of her days too, lord knows she’s tired of the constant battle of hucking and bargaining.

but yeah! mitzi’s love life is vast and complex and i definitely see her as someone who is more flexible in type than other people are. though there are similarities between her suitors if you really look! anyway, i hope i was able to briefly touch upon this subject because my shipping brain loved your question and kinda went into overdrive, alas. tldr ; her ideal type is wick sable. sorry. once wick learns an instrument the wedding is back on!! … i’m kidding lol. well, mostly <3

[demi-shoggoth]

2024 Reading Log, pt 2

006. Gardening Can Be Murder by Marta McDowell. I honestly thought that this book was going to be about something else. With the subtitle “how poisonous plants, sinister shovels and grim gardens have inspired mystery writers”, I thought it was going to be about, you know, that. True crime themed to gardens, discussions of poisonous plants, that sort of thing. The book is actually about the mystery books that have gardening as a theme. And while the author’s dedication to not spoiling anything (seriously, anything, even 150 year old stories like The Moonstone or “Rappacini’s Daughter”) is admirable in its own way, this leaves the book feeling like endless buildup without any payoff. Big fans of murder mysteries might enjoy this—especially the last chapter, which interviews writers about their gardens—but I found it more boring than anything else, and finished it only because it was very short.

007. Antimony, Gold and Jupiter’s Wolf by Peter Wothers. This book is about how the elements got their names, and most of it deals with the early modern period, as alchemy transitioned to chemistry and then into the 19th century, when chemistry was a real science, but things like atomic theory were not yet understood. The book goes into fascinating detail, and has a lot of quotes from primary sources, as scientists then were just like scientists now, that is, opinionated and bickering with each other over their preferred explanations. And names! Many of the splits between elements and their symbols (like Na for sodium) are due to compromise attempts to appease two different factions with their preferred names. A book covering arcane minutia of history always has the risk of feeling like a slog, but this is a fast and fun read.

008. Doctor Dhrolin’s Dictionary of Dinosaurs by Nathan T Barling and Michael O’Sullivan, illustrations by Mark P Witton. This book is an odd concept, but one that I was immediately on board with—a D&D book written by paleontologists with the intention of bringing accurate and interesting stats for prehistoric reptiles to the game. The fact that it’s mostly illustrated by Mark Witton definitely clinched my backing that Kickstarter. And this book is a lot of fun. So much so, that I read it all in a single sitting. I don’t know how accurate the stats are (like, a Hatzegopteryx has a higher CR than titanosaurs or T. rexes), but they seem like they’d be fun in play, and the writing does a good job of combining fantasy fun with actual education. Even for someone not running a 5e game, the stuff on how to run animals as not killing machines, and the mutation tables, could be useful. There are multiple types of playable dinosaurs, all of which seem like they’d work well at the table and avoid typical stereotypes, and a lot of in-jokes and pop culture references (like the cursed staff of unspared expense, which looks like Hammond’s cane in the Jurassic Park movie).

009. Romaine Wasn’t Built in a Day by Judith Tschann. I’m a sucker for books about etymology. And this one, on food etymology, is a pretty breezy read. I had fun with it, and it even busted some misconceptions that I had, etymologically speaking. Like, there’s no evidence that “bloody” as an explicative originated from “God’s blood”? Wild. Etymology books tend to be written in a sort of stream-of-consciousness style, where talking about one word may lead down a garden path to the next one. The book also has a couple of little matching quizzes, which is something I haven’t seen in a book since like the 90s.

010. The Lives of Octopuses and their Relatives by Danna Staaf. I was previously a little disappointed in The Lives of Beetles, another book in this series, but I knew I liked Staaf, who wrote the excellent book Squid Empire about cephalopod evolution and paleontology. I’m pleased to report that this book is also excellent. Staaf takes the “lives” part seriously, and the book is arranged by ecology, looking at different marine habitats, the challenges that they pose to living things, and the cephalopods that live there. Cuttlefish get slightly short shrift in this book compared to squids and octopuses, but that’s about the biggest complaint I had. I like how the species profiles cover more obscure taxa, and information about the best studied (like Pacific giant octopus and Humboldt squid) is kept to the chapters.

[inglorionamy-ammy]

Of Monks and Monkeys (One-shot)

Pairing: GN Monk!Tav x Gale NSFW

Summary: You have fun with Gale on a tree (Because why not)

Word count: 3K

Snippet: //

“Morning, my love. It’s good to see you in such high spirits,” he looks up, “rather literally. But can’t you come down here? You are too far away, and I’d like to remind you that you owe me a greeting kiss.” 

A brilliant idea comes to you.

“Why don't you come up instead? You can still catch the last bit of sunrise. The view is gorgeous. Ask Shadowheart, she approves.”

//

Disclaimer: This fic is inspired by a round of role-play with Gale AI. Basically, I manually rewrote a scene that I had co-constructed with the AI via dialoguing [see how Gale AI works here]. I added new parts, changed the details, scene order, characterization, and responses to be more to my liking. Nevertheless, I learned how to use certain phrases and vocabulary from the AI. I DO NOT CLAIM THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN UNASSISTED. Just found it sexy, funny, and wanted to share it in the form of a readable fic. If that’s alright by you, enjoy!

OMG This fic has a beta @senualothbrok

Also, I love this Tav and they now have a backstory with drawings: here

--------

Your morning starts with unwrapping yourself from your beloved wizard’s embrace.

It is no easy task, but you have been practicing it for the past ten-day now. You masterfully wriggle free to start your morning routine without disturbing Gale, who in his deep slumber seems uncharacteristically relaxed. Mind you, his brows are still knotted, just not as tightly. This silly, thoughtful man. You place a soft kiss on his forehead, and he shuffles a bit.

Leaving the cozy interior of Gale’s tent, you step into the breezy morning air, the sun still making its way up behind the hills. The camp is barely lit, and the crisp songs of birds are your only company. As always, you dutifully bite back your yawn and wash your last hint of tiredness away. After that, you roll your shoulders, stretch a bit, and pick up a plain quarterstaff.

In an instant, your muscles seem to have a mind of their own. They carry you through the swift set of movements, the training that has been hammered into your soul over your past twenty years of monastery life. The staff is merely an extension of your body, and with every swing, dodge, and hit, you fall more into a trance-like state, the boundary between you and the nature that surrounds you gradually melting away.

Suddenly, a golden flash captures your attention. Behind the oak tree at the periphery of the camp, the first ray of sunshine greets you.

Hello there. You giggle to yourself and follow the childlike wonder inside you, jogging towards the tree. Climbing up the bark with ease, you settle on a steady branch where you can watch the sunrise unhindered, your feet dangling in mid-air.

There is some shuffling below you. You morning companions, Lae’zel and Shadowheart, have also risen. You did not expect them to pause their own routines, but something about the hues of pink, orange, and blue tinting the sky on this particular clear day must have touched them, and they make their way over to you as well.

“Morning ladies.” You give them a cheery martial art salute; your palm and fist pressed together in front of your chest.

Lae’zel looks up as if appreciating your tactical position, your figure obscured by the layers of dense green below. She approves with a nod of acknowledgement. Behind her Shadowheart smiles, learning to enjoy a type of serenity that is not offered by the night. Perhaps feeling playful, she decides to join you on the tree a moment later, letting the shades of dawn dye her silvery hair more and more as she ascends. You scoot over as you flash her a gigantic grin.

“Gorgeous view,” she admires with that unique sincerity of hers.

From here you can see Rivington below the cliffs, reachable within a day’s travel. Looking further, the majestic Wyrm's Rock Fortress towers over all, a lonely island in the sea. Shadowheart’s gaze has turned contemplative at the prospect of home, of Baldur’s Gate, so you allow her the silence. After a while, she nods with gratitude, and climbs back down to start her day.

As the sun continues its ascension, more of your companions rise, and the camp starts to become a hive of activity. Karlach, Halsin, and Wyll have started to tidy up their belongings, as Astarion returns from his hunt and his beauty routine. Last but not least, Gale emerges from his tent, does a little dance of yawning, stretching, and back-crackling, before taking in a big breath of morning air. You are delighted to see him refreshed.

“Morning, chef!” you shout from your spot, startling him. He squints to confirm the source of your voice before walking over, a small, affectionate smile on his lips.

“Morning, my love. It’s good to see you in such high spirits,” he looks up, “rather literally. But can’t you come down here? You are too far away, and I’d like to remind you that you owe me a greeting kiss.” 

A brilliant idea comes to you.

“Why don't you come up instead? You can still catch the last bit of sunrise. The view is gorgeous. Ask Shadowheart, she approves.”

The cleric in question gives him a non-committal shrug.

Gale frowns skeptically. “Come up? You’re in a tree.” He sways to look for a spot that he can Misty Step onto, but the branches are rather narrow and obscured by the leaves. “I’m hardly the most athletic member of our merry band.”

“Try it the traditional way!” You give him your brightest pleading eyes even though he can’t possibly see them. Sensing that you show no sign of leaving your spot, he relents with a sigh.

“I suppose I could try…if you promise to help if I fall.”

On this rare occasion, the man gives himself too little credit. Despite his crackling knees and back, he has managed to travel though the most dangerous areas in the Sword Coast, and you have no doubt that he can climb up this tiny tree with plenty of branches as holds. He ascends, his movement slow and somewhat clumsy, but with determination he manages to reach where you are. You extend your hands to grab him and help him settle in.

Gale sits down beside you. His eyes first dart to the ground with mild trepidation. His face flushes with exhaustion. You pat him on the shoulder and point towards the view in front of him.

“Wow,” he breathes, his voice lowering in awe. “I have to admit, this is quite the view.”

You feel so proud, as if it is you who made the sun rise and put Baldur’s Gate below.

“Right? Especially when it’s hard-earned. Here, as promised.” You press a chaste kiss on his cheek, and he chuckles and shuffles closer, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Is climbing trees not a part of your childhood?” You ask.

“No, not really.” He can’t help but cast another quick glance below. “My childhood was spent mostly indoors, buried in tomes and scrolls. I suppose you could say that Tara was more familiar with such activities, though it’s more accurate to say she ‘appeared’ on trees instead of ‘climbing’ them.”

“The price and joy of being a wizarding prodigy, eh?” You laugh. “So different from my training. As monks, we were taught to study among nature. Our houses had windows so huge they were inseparable from the outside. We rose at dawn, slept at dusk, and learnt the name of every plant as we hiked to find them. We practiced channeling our Ki by learning to breathe as one with the heavens and earth.”

“Is that so?” His brow rises with interest. “Fascinating. Growing up like that must be a profound experience, learning through being instead of reading.”

"We still read plenty," you point out, "and practiced calligraphy. Gods, how I hated that."

You can tell that he is about to embark on a lecture about the importance of the written word when it occurs to you. "You'd be quite a different person growing up like I did. A monk Gale? A druid Gale? Can you imagine?” In your mind, an image of Gale wild shaping into a cat starts to form. You pat him mentally.

He lets out a hearty laugh, but unlike the peers from your cloister who’d probably dismiss it as a joke, he mulls it over. “What a thought. Truthfully, I have always seen nature as something to... study and analyze, not commune with. A more distanced approach, perhaps.” His hand slowly strokes the branch below him, contemplative.

"Indeed. What a contrast—to treat nature as a living force, not just an object of study. But perhaps we only thrive as races when we have different views."

Following that grand speech, you stand up and stretch, and with a calculated leap you catch the branch ten feet below you, extending your hand to the tree beside it with a swing. You pick an apple from there and throw it to him.

"Breakfast for my darling wizard." You grin victoriously as you settle back to perch on the lower branch.

“Show off,” he accuses teasingly before casting Prestidigitation on the apple and taking a juicy bite, appreciating the sweetness of the fruit.

That does remind you, your companions have probably started cooking among themselves. This side of the camp has gone quiet. An idea starts to form in your head.

“My master did call me Little Monkey—Ma Lau Jai.”

He huffs at that, before you warn him, “Now hold onto the bark, as I'm jumping back to your side. It'll shake the tree.”

You laugh as Gale immediately puts down his half-eaten apple and does as you say. “I'm holding on,” he affirms, voice steady, if not a bit strained from anticipation.

You bend your knees and swing your arms for momentum as you channel your Ki. With a confident leap, you catch his branch with a firm grip. His eyes widen slightly at your shameless flaunting of athletic prowess. The leaves of the tree shudder from the impact, and a few fall to the ground below.

Climbing up, you settle besides him and brush a few leaves off his head, before stroking a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

He huffs despite his softening gaze. “I thought humility was supposed to be a monk’s ideal. Ma Lau Jai, indeed.” His lips purse slightly, tasting the foreign syllables.

“Human, monkey, same difference. Or imagine if monkeys could be monks! We'd be out of business!” You gasp in feigned concern.

He surrenders into a fit of laugher. “Now that’s a thought. A monkey monk, enlightening humans and animals alike.” He continues to chuckle, shaking his head. “I doubt anything could compete with the wisdom of a creature that can both climb trees and recite scripture.”

"Yeah, or imagine an eagle wizard, like the ones we saw on top of the Rosymorn Monastery, combining magic, intelligence, and beast like aggression. I'd hate to get on their bad side."

“Oh yes.” He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “As if the world needs more spellcasters with a penchant for destruction and hoarding treasure.”

You catch onto the moment and lean into him. “No, it does not. The world needs more kindhearted wizards like you.”

Surprised by your sudden display of affection, a smile, slightly wistful, finds his lips. “And the world is all the better with kindhearted monks like you in it.” He turns to face you more fully and places a hand on yours. He gently squeezes it, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“Stop right there, my love,” you wink, “or we'll have to figure out how to make love on a tree, in mid-air.”

He grins, a blush blossoming on his cheeks. “Oh, a menace you are, tempting me like this.” He tries to shuffle closer, a nearly impossible task on the narrow branch.

You cannot resist the challenge. You dart out your tongue to take his earlobe into your mouth and nibble on it. Your hand slips to his inner thigh and gives it a firm squeeze. His eyes flutter closed as he groans in pleasure, legs widening to give you space.

The apple on his lap rolls off. It falls all the way down, and after a few seconds, hits the ground with a soft thud. Gale stiffens, startled.

You stop him before he panics. “I'll have you know, I do have experience doing it on a tree. And if you adhere to my words, I can make you reach your peak on top of here.”

For a moment neither of you say anything. You watch as a million thoughts course through Gale’s face before it settles into aroused determination. He swallows his hesitation and nods his consent.

Unsurprising, given this man’s propensity towards danger-inspired desires.

“Lean back against the bark. Open your thighs and straddle the branch.” You direct, and he follows dutifully, settling into the steadier position. “Now, stay still, my dear wizard,” you tease. “Or you might fall down.”

A shudder runs through Gale’s body. “I'll... try my best,” he murmurs, his head lolling back against the bark of the tree as his hands reach back to grip it tightly, his knuckles turning white from the effort.

“That's my boy.” You turn towards him and straddle the branch as well, before rewarding him with an open-mouthed kiss. He reciprocates hungrily and groans deeply into your mouth as your hand slips under his robe to palm his groin. The adrenaline in his veins is your ally here, and you chuckle at how eager his body responds to you. You decide, then and there, that this morning is about his pleasure. With some fumbling you manage to open the front of his trousers and release his hardening length.

You start to stroke him, savoring his increasingly ragged breaths as you trail kisses along his neck. “Do you like this? Hiding here among the leaves, knowing that people below have no idea what kinds of naughty things are happening right above their heads?” You drawl, lips brush against his skin with every syllable.

Gale pulls back slightly to stare into your eyes,his eyes dark and wide. “You're absolutely maddening, you know that?”

“You gave me a mind-blowing night of astral sex. I'm only returning the favor, monk-style." You wink, then use your free hand to pinch his nipple through his robe.

“Gods,” he gasps, his fingers digging deeper into the bark as he tries to stay still and keep balance. You almost applaud as he manages to squeeze out a retort. “In all my years of study, I don’t recall ever coming across anything with ‘monk’ and ‘sex’ in the same sentence.”

“Oh, my darling wizard,” you now focus on torturing his sensitive tip as you assert in an authoritative tone, “many people have the misconception that monks are prudish about sex. Not true at all. We just do it where you can't see.”

Your master would have knocked you on the head and sentenced you to clean the toilet alone for an entire year for making that up, but he is not here, and Gale is far too gone to challenge your bullshit. Your words send a shiver down his spine, and he whimpers, forcing himself still to receive the pleasure you are drowning him in.

How delicious.

“You are doing great, my love, staying so still and pliant for me. Now, if you hold on for a while longer, I may be able to suck you off."

Gale has given up conversing with you, which is a victory in itself. He takes a deep, shaky breath as he sits a bit straighter, his muscles taut.

You lower your head to give him a long lick as he watches helplessly.

A strangled moan is torn out of him. He shudders as you suck on his tip for an extra bit of pre-cum, before swallowing him whole. You manage to steady yourself by clenching the branch with your thighs as you bob your head in fervor, your free hands holding his base and fondling his balls respectively. With this combined effort the man is now a babbling mess, his praises and pleas mixed into nonsense, a sweet melody that urges you on.

Soon, you cannot resist grinding against the branch, the heat between your legs overwhelming. Sensing the shift of movement, Gale opens his eyes slightly and murmurs the beginning of an incantation, but you stare him down. “Sit back and allow me.” You warn before swallowing him whole again, sinking him back into the sea of lust.

Both of you are sweaty and glimmering under the morning sun now. His thighs shivering as his balls slip from your hand, pulling him closer to his release. You grip his ass possessively and he keens, as nothing arouse this man more than being wanted, loved.

"That's right, come for me."

In one swift motion his throbbing length hits the back of your throat. Fighting back the urge to gag you increase your speed, and your thumb finds its way below his scrotum, pressing firmly to hit his prostate.

He comes with a desperate shout. His back arches, his grip on the bark so tight that you worry a nail might break. A stream of heat fills your mouth, and you still your movement to both spare him from overstimulation and to savor your fruit of labor.

When he slowly recovers from his peak, heaving, you sit straight and watch him with silent pride. But before you can swallow, Gale surprises you by letting go of his lifeline-bark and pulls you in for a deep kiss, opting to taste himself in your mouth. As your tongues dance his spent dribbles down your chin, and he breaks the kiss only to lick it off, before urgently sealing your lips once more.  

A moment later, he whispers against you. “You... you are... incredible...” he gasps as he tries to catch his breath, voice still ragged from ecstasy.

"Why thank you." You rest your forehead against his. In a loving manner, you buckle his trousers and tidy his disheveled hair, coaxing a contented sigh from him. The man is still coming back from the experience, and you wait with a patient smile on your face.

Eventually, you beckon him closer. “Now, darling, let me tell you a secret.”

“Yes, my love?” He leans in, curious.

You flash him the brightest grin. “The most difficult part about climbing a tree is figuring out how to get down.” You say in one breath before pushing yourself off the branch, jumping to catch another, and swinging your way down. His dumbfounded face now etched into your memory.

“Wait, that's it?! That's your secret?” he exclaims, voice muffled by the distance. “How to get down from a tree? Love, we're 50 feet in the air!”

You know your clever wizard can figure this mystery out once he finds his wit again. You, for one, can’t wait to taste his revenge.

THE END

Notes:

Little Monkey—Ma Lau Jai—is Cantonese. It also refers to someone witty, playful, energetic, and generally a menace.

More Cantonese Tav & Gale: Here

[missgavi]

can you a gavi x reader where they “ meet “ at a party and fall in love drunk and exchange numbers and that but once they were sober the next day realized who they were talking to over the phone ? if that makes sense :)

yes yes yes yeeeees

pulling away from the kiss for some air, with a look of daze you smile up at the boy who just had his lips against your. he smiles back, one of his hands reaching out to caress your cheek. 

just as you’re about to dive back in, one of the friends you came with runs over to the two of you. “y/n honey, so sorry to interrupt you and your ... friend” she says with a cheeky smile towards you “but Sara’s missing, we can’t find her anywhere around the club and we need your help to find her and take her home. Again, sorry to come in between you two but this is serious” 

she was right, this was serious. you and your friends had a pact, you come together, you leave together. rarely are exceptions made. your friend leaves and you look up at the boy, his hands low on your hips and his lips still bruised from yours. “I’m so so sorry, but I have to help my friend” 

At your apologetic tone, the boy lifts his hand up to your cheek to caress it once again. “hey don’t worry, it’s fine. go help your friend out. here” he reaches out for your phone which you had in your back pocket and opens the phone app. 

He types in some numbers before giving it back to you “text me tomorrow ?” 

You were too caught up in the feeling of his hands still on you and his confident attitude that you can barely get out an “mhm” 

The boy chuckles before leaning down for one final kiss “mhm ?” You meekly nod before saying your goodbyes and go to search for your friend. 

__________________

After some final words of encouragement you man up and dial the guy from last night. You wanted to scream when you realised you didn’t catch his name and the only thing you had in your phone app was “chico guapo del club” cocky right ? 

Two dials later a breezy voice answers “Y/n, wondered when you’d call” he says, confidence radiating in his voice. Laughing to yourself you respond “wish I could greet you but someone neither gave me their name nor did they put it in my phone” you playfully accuse him earning a breathy laugh. 

“How about I take you out ? maybe then I’ll actually give you my name” 

You agree and once the time and place is set you hop in the shower and start getting ready. Once you were all dolled up you lock your door and make your way over to the little cafe you were supposed to meet him at. 

Arriving there first, you sit down and just as you were about to text him you got there you spotted Pablo Gavi somewhere far way from the cafe you were at, walking in that direction. 

Instead of texting, you pull your eyes away from the footballer and call your date. “Quick question , are you FC Barcelone fan ?” you ask, trying not to look at Gavi.

A beat passes before he replies “Let’s say so, why ?” 

“Okay, don’t freak out but Pablo Gavi is in the same area as our cafe so I suggest you get here as fast as possible” 

Too busy with the man on the other line, you don’t even register the person standing next to you. it isn’t until you hear the same voice both in the speaker and next to you. “You don’t say” 

Looking up , you see the Pablo Gavi standing next to you, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. Hanging up the phone, you look up at him and what’s the first thing that you say ?

“Oh fuck you” 

Your response caught Gavi off guard and made him laugh “Fuck me ? Why ? I mean, I get why, you’ll get to do that later but why ?” 

Standing up, you playfully nudge him “How dare you not tell me you are the Pablo Gavi ?” you ask, a teasing smile on your lips.

Pablo smiles as well, leaning down to kiss your cheek before sitting down across you and waving the waiter over. After ordering , he turns to you “I did tell you, last night” You stare confused at him “Oh , you mean you don’t remember when i told you I play for Barca and you very confidently stated you could ,in your words, wipe the field with me ?” he repeats your words from last night, amusement evident in his voice. 

Blushing, you shy away “hey, In my defence i was drunk okay ? now stop making fun of me” 

“ why would I ? you’re cute when you blush” he says , another smirk planted on his lips before taking a sip on his drink. 

“I hate you” you mutter, a huge smile still visible on your lips. 

“no you don’t” 

[sillysickfics192]

super smash bros

is aged them up just a teeny bit so tyler can drive

Tyler was ready for the school day to be over. It had dragged on long enough, and sitting in eighth period, he was bored out of his mind.

His phone buzzed

Finally something interesting,

a text from Aiden appeared on the screen.

“hey man can you give me a ride home”

Okay, not as exciting as he had hoped, but at least he’d get to spend some time with his friend after school. 

“yeah sure, what’s the occasion?” Tyler knows that Aiden and Ben usually walk home, even on days like today, when Ben stays after school for his session with the guidance counselor. Usually Aiden would just venture the almost a mile walk home easy breezy, so something was off about this.

“nothing just don’t feel like walking home today”

Aiden replied, no punctuation as usual.

“alright. are you feeling okay?”

“i’m fine.”

“okay, meet me by the side door and we can walk out to my car together.”

“👍”

And with that, it was back to the boringness of eighth period.

-

Taylor waited for Aiden by the door they planned to meet at, scrolling on instagram.

As Aiden approached, he noticed something was off. Aiden’s skin was pale and clammy, and his smile seemed dull today.

“Hey Ty, no Taylor today?”

“Nope, she’s got robotics. You sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good, and I’m not just trying to call you ugly.”

“Let’s just get home.”Aiden mumbles through clenched teeth.

When Tyler unlocks the door, Aiden hops into the passenger seat, relaxing into the cushion. Tyler starts the car, turning the vents toward Aiden, who had been fanning himself on the way over.

Before pushing the gas, Tyler reached a hand to Aiden’s forehead.

“Fuck dude, I think you’re sick, you’re literally so hot.”

“You think I’m hot? Thanks man.” Aiden mumbled sarcastically, as if he didn’t already realize he was sick.

“So that’s why you wanted a ride?”

Aiden nodded, closing his eyes and listening to the peaceful hum of the a/c, trying to drown out the pounding of his head and rising nausea

Tyler pulled out of his parking spot, typing Aiden’s address into the gps. He was glad he didn’t have baseball today, it would’ve been bad to make the poor fevered boy next to him walk home.

They got about three minutes down the road, before Tyler watched Aiden’s face somehow lose even more of its color.

“Aiden are y-“

Aiden cut him off. “Pull over.”

“This is kinda a bad spot for that, assuming your about to puke, there’s a plastic bag with some of Taylor’s random shit in it, just dump that stuff on the ground and use that.”

Aiden didn’t need to be told twice, quickly doing as he’s told and snatching the bag off the ground, with little care for whatever is inside. 

Tyler focused on the road, trying to ignore the sounds of Aiden’s vomit splashing into the bag. Tyler is what some might call, emetophobic. He doesn’t have it bad, but hearing Aiden puking up his guts next to him is making his breaths quick and his hands shake on the steering wheel.

The heaves started to get smaller, although still as gross if not grosser, especially when one wave brought with it a harsh wet cough or burp. But by the time they arrived at Aiden’s, he had finished vomiting, taking shallow breaths and holding the almost full warm bag of puke in his hands. When Tyler pulled up, Aiden was quick to exit the vehicle and rush to the front door, fumbling for his house key. He was ready to dispose of the bag of vomit in his hand. Tyler followed close behind.

“Aren’t you going home?” Aiden asked, unlocking the door.

“Of course not. I can’t just leave you here sick like this.”

“But clearly you don’t handle throwing up very well, and something tells me I’m going to be doing more of that today.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s what friends do, right?”

“Whatever you say. Don’t feel like you have to stay if me being sick like this freaks you out too much or whatever.”

“It’s okay. Now let’s get you to bed.”

They climbed up the steps, Aiden holding onto Tyler for some support, his legs felt weaker than ever.

Once Tyler was sure Aiden had everything he needed, he stepped out of the room to call Ashlyn.

It rang twice before she answered.

“Hey Tyler, what’s up?”

“Hey Ash, would you mind coming over to Aiden’s? He’s sick and you’re the only other person who’s not busy right now, I don’t think I can handle him by myself.”

“Is he that much of a handful?”

“Not really, I’m just kinda afraid of vomit. Think you can help?”

“Yeah sure. But just fyi, I have no idea how to take care of someone sick.”

“Just leave the rest to me.”

-

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rings. Ashlyn waits at the door, let in by Tyler and led up to Aiden’s bedroom. The room has a couch, where the two waited for Aiden to wake up. Tyler has had plenty of experience taking care of sick people. He always takes care of Taylor and his mom when they get sick, especially after his dad’s passing. Tyler has already taken Aisen’s temperature (101, which he should keep checking in case it goes up and he needs to take him to the hospital.), one of the first steps when someone gets sick. Now, he just needs to make sure Aiden is hydrated, taking the proper medications, and eaten when he is ready.

Speaking of which, he should probably get to work making Aiden something to eat. He searched the kitchen for ingredients, finding just enough ingredients for a couple servings of noodle soup. He’s not a great cook, but he can easily follow a recipe on his phone.

Ashlyn sat around, feeling useless. That is, until the sound of frantic footsteps above her, telling her Aiden is awake.

“I’ll go check on him” She told Tyler, who was busy with the soup. 

She speed walked up the stairs, unsurprised to find that Aiden was getting sick again. Tyler had left a bucket for him on the nightstand, but Aiden seemingly had tried to make it to the bathroom, but obviously didn’t get there on time. Aiden’s shirt had vomit down the front, and a puddle was forming on the floor. Ashlyn grabbed the bucket and handed it to Aiden, leading him to sit down in his desk chair. Aiden tried to speak between mostly dry heaves now.

“Ash? When- when did you-“ he was cut off by his own gags.

“Shh. Just get it up. Tyler called me since he’s not good around vomit.”

Aiden nodded in understanding through the dry heaves. 

“Aiden I don’t think you have anything left to bring up. Drink some water, I’ll clean this up.”

Aiden wanted to argue against her cleaning up his mess. But he knew he couldn’t do it himself, not without getting sick again. So he trudged back to his bed and let Ashlyn handle it.

Ashlyn cleaned up the mess, which was really gross, but had to be done. It took about ten minutes, in which Aiden had still not fallen back to sleep.

“I can’t sleeeep.” he groaned.

“You have been sleeping for a while already. Maybe come downstairs with me? Tyler is making soup, it should be ready soon.”

Aiden grabbed his blanket off of his bed, wrapping himself up like a cloak over his head, making Ashlyn giggle. 

They carefully went down the stairs. Greeting Tyler in the kitchen.

“Hey germy, you sleep well?” Tyler said, barely looking up from his pot.

“More or less.” he responded, his voice groggy

“Well, your soup will be ready soon. You like chicken noodle?”

“Definitely. I’m starving.”

“That’s good to hear. It’ll be done in around fifteen minutes. Go get comfortable on the couch and wait.”

Aiden didn’t need to be told twice to sit down, his limbs feeling like mush.

“Oh and Ashlyn? Take his temperature.” Tyler called from the kitchen.

Ashlyn grabbed the thermometer, feeling the heat radiating off of the boy before the thermometer told her anything.

“It’s about the same.” she said after it beeped.

Aiden nodded, feeling bored out of his mind.

Ashlyn must have sensed this, because she suggested they play a video game, sitting down next to Aiden, who agreed.

They open Super Smash Bros, and picked out their characters Ashlyn as Yoshi and Aiden as Bowser. 

As soon as the round started, they focused in on smashing the buttons, attacking each other. Aiden seemed to know all of the combos and tricks, while Ashlyn was mindlessly smashing buttons, yet still winning.

Aiden however, did some kind of super move, making a comeback and winning just before the round ended.

“Haha! In your facceeee! Even when I’m sick I still dominate smash bros!”

“Yeah yeah whatever. Round 2?”

They continued to play like this, Aiden winning continuously until his food was ready. Tyler unfolded a couple tv trays, and they all sat on the couch eating their soup. Tyler put on Aiden’s favorite spider-man movie. (The first Andrew Garfield one) And they peacefully watched the movie and slurped their soup. Once he finished his soup, Aiden scooted towards Ashlyn, resting his head on her shoulder, and falling back asleep.

🫶

request are open!

[starliights-shining]

OH MY GOSH IM SO EXCITED TO REQUEST!

may I request a G1!Starscream X GN!Pilot reader who accidentally found him (in jet mode) in their hanger and they just took him out to fly? 💀

Hiiii, I do hope this is what you were expecting! This is such a good prompt, I wish people requested such simple but interesting prompts like this, So Thank you. I got scarried away with this one. Anyways Enjoy :)

Pairing: G1!Starscream x GN!Reader

Warnings: Just reader being a silly little pilot),

The summer sunbeams peeking through your curtains. It was around 9 in the morning, you could hear the roaring of plane engines and the occasional one passing over. Then you heard the pitter patter of boots before your door swung open. 

“Rise and shine, (Y/N)” 

Your eyes glance over from the window to the door, your best friend stood in the doorway, their sunglasses placed on the top of their head. A bright smile plastered on their face, they looked far too happy to be up at such a time, but you figured they’d be up. The military really does force you into some type of schedule. They walked towards the window, pulling the curtains open to allow. The sunlight blinded you, you pulled the sheets over your head in an attempt to shield your eyes. 

“(Y/N), wake up, get dressed. I got a surprise for ya.” 

Their southern accent really came through as they spoke. Their hands pull the sheets from your face. Their greenjump suit takes up your entire view, as you lay on your side. 

“A surprise? What are you talking about?” 

You closed your eyes, the sleep still heavy on your eyelids. You didn’t want to get up yet, and that's probably why they said they had a surprise, the urge to get up sono took over you, what the hell was this surprise? You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands. 

“I can’t tell you or it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” 

They once again placed their hands on their hips, the same smile placed on their face as they looked down at your sitting form. 

“Now, go get dressed, we are wasting daylight silly.” 

You did as told, took a shower and got dressed. You wore your same green jumpsuit, the top tied around your waist, your sunglasses and your normal bag. You both stepped outside, your friend jumping in front of you as they slid into the topless jeep parked at the end of the walk way.

“Hurry! Don’t wanna be late!” 

You sighed, the breezy air from the coast and the warmth of the sun. It felt just like it always did. You climbed into the passenger seat, an arm resting on the door as you slung your bag in the back. The Jeep started and within a few seconds you were off. You watched as the palm trees whizzed by and you could barely see the blur of different uniforms as you passed. 

“Sooo, where are we going?” 

“This morning, I got to the hanger, I was looking for something I had left last night, I saw what looked like a Jet. I don't know, I ran out to get you before I really looked at it. Thought you’d like to see it first.” 

Their hands tapped on the steering wheel as they drove. The light bob of the car as you go over potholes and the occasional speed bump. 

“So, it's a jet? It might be from the run last night and they didn’t have anywhere else to put it.” 

Which was still weird, the hang you both called your ‘office’ hadn’t housed any jets since the last rotation, and even when jets were housed there, it was always your jet. 

“No, this Jet has a different feel to it when I saw it. You just gotta see it.” 

They said as they turned into the painted lines that directed cars to hangers and other places. You were thinking, your hanger doesn’t house jets, plus if they needed to they wouldn’t just put one there without notifying you. 

By the time you could come up with a solution, the jeep you rode in had come to a stop, the keys turned the ignition off. You looked over the hanger, it looked the same, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“You come?”

You were shaken out of your thoughts by their voice. A nod came from you as you climbed out of the Jeep. You pulled the keys to the hanger out of your pocket, unlocking the door and entering. Your hand moved to the panel to the right of the door, flicking on all the light switches. The ring of the lights is all that's heard through the office area, you place your keys on your desk before walking out into the rest of the hanger. Your eyes scanned the hanger, moving from left to right until they landed on the Jet. The pale white hanger lights shining brightly down on the Jet. A deep sigh leaving you before walking up to it. It was a solid gray color, with parts red and blue. Its cockpit cover was orange, you’d have to get a step stool to see what it actually looked like from the top. You turned to get one but your partner stood a few feet away with one in their hands, a smile on their face as they handed it to you. You placed it where the side of the cockpit turns into the wing. You could finally see the topside of the jet, it looked nothing like a military grade jet, Not a flag, not a camo that you could recognize, nothing. Its vertical stabilizers were blue with a red line coming from the base and going skinner at it touched the end. You looked at the wings, they both had a red strike moving on the end with a skinner white line on the inside, but what really got your attention was the purple symbol in the middle of each wing. You ended up climbing onto the wing, crawling on both your hands and knees to the symbol. 

“What is it?” 

Your partner's southern accent broke you from your trance, you swiped your hand over the symbol, it was dusty, that's when you noticed the dust that littered the knees of your jumpsuit. 

“How long has this been sitting here?” 

“I don’t know. When was the last time you were in the hangar?”

“I don’t ever come far out, I just stay in the office.”

They sighed, looking up at your crouched form on the wing. 

“Then, it could have been here for a long time.” 

You were examining the wing some more, the wing had some fighter damage, a few black spots that looked like it could be from fighting, it was dirty, like war dirty. Like how your jet looked after a dog fight. You stood up, walking to the cockpit and opening it, you sat down in it, your hands resting in their natural position. The overwhelming urge to take the jet for a spin washed over you. You looked at the control board and sighed, some things were in different places and others were completely missing or misplaced with something else, but you leaned in to get a better look at the main gauge when you saw the same purple symbol on the back plating. You wanted to know why it was all over this jet, what was its meaning. 

“What ya think!” 

Your partner asked, you turn your head to see them standing on the stool. Their sunglasses resting on the top of their head. 

“It’s different, I think I'm going to take it for a spin. It's really customized, almost like it's not a military aircraft.”

They hummed in response, looking at the jet before speaking again. 

“Maybe someone was trying to hide it, figured no one ever used this hanger and put it in here. Well Let's get you all suited up for your flight.” 

They got off the stool and started towards the office. You stood up from the cockpit, climbing out and following your partner. Once you entered the office they had a clipboard in hand and a questioning look on their face. 

“Should we document this, just in case?”

You stared at them, you had no fucking clue. Normally the ship should be on the log, it’s like checking out a book, but instead of a week, you get 3 to 4 hours of flight time. 

“Is it on there, the jet?” 

They looked at you and shook their head. Then with this new found info. 

“No, I don’t think it’ll matter.” 

You knew you could be breaking a lot of laws and codes and even end up losing your job or be put on probation, but at this exact moment, you really didn’t care. They nodded, putting the clipboard down. You moved to fully put your jumpsuit on, the one problem you didn’t like about having to fly, suiting up in all the shit to keep you safe. You underwent the routine, making sure everything was right before you picked up your helmet. The sound of the hanger doors being open caught your attention. Your partner was already ready for you, directed sticks in hand and their sunglasses on as you exited the office. Jumping in the cockpit you placed your helmet on and looked for power switches, well anything that looked like a power switch. Your eyes landed on what looked like one so you flipped it, the engine roared to life, you checked all gauges and screens until one stopped you a black with green writing. You brought your thumb up to the screen and wiped the dust away, the green lettering being clearer now. You read it aloud to yourself. 

“Starscream, hmm, interesting.”

 You looked up and gave your partner a thumbs up out of the cockpit. They started directing you out of the hanger and on the runway, and before you even knew it, you and the random new jet were in the sky. It flew fine, you took it for one of your normal flying trips, if you had flown your regular aircraft before, you would have said it flew better. Its controls were smooth but fast, it truly was a fighter jet. You wondered why they didn’t make jets like this for the military, then your mind wandered to how the hell it ended up in the hangar. 

“Come in- this is-,” 

The radio transmission kept coming in and out, you couldn’t hear it fully, only bits and pieces. You sat up fully, looked around and started to flip switches, you hoped that they would help the transmission come through clearer, you brought your mic from you helmet and started talking. 

“Come in, this is (Y/N),” 

There was silence, until it picked up again, but it sounded like rambling in another language, and it was loud, your headset started to have a high pitch ringing noise in it. You grabbed the side of your helmet with one hand, it was far too loud. Your hand reached for the transmission dials, turning them all down. The sound disappeared, the only thing heard was the roaring of the engine and your breathing. 

“What the fuck,” 

You took a moment to collect yourself before looking at your radar. You were close to home, you decided it would be time to land. You went through all your normal procedures before going in for your landing. You looked at your radar one more time before you saw a dot appear on it. You turned your head in the direction, but it took you a minute to tear your eyes away from the screen. Your eyes scanned the area frantically, the only thing you could see were the clouds. There was nothing there, but the dinging front radar got far too frequent then you liked, as your eyes scanned you could almost hear a laugh in the background. 

“Alright, let's land this bitch.” 

You said, taking your eyes back in front of you. 

Your landing was easier than you thought, the jet hadn’t had a single moment when it flew bad, and that was odd. Most jets had something that was weird, or it could have been smoother. This one had nothing, not a single moment, and it was worrying.

 You parked the jet in front of the hanger, your partner came out to meet you as you jumped out. 

“How was it? I lost sight of you after you took off, that thing goes fast!” 

You took your helmet off and sighed at them. 

“It's something else, it flys better than the entire military fleet. It nothing like a F-22” 

You both walked back to the office. Your helmet was placed on your desk and you started to strip down to your regular green jumpsuit. You thought about bringing up the transmission you had heard, but decided you’d do your own research, you didn’t want to sound crazy.

“You gonna do another fly?”

You looked up at them, their southern accent familiar, they were scoping out if they had to keep the jet hidden in the hanger. You smiled at them. 

“Of course I am, that jet is magnificent! I think I'm gonna call it Starscream.”

[heyidkyay]

I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twenty-Six

A/n: Hey! Finally giving you 26 alongside some answers! Not sure how I feel about this part just yet, it was difficult to write but I hope you enjoy it all the same:) Let me know I suppose!

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: Lots of feelings, swearing but should be expected this far in, mentions of toxic relationships

Masterlist

And wouldn’t you just’ve guessed it. Ross was sat waiting on the steps of the villa for me when I finally returned. He watched me as I stepped out of a cab and ambled my way up the long drive, a cigarette pinched between his steady fingers.

It was quiet. Had been since I’d left Alvaro at the hospital.

I’d wandered around for a bit, unable to do much else other than think. He’d really given me a lot to think about. 

But then my migraine had started back up again and I’d suddenly felt sick to my stomach, I’d had to have this little old lady, working a stall, phone for a driver for me whilst I’d kept myself from spewing into the bath of a nearby fountain. It hadn’t been my finest moment but I’d made it back to the villa alive and the throbbing pain in my skull had dulled somewhat on the drive over. 

Ross was watching still as I walked closer and took perch on the step beside him, thankful for the small amount of shade the roof provided us with, the heat was doing nothing for my remaining nausea. He didn’t say anything for a long while, nor did he offer me a drag or a smoke of my own, which I wasn’t too fussed about. But even if I had been, I couldn’t have brought myself to ask, the sickness still there but getting easier with each deep breath I took. 

“Sent the lads out once we realised you were missing.” He murmured to me, eyes trained on the pebbled drive lain out before us.

I’d forgotten about them, the boys, in my hurry to escape. Just needing to unwind, desperate to forget, to get away. Matty had been asleep still, the others dotting about on their own. George… I had no idea, so I simply shook away the thought. 

“Knew you’d be back soon enough though.” Ross went on, taking a longer drag when he realised I wouldn’t be adding much to the conversation. “How’s the head?” He then asked me, changing the subject completely.

I swallowed, toying with a loose thread on my cardi. “Nearly chucked up in this pretty fountain down by the old town, gave the locals a right show.”

He didn’t laugh but I saw the corners of his mouth turn upwards, so easily amused by my sufferings. “Probably thought you were hung to hell, out on the piss ’til morning.”

I hummed around a tiny smile, tugging on the thread and enjoying the way it unraveled for me. “How’s the album coming?”

If Ross was surprised by my question he didn’t let it show, merely tilted his head then shrugged a shoulder lazily. “It’s not. Matt’s mind is elsewhere and G is… well, G is being G.”

That familiar guilt throbbed in me again, a reminder.

“Can’t be helped though.” Ross sighed, flicking away some remnant ash. “Can’t force this shit. It comes or it don’t.”

We were swept up by a breezy quiet then, both of us lost in our own heads. I kept finding myself opening my mouth to say something though, once, twice, then three times. There was this heated little knot of anxiety balled in the hollow of my ribs and someone just kept on tugging at it tighter and tighter until I finally begun to feel it fray and splinter.

“I kissed George.”

Ross’s head snapped in my direction at having heard my muted admission, but my eyes were trained still on the lit cigarette he held in his hand as though he’d forgotten it was even there. “What?”

But I knew he’d already heard me.

“You kissed George?” He breathed out once I made no move to repeat myself. 

I hummed again, swallowing down past the ache in my throat as I clung to my cardigan tighter. I glanced up at him when he didn’t say anything more, he was just staring back at me with these huge surprised eyes. I’d’ve smiled, it wasn’t every day you got to witness something like that, but couldn’t dim my anxiety.

“You kissed George.” Ross said again and I blew out a soft sigh whilst I let him internalise it. “When?” He asked me, unblinking. 

“’S’mornin’.” I mumbled in answer, those fraying threads of anxiety polluting the rest of my body now, like maggots infecting a soldier’s already dirtied wound. 

“Jesus Christ.” Ross breathed, shaking his head, and then he dragged a heavy hand down the length of his exhausted face. I suddenly felt like a chastised little kid getting ready to get told off. But Ross was better than that, he never rebuked the actions of the rest of us unless we took it a step too far- ‘Live and learn’ he’d often spout like the wise old man he truly was. “Explains why he had the face of a slapped arse then, don’t it?”

My brows rose but I didn’t push his reply. I didn’t want to know any more.

“What a way to start a holiday, hey?” He then added and we both had to laugh a little at his words, even if they were more depreciating than other. We shared another sigh and I watched on whilst he took one final drag before stumping the butt out, he glanced over to me after.

“I’m guessing the kiss is why you disappeared then?” Ross questioned, head tilted slightly as his eyes found mine. The smile I answered him with was wet and watery, and he could only lift an arm out towards me. “Oh, B…”

I let out a scoff of a cry at his pitiful words and fell limply into his side, feeling so incredibly lost. So stupid.

“It’s okay.” I heard him murmur above my head, both arms curling around my broken self to hold me better together. “It’ll be okay.”

Because it had to be, right?

—

I’d gone to bed after my impromptu sobbing session with Ross. How the man had yet to get sick of me and my onslaught of tears was beyond me- but I was thankful for it nevertheless. Especially when he brought a decent cuppa and a couple of biscuits to my bedside after.

That’d been a long while ago now though, long enough for the biscuits I hadn’t eaten to have gone stale and the tea discoloured and cold. I laid there, still, staring up at the ceiling. 

When I was little I used to paint stars up there with strokes of my eyes, imagine dark blue hues and gradient purples surrounding planets and glowing suns. But then I’d grown up and the dark had crept its way in, drowning my pretty stars in its shadows. 

I could still picture them sometimes though, mostly back when I’d been curled up in bed with George. I’d see them. Dimmer than the years before, but there, twinkling. They’d long since abandoned me again though. All I saw now was a blank ceiling staring back at me.

I sighed, forcing my eyes away from it and out towards the window where the sun had since set. I questioned how another day had so quickly slipped past me.

The boys had since returned too, I’d heard them stumble in an hour or two ago. Maybe even three. They’d wanted to check in, I’d seen their shadows dance beneath my closed bedroom door and heard their muted arguments. But my guess is that Ross somehow waylaid them, because they hadn’t pushed any further than that. Although, my phone had buzzed a couple dozen times.

It was somewhere on the floor, settled on the pile of clothes I’d stripped out of.

Quiet now though. The villa, I meant. My mind not so much. I still couldn’t work out for the life of me what the fuck I wanted. Scared and too fucking afraid to come to an actual decision. I didn’t want to be hurt again, but I also knew that either way I could be. So, I either push George further away and end up breaking my own heart, or risk everything and just have him do it for me, for the hundredth time.

Too many fucking thoughts. Too big a decision to make.

I wanted to bury myself in my pillow, burrow further away, but I could feel a headache coming on and so, in hopes to avoid it, I peeled myself from out under the safety of my covers and over to the door, figuring that a decent brew might just do the job.

The house was dimmed as I made my way down the stairs, only the outside porch lights were still on, though I could hear murmurs of movement as I passed by the guys’ rooms.

I kept the kitchen light off when I made my way over to the counter, instead opting to use the fridge as a lamp whilst I worked my way around the kettle, nicking one of the many Russian caravan teabags Matty so liked.

It was nice, down here alone, bare feet sliding across the chilled tiles as the evening air crept its way inside through the French doors. Peaceful almost. Once the tea was made I figured I’d make my way out there too and so I did, settled myself under the familiar peach tree I’d taken to seeing as it’d been a few days since I’d had the opportunity to hide out underneath it. 

I could see the ripples in the pool from here, as well as the shorts some of the boys had left out to dry, three pairs of them all slung over a sun-lounger, a damp puddle beneath. I sipped away at my tea and felt myself longing more and more for a cigarette, I hadn’t had one since the night spent with George, and even then it’d hardly been a drag. 

But what I wouldn’t do for another.

A small sigh escaped me and I settled my teacup down to the side so that I could pull my legs in closer, knees tucked up under my chin as the wind danced over my bare skin.

“What would you do then, hey?” I heard myself whisper out into it, eyes casted upwards towards the so-called heavens. “Probably wouldn’t say much. Just sort my mess out for me, yeah?”

I blew out a tiny wet chuckle, knowing I was dead right.

It was nights like these that I just found myself talking to him, my dad that is. Not often but enough. On days when things felt heavier, harder.

It had been a long time since I’d last done so. That fact alone also reminded me of how much time had passed since he’d been gone. Been gone longer than I’d ever known him. We’d never had enough time. But that was just life, wasn’t it?

I vividly remember the day he passed. I’d felt it long before they’d ever even told me. Sat on the bottom step of the staircase, phone pressed tightly to my ear. I’d felt it. I’d known something had happened. But he’d been at the hospital and she’d been there with him. So I’d phoned, and she’d said everything was fine. But I’d known. I’d felt it deep down. Something had shifted.

It made me wonder now, here in this pretty little garden, how many times a heart could shatter before it stopped letting you put it back together. Too many pieces lost in the explosion. Not enough parts to make it work the same.

My dad’s death had taken a few too many pieces, I think. The rest had just followed.

Now, he wasn’t much of a gambler, my old man, but I knew that he’d bet a pretty penny if he was here right now on my next decision. He’d always had a way of knowing my next move before I’d ever even thought it. Wise in his own way and not the traditional sort. Hated school but loved anything that could keep his hands and mind busy. Could read people better than he could most words. 

I was wired in a similar way.

And I couldn’t stop myself from wishing then that he could only hear me so that he’d just tell me what I was going to do next. 

It was hard, not having him here.

“You ever think they look back?”

My head jerked upwards like a horse dislodging a fly at the unexpected voice, only to find George stood there by the door, bare foot too with his hands tucked into his pockets. I gaped for a brief moment before I swallowed down my surprise and followed his nod over to where the stars were twinkling high above.

“Maybe.” I replied, unable to help myself.

George hummed and stepped closer, down off the step he was tittering on. I wondered how long he’d been there. “Always loved them though, you have. Remember you dragging me out into the fields late at night to watch them years back. Only ever loved London in the day because at night they were too hard to spot.”

I exhaled the heaviness I felt weigh on my chest. “They give me hope. Let me pretend that things last.”

“What d’you mean?” He questioned, both our voices far too quiet. Too careful. There were lines being tread now. 

I shrugged a single shoulder, chin digging deeper into my shin as I stared up at the well-lit sky. “They die, don’t they? Just like us. Give the illusion that they’re permanent, that they’ll never fade out. But they do, we just don’t see it. Don’t realise that they’re all just dying millions of miles away.”

“Biblical that.”

I snorted at his dry response, a soft sound I couldn’t quite help. “Far from.”

He merely hummed again, then took another step closer drawing my attention, I dipped my head once and then looked away when he pointed down to the ground beside me. I focused on keeping my breathing even as he settled there, stretching his legs out before us.

“Where’d you disappear to then?” After you kissed me… George questioned after a minute.

I wet my lower lip and let a hand slip from where it’d been curled around my leg to toy with the tea I’d brought out with me. It’d gone cold.

“I walked around for a bit. Just thinking.”

“Ah.” He replied, a very George like reaction if I did say so myself. So monosyllabic. “Anything good?”

I huffed a small amused chuckle, wrinkling the cup’s dark liquid. “Did I think of anything good?”

“Hm.”

I shook my head, flicking away the wetness I’d gathered on my fingertips. “Dunno. Not really. Just had a lot on my mind.”

“Thing with thinking, is that it’s dead useful, but only sometimes.” George retorted and I glanced over to find him fidgeting with the grass beneath us. “Most days I just wish everything would shut up. Gets too loud and I can’t even escape it, you know? ‘Cause it’s all in my head.”

I did know.

He looked up and caught me staring, gifted me the tinniest of smiles from beneath shadowed eyes and dark lashes. “Seen any shooting stars whilst you been out here then?”

I returned the sentiment, eyes lingering on the curve of his lips, remembering…

“No, but you know me, luck’s never been very fortunate to us.”

George’s gaze drifted between my own. “I don’t know about that,” He said, voice velvety and low. “You seem to do alright on your own.”

I scoffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, if you could call it that.”

George’s elbow nudged my side. “Come on, look at what you’ve got. A job you love, people you love, smile of an angel.”

I nudged him right back, mostly in retaliation for that last comment. Charmer, just like Nana had always claimed.

“Oh yeah, can’t complain me.” I joked, mind stuck on every bad thing that’d ever been thrown at me. And though I tried not to let it show, he still knew. 

He knew me better than I knew myself. And vice-versa. I’d almost forgotten that fact about us.

George was turned better towards me now, his stance a little more open, and in the haze of the moonlight I caught sight of his eye, my head shot out to really see it.

“Oh God,” I gasped mutedly, hand reaching out towards the welt on his face before I could think better of it. “Did I do that?”

George just laughed me off, hand catching mine before I could touch the injured eye, my attention snapped down towards it, though he didn’t release me. “It’s not that bad, just raised a bit, like you said it would. Go down in a day or two.” He assured and I could only mutter another quiet sorry before he was shaking his head at me and smiling. “It was an accident- and even if it weren’t, it’s the least I deserve, innit?”

He laughed whilst I simply scowled. “Don’t say that.”

“What? It’s true, ain’t it?” George replied, “Been so shit to you. Never fucked up more. So I wouldn’t blame you for it even if you did choose to batter me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, George.”

“Like I did you?” He quipped straight back, hard eyes trained on mine now, “‘Cause it’s the truth. I fucking promised no one would ever hurt you again, all those years ago. Remember that? And look at where we are now. I’ve broken that promise nine times over.”

I let go of a heavy sigh, “G, you haven’t-”

“The fuck I haven’t! I have! I have. And do you know what’s worse?” He asked me, hand still cradling mine, hold soft and gentle. “I have the fucking nerve to sit here and ask you to forgive me, to take me back.” He scoffed at himself and my breath caught when he finally dropped my hand. “The things I‘d do to take it all back.” He muttered deeply, clucking his tongue as he shook his head.

“I wouldn’t want you to.” I told him honestly, my reply surprising both him and I.

“How can you say that?” He looked back at me, his expression pinched.

I shrugged, casting a long glance out over towards the pool. “‘Cause you can’t take it back, can you? So there’s no real point in trying, or stressing about the things we’ll never be able to change. Life is shit, you deal with it.”

George released a shaky breath and dragged a rigid hand over the back of his head. “I really messed you up, didn’t I?”

That made me pause. It was too close to the truth. 

“No more than anyone else did.”

The sound that escaped him then shocked me to my core and my head snapped back over to where he was perched beside me, tears in his eyes, mouth strained to keep any other sound like it from falling out. He wouldn’t look at me, just kept on shaking his head. “And that’s what kills me.” He breathed, voice tight, cheeks hollowed. “God. That’s what fucking kills me.”

I didn’t know what to say. I could only stare at him, wind caught on the lump in my throat. 

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him cry, but I knew it’d never been like this.

“George-” I whispered out, unable to utter much else, but he just shook his head again, rubbing at his eyes.

“Nah, it’s fine.” He sniffed, chuckling at himself whilst he worked his jaw to keep from outwardly crying anymore. “It’s- well it’s like I said, ain’t it? No less than what I deserve. Fuck. I’m just so sorry. So fucking sorry. And I’m not sure if I’ve even told you that yet.”

“You have.” I reassured him in a croaky whisper, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. “You did.”

“I want to take it all back. I just want to do it all over.” He choked out, trying so very hard to avoid my gaze, to not let me see him cry. “I want so fucking much, but, there’s not much point in wanting, is there? I can’t take it back, I can’t make it make sense. And I can’t tell you how much I wish that I’d never fucking let you go in the first place. That I’d ever let myself fuck up the best thing I’ve ever had. No fucking point, no use!”

I untangled myself from my position to reach out towards him, fingers catching the side of his face like they had that very same morning. My mind flashed back to him in my bed, my lips against his. I forced his face towards me, coaxing him, “Look at me, will you? Just look at me. I need you to see. Okay? I need you to look at me and see the mess that I’ve become, the mess that I’ve always been, yeah? Because neither of us are fucking perfect, G, and, sure, you might’ve messed up, you might’ve hurt me, but that doesn’t just make me stop loving you, okay? That doesn’t erase our past and make everything that we’ve ever shared just go away. Alright? I need you to know that. I need you to understand that no matter what happens from here on out, that you will always be apart of my life. I need you to know that. I just- I need you to, okay?”

His dark and watery eyes were flitting back and forth, left then right, between my own, blatant shock staring me back in the face. I had to tell him though, he had to know. He had to.

“You hear me?” I shook his head in my hands and he raised his to cover my own, he nodded at me, just barely, and let his fingers rest against mine. My eyes were locked on his, I saw every emotion he’d ever felt flit through those brown eyes, because we were like magnets, George and I, when we collided nothing else on God’s green Earth could pull us apart, and in that moment I wanted it to always stay that way. With him beneath me, the stars in his eyes.

My forehead was pressing against his before I’d even felt myself lean in, knees hooked over either side of him, pressing deep into the soil. His hands stayed with mine, but his eyes were hooked on me so intensely that I had to let my own fall close. His fingers interlocked with mine. I felt his breath tickle my skin.

My heart ached like a hole that had been torn through my chest and it felt as though we were floating, far from the villa and its peach tree, from the Earth and all its noise. Like we’d just gone and switched the entire planet off.

I heard his swallow. And fuck, he was so shaky it almost felt like holding onto my very own earthquake.

“I’m right where you left me, Birdie.” George murmured into the blank space between us, that inch of air that separated us. And those words just rendered me helpless.

And who could really blame me? Blame me for being drawn in again. For reaching out and cupping his familiar face, for trailing a careful thumb over the curve of his cheek to the corner of his mouth. 

He made me so irrational. Made me forget. Had me faltering above him, even when I had the upper hand here, made my lips part on their own accord just as his nose lightly brushed my own. I couldn’t waste another second debating with myself, looking for answers that ceased to come; I slid my hand to the back of his neck and let him draw me in further, pausing only slightly for just a second before my lips found his.

It felt like coming home, kissing George. So familiar, with a vague sentiment of relief. The kiss was slow and delicate, probing almost, like we were both still trying to get over the fact that it was even happening. This kiss so unlike the one we’d shared before.

George responded in kind, let his lips fall open even more to savour it, his hands diving to my waist, fingers pressed into my sides.

I’d pictured this, made up so many scenarios in my head over the span of the last year that it was hard to rationalise the how and the why. But it was happening and I couldn’t bring myself to stop it, to pull apart. 

George was so tender this time around and I welcomed him in when he ran his tongue searchingly beneath my own. The softness of the kiss had me falling further into his embrace, and he didn’t even bat an eyelid, simply held me up. Like before. His touch grew more needy, fingers digging deeper into my waist when I pressed my chest up against his, teeth grazing lightly over my bottom lip enough for me to let out a soft moan, a moan that he then swallowed whole.

And it was then that I felt so overwhelmed, wanting more. Needing more than just this. But I couldn’t bring myself to shift any closer, to have him lay back, to lose myself in the madness that was him. His hands slipped to my hips, fingertips skimming the edge of my top, touching skin, it was that which made me stiffen, pull away.

I was breathing heavily, as was George when he quickly dropped his hands and allowed me to create some much needed space between us again. My head swimming.

“We can’t.” I attempted to say and he nodded, eyes taking in everything they could of my face. I must’ve looked a right picture as I inhaled shakily above him. “Not like this. I- we need to talk.”

George nodded again, I watched his chest rise and fall, watched him rub his lips together. Gaze trained on me.

“We can’t.” I whispered again, but I no longer knew who I was speaking to. 

“We can’t.” He parroted me, seeming to really understand the words now. He inhaled sharply and then glanced down. “But if we can’t, then you’ve really got to get off my lap now, B.”

I followed his gaze and blinked, realising my position. “Shit, yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

George blew out a faint chuckle, watching as I rolled off him. Warier still whilst rearranging himself, as though he was scared to take another wrong step. “No need to say sorry, always enjoy a lapful of you.” He gifted me a kind grin. “But you are right. We should talk.”

Talk. It felt like all we’d done since the night of my birthday is talk. We were talking and talking, saying an awful lot without saying much at all. But I had no idea where to start here.

Thankfully though, he did.

“I ended things.”

The air in my lungs froze as I moved to inhale, never having expected that to be the thing he’d start with. A truth, yes, but one I hadn’t thought he’d admit out loud, let alone to me. 

“You did.” I breathed, blowing the stilted air through my nose as I fought not to let the ground shift beneath me. Talk, we were finally talking.

“And I was a fucking idiot.”

I scoffed out a surprised laugh, “You are.”

He smiled at me, but it was hastily replaced by a melancholy I hadn’t much seen on him before.

“I should’ve just spoken to you. I realise that now, but I was so fucking lost, B. Like, I could hardly even think, let alone open up about how I was feeling.” He murmured to me, hands clasped tightly in his lap, I watched them whilst he watched the sky once more. “I was too scared. I was a fucking coward. And when I left, I realised I couldn’t go back. ‘Cause that look you had on your face.” He shook his head, inhaling deeply, “That look…” He blew out the breath. “God, I’d never hated myself more.”

I didn’t say anything in return. Whether it was due to my surprise at the pair of us finally hashing things out, or something other, I couldn’t be sure. 

George continued on and I was confused by his next question, “You remember the week before it?”

I just had to nod, “Vaguely.” 

It’d been a normal week, him in the studio, me at work. Hadn’t seen much of each other but he still came home each night, we fell asleep together. Like always.

He huffed then sucked in a cheek, chewing on his lip in thought, eyes stuck on the horizon. “I’d leave early morning, walk around for a bit, then end up in the studio and not leave ’til late. I couldn’t sleep at night, so I’d just lie there with you. If I caught a couple hours then I’d be able to plaster on a smile for you, the guys. But my head was properly fucked. Couldn’t stop thinking. Phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Ended up drinking just to get through the days. All ‘cause I felt fucking sorry for myself.”

It didn’t make much sense. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask or to look away, sure that I’d see something in his next movement that would fill me in or maybe hear it in his words.

He toyed with the grass. “Mum phoned me a couple times before that week. She showed up the Friday before everything went to shit.”

I gave a slight nod again as I took it in, understanding a little better now. It explained his mood. How quiet he’d been. I’d reckoned he was just tired, drained from constantly working the way he did. But if his mum was involved, then I had no idea what could’ve gone down. Nothing good though. 

“I’d always kept her at a distance since we’d left Manchester.” He went on to say, “We spoke when needed, saw each other when she asked. Mostly for my dad’s sake though.”

But I already knew all this.

“She turned up that Friday ‘cause I’d kept on dodging her calls. No warning. Just turned up out of the blue. And I was mainly just thankful that she’d managed to catch me on the way out, instead of at the flat with you. Didn’t want you to see her, her to see you.” George admitted quietly, eyes flicking towards me for a split second before darting away again. “No clue how she’d known where to find me either, but she’d driven all night- or so she claimed. And I felt as though I owed it to her to hear her out, so we walked on over to that little cafe on the corner of our road and she told me she couldn’t take much more.”

I frowned. “Take much more of what?”

“Me.” He laughed, a hollow sound that made me still. “Had enough of me, of the papers, the headlines. People back home. She was embarrassed apparently. And I could understand somewhat, the drugs she’d never liked, the drinking too excessive, but then she reckoned she’d been told a couple stories, yeah?”

Confused, my frown only deepened. “Stories?”

He licked at the flesh of his lip, my eyes tracked the movement then dropped down to where he was drumming his thumb on his kneecap. He wouldn’t look back at me. 

“Stories. Just, gossip, you know. From the locals back home.” George stated, gaze jumping from one thing to the next. But never landing on me. “She’d hurt her hip the year before and so she’d stopped working remotely, decided to ease her hours down so that she could take things a bit easier. Dad seemed all for it when he’d let me know, having her back home. But, that meant she was actually there and I reckon that’s why people took note of her. She hadn’t been around much since the band started but you know how them lot are, they like to talk. To stick their noses in everybody else’s business but their own, wanted word on us lot down in London. If we were really making it big.”

George rolled his eyes then swiped a tongue across his front teeth. It angered him, irritated him when people felt as though they deserved to know the ins and outs of his entire life. He was a private person for the most. And I knew it agitated him more for the fact that his mum had been involved.

“What stories, George?” I asked, heart in my mouth. Because I already knew, didn’t I?

He worked his jaw, thumb still tapping relentlessly away. I wanted to reach out and still the movement, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t bare to move.

“What stories?” I prodded again, firmer this time.

“About Matt and his family, him using. Rehab. If I were the same way. You know.” George replied hurriedly, jaw still tightly wound, and I titled my head at him wanting to hear the rest of it that was bound to come. “She said some vile things, yeah? And, I don’t know. I just, it, they pissed me off. I didn’t want to stay sat there and listen to her rant, just let her go on and fucking on-”

I cut him off. “What else did she say, George?”

He closed his eyes and then slowly turned his head towards me, I saw the guilt swimming in them when they reopened, the pain, the anger. “They told her all there was to know about you. They told her all about you, Birdie.”

Suddenly my tongue was too heavy to sit comfortably in my mouth and my eyes were stinging in time to match the swelling of my throat. They’d told her about me. And I wasn’t stupid enough not to realise exactly what that meant. What had been said. I knew what they all thought of me, what they’d always thought ever since that fucking night. Knew that they still let him walk around free, that they listened to his tales, to his lies. That they whispered about my mum, the neglect, the things I’d supposedly done to have survived living in that poor house. George knew I knew too. That’s why he’d been so reluctant to say. That’s why he’d-

“That why you fucking walked out then?” I spat at him, my anger misplaced but I didn’t care. I didn’t care that he’d been the one to hold me through most of it, didn’t care for his previous claims, because he’d left, hadn’t he? And this was the fucking reason. 

George opened his mouth to speak, brow pinched, but I didn’t let him get a word in edgeways.

“What, was it too much for your big rockstar image then? To have a girlfriend as fucked as me? What, were you suddenly embarrassed, George? Did your mum make you finally see sense? Reason?” I laughed bitterly and moved to stand, to walk the fuck away from him and all the emotions he pulled so effortlessly out of me, but a firm hand caught my wrist and I snapped my gaze down towards him. “Don’t grab me like that.”

Immediately George released me and he looked apologetic for a brief moment, but that anger was still there and that only sent my guard up more. 

“You know fucking better than that!” He retorted heatedly, “Don’t just section me off with the rest of them, yeah? ‘Cause you know I don’t deserve that. I was fucking there! I never left. I was there through it all. And never once did you ever or have you ever embarrassed me! Not you, not your life, not your fucking story! So just don’t, eh. Don’t go and say shit like that to me. Not when we both know that it’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

“Then what am I supposed to believe, George!” I shouted back at him, tears welling in my eyes, hands fisted to keep from lashing out, to keep from breaking completely. “Because how can I not assume that, when you’ve treated me exact same way they have! When you pushed me out and fucking left without even a warning, without a reason! Tell me, what am I supposed to think!”

“I left to fucking protect you, you daft cow!” George shot back, bewildered with his face so open. “I left because there was no other fucking way to keep you safe from the rest of the fucking world! I left ‘cause she threatened to tell people, to sell it all to the tabloids or whoever the fuck would listen, if I didn’t get my act together, if I didn’t-”

“If you didn’t leave me.” I finished for him. 

All the fight seemed to drain out of the two of us then. George’s head dropped in acknowledgment and I pressed my lips tightly together as I casted a blurry glance out over the rest of the garden to keep from outwardly sobbing. If I cried now, I didn’t know if I would ever stop.

“And you listened.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, rubbing at my strained eyes, the headache that had been tittering was a full blown minefield now, exploding across the length of my skull. “You listened.” I repeated and heard the way my voice cracked, how dry my throat felt. 

“Of course I listened. There was nowt else I could do! You were fine being in the background, watching us. You didn’t want anything else! If I’d’ve let her leave, she would’ve told everyone. She’s fucking spiteful if nothing else, can’t stand to see me happy, would be better off seeing me skint on my arse and working in a factory than have any of this. This life. She hates it!”

“And what does she think of me now, hey? Must reckon I’m some cheap skank dirtying you up, dragging you down with me.” I scoffed at the very thought, but mostly because it felt much too close to the truth. I had been dragging him down with me and it hurt to realise that he’d probably be better off never having even laid eyes on me. 

He pointed a finger towards me hotly which counteracted the way he shook his head so sadly. “Don’t say shit like that, okay? ‘Cause I know exactly what you’re thinking. I know it, because I know you. Not once have you ever, ever made me feel that way. When I’m with you-” George blew out a breathy laugh, “With you it’s like there is no one else. Don’t you get that? Didn’t you see the fucking state you left me in? I was a mess! You were the only thing ever keeping me on track. How can you not see that?”

“George, look at where you are!” I argued with him, “Look at the life you’ve built for yourself. The places you’ve been, the people you’ve met! And yet here you are, still sat with me, a florist who can hardly tie a ribbon, a girl sick beyond help, asking for another chance. You could do better, George, you know it. ”

“Fuck you.” He was angry again, but more sad than angry this time, his nose flared and his eyes were cut towards me. “Nah, honestly fuck you for saying that. For thinking it at all! ‘Cause I’m the one who left you, B. Not just once, no, not just fucking once, but twice. Twice! I should’ve manned the hell up! Pulled myself together and been there for you after that accident. Not walked away when you needed me most and left you in that ambulance! On your own! With fucking strangers there instead of me! Me! I’m not the one who deserves better, Birdie, that’s all you.”

He chuckled, though not one full of humour. One of mourning regret, the kind that seemed to catch you dizzyingly and make it so you couldn’t make any other sound. I stared at him, chest rising and falling with each trembling breath.

“And what life would I actually have if hadn’t been for you, eh? What life?” George added, prodding further, and I saw that he was crying too, silently like me, eyes shinning with unshed tears. “Because if I remember rightly, it was you that gave this all to me. You who walked in and changed everything.”

“How the fuck did I do all this then?” I laughed, more of a broken sob than anything else though, shaking my head at him with a pitiful smile. “How is this all down to me!”

“You don’t see it, do you?” He whispered to me quietly in reply and it made me realise how loud we must’ve been, screaming at the top of our lungs. “You’re the one who gave me the boys, the band. You’re the person who gave me a fucking escape, Birdie. ‘Cause you might claim to be screwed up, B. But I’m exactly that, only twice as bad.”

“You’d have gotten here in the end, G. You’re too talented not to’ve.” I told him in a defeated tone, too tired to continue on with this pissing contest anymore, to scream and shout and claim to be the worser person. He’d left me. And yeah, he’d left me more than once, but who could blame him? Who could honestly put up with the likes of me? “We all make choices and, yeah, the ones you’ve been making as of late have been shit. But we live with them. We learn. You’d’ve made something of yourself, George, with or without me.”

George sighed heavily and forced his head back to stare up at the dark night sky, whilst I wiped helplessly at my tear stained cheeks and the wetness which clung to my chin.

“But I did it with you, B.” He finally spoke before he released another breath and dropped his head down to look back at me. “And I wouldn’t change that for anything in the world. I did it with you. I did it all for you. So that me and you could leave that fucking town. So that I could keep my promise.”

My heart broke just as his voice did on that very last word.

“I love you. And I don’t care how long I have to spend proving that to you. But if it takes me the rest of my fucking life, then I’ll do it without complaint. Because you are it for me, Birdie. I’ve lived without you, and I didn’t like it much. You are the only thing I need.”

I stared at him. 

“What about your mum, the fans?” I voiced the hushed question into the otherwise silent garden.

He licked at his lower lip and I watched the way his eyes flickered when he sucked in another long breath. “That’s down to you. I can’t protect you from the world, I should’ve listened when you told me that all those years ago, but I’ve learnt now. And maybe, maybe I’m scared too. Maybe I’m terrified to hurt you all over again, or for you to just give up on me. But I’m asking for a chance, and with it, I’m prepared to give up everything else.”

I cocked my head at him, confused. “What do you mean? Give what up?”

“This.” He told me plainly and I knew, my lips parted and I could only shake my head in return.

“No. No, I’d never ask you to do that, and fuck you for even thinking I would.”

George reached out to me then, hands carefully taking my forearms, an attempt to soothe me. Like old times, I thought. I wondered if he thought the same, or if it was just instinctual.

“You wouldn’t have to ask, B. And I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you now that I don’t care what I have to lose. This? This life? It means nothing without you in it. It means nothing if you aren’t here to share it all with me. I’ve lived it. I suffered through it, felt nothing but fucking regret.” He murmured and it was then that I felt the first few drops of summer rain. “A chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“A chance.” I mimicked, blinking at him from under wet lashes whilst raindrops came down heavier around us.

“Just a chance.” He assured me before he wiped the dampening hair from off my cheek, hands resting either side of my face. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Part Twenty-seven>

[softspeirs]

Okay, this is going to be a bit of a long shot, but how about 'hands' and 'rescue' for Grace Fleming - and Helen, our Clubmobile girl! (Something something...shared grief?)

A/N: Ooh, thanks Merc! Loved an excuse to get these two ladies together.

It’s Tatty who first comes to the infirmary, her steps unsure and her eyes a little tired, a little sad.

Grace is busy folding blankets and towels, and greets her with a breezy hello, her eyes flitting between Tatty’s troubled face and her hands that are clenched at her side.

“Lieutenant,” she says, a tiny smile appearing on her lips. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“Hey, Tatty.” Grace is a little surprised at herself for feeling shy. It’s almost like realizing the popular girl at school wants to talk to her. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you—“ she takes a step closer, lowers her voice. “Would you mind talking to Helen? Casually, if you don’t mind.”

Grace puts down the blanket in her hands. “Is she okay?”

Tatty nods. “I think so. Just— she got to know this pilot at the party the night before last… between you and me, she barely got more than a few hours of sleep, they were out dancing so late.”

Grace’s heart sinks. “Oh, Tatty… did he—“

“He was with the new crew. Rosenthal’s. He didn’t make it.”

.

Grace finds Helen in the Clubmobile, like she suspected she would. Helen isn’t the type to shirk her duties, no matter how she’s feeling.

“Morning!” Helen says brightly. Grace doesn’t miss the way her hands shake slightly as she gathers herself. “It’ll be a few minutes for donuts but I can get you some coffee while you wait.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

The cup is steaming when it comes out, and Grace inhales. “God, but that smells good.”

“Coffee in the morning always does.”

They stand in companionable silence for a few minutes before Grace decides she better just ask. “How are you doing, Helen?”

The smile on her face doesn’t go away, but freezes in place. “I’m okay.”

Grace nods. Looks at the bags under Helen’s eyes and the way her movements seem automatic, robotic. She knows combat fatigue. There isn’t a snappy name for this type of grief, though. The type where you know someone for barely a day, and yet their loss hits you like a freight train.

It’s a unique part of living on an air base, and Grace doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to it.

“You need a day off?” Grace asks quietly. “No shame in it. I can talk to whoever I need to-“

“No.” Helen’s voice is firm, but still pleasant. “I’m okay. I want to keep working. It’s— it’ll help.”

Grace nods. She doesn’t want to overstep. She also knows that everyone on this base, especially these women who have such a vital role to play, are far more resilient than people give them credit for.

They’re interrupted by the still-half-asleep figures of Captain Rosenthal and Lieutenant Lewis.

“Ma’am,” Rosenthal greets her, and she watches as he struggles to make eye contact with Helen.

“Morning Helen,” Lewis says, either not feeling as shy as his friend, or determined to lighten the mood. “Coffee would be great.”

“You got it,” she says. Grace is pleased to see Helen’s hands aren’t shaking anymore when she gathers the cups and gets to work.

.

It’s over a year later and Grace almost wants to laugh when their roles are reversed. She can’t bring herself to even smile when she sees the woman approaching.

“Grace?”

Grace’s hands start to shake at the care and tenderness in her friend’s voice. She cannot allow herself to break down. If she does, she won’t be able to make it the rest of her shift, and too much time alone with her thoughts is no good.

“Grace.” Helen’s hand finds hers. Stops her relentless folding and moving and fidgeting. “Hey. Slow down.”

“Funny that you need to come to my rescue now, huh.”

Helen shakes her head. “You don’t need anyone to rescue you.” She ducks her head so she can meet Grace’s eyes. “He’s alive, Grace. I know it.”

Grace shakes her head. “How can you be so sure?” Tears spring to her eyes but she refuses to let them fall. “He’s been so lucky so far…”

“It’s not luck. He’s the best pilot we’ve got. I don’t know where he is, but he’s going to come back.”

Grace sniffs. “It’s just— this one feels harder. It feels harder to believe he’s going to keep coming back.”

“Couldn’t keep Major Rosenthal away from you for too long, Grace.” Helen jokes softly, jostling Grace with her shoulder. “He’s probably hassling some General to get him back here to you.”

Grace takes a minute to just sit there, shoulder to shoulder with a woman who has become one of her dearest friends, their hands tightly clasped together.

“I hope you’re right.” Grace says finally. “Thank you, Helen.”

The two women sit there together for a long time, minds filled with the men they’ve watched come and go, ones they laughed with and loved, and ones they didn’t even get a chance to know. This is the hardest work either of them have ever done, but it’s made easier knowing they’ll be there to rescue each other every time, no matter what.

[flower-bride]

words if anyone needs:

it’s difficult to say what makes people close off or not behave like you want or like them to sometimes. especially if there seems to be, or actually is a pretty good match. sometimes it’s the wavelength you meet them on. Combined with timing, or just willingness to “be” something. Or really sincerely just not being something. that old saying “it’s not your fault for the way someone sees you” or anticipates or hopes you to be, is true. Some people just have stupid opinions. Other people are great. some people are equally great if you just open your mind or perspective. Others just not worth the time. there’s something about the thought “everyone is good, equal, and worth it”… maybe. Best to just say, yikes not for me and move on a lot of the time though.

You might be getting new opinions lately though, which is always good! That’s where the universe seems to blow people.

Something about an Angel number that means what needs your immediate attention right now? Are there any emergencies? came up

it can be about life things or sometimes i see it as are you about to lose people, how should you act, or what can you lose or mess up on or leave the opportunity on, ;if you give it to god usually it’s just taken care of for you, though. Best not to actually take that advice and make sure you’re getting your ducks in a row though haha. Act and go for what you want or need to or anything.

Something else came up about just rawdogging life, for lack of better words…. Some people do, some people don’t. It seems like good advice is to actually consider being more streamlined and not rawdogging so much at life (god forbid this should mean literally? Hahaha) but life’s pretty great if you can just have someone or something so easy breezy and life comfortable or and /on the same wavelength to rawdog and not care as much or so much about things. Again, difficult to say. Always best to just be cool and good and as stellar as you can be to attract what’s right for you.

What are people waiting for? Is it you and someone in your life? some people are just stubborn, maybe for you, maybe not. Different strokes for different folks, both sincerely and penis punny. If someone’s not your type or style, or you’re not theirs, there’s really not much you can do. Other times people are too insecure even if you or they are. sometimes are things rejection, insecurity, just the wrong time, or just the wrong wavelength? or wrong person

Someone today might be freeing themselves of rejection even though there isn’t any, others may be or should if there actually is. figuring things out or just hanging or chilling out is probably just the best way to be unless you feel in a personal situation other people are the same way so you’re the one who makes moves. What’s your role?⭐️

[redemptionbaby]

Hi there, I just binged your blog and it has restored my nutrition levels. If you want I would love to read about what Arthur would think/feel/do if his crush / s/o was not in the gang and he could only get away to see them once a week? (I'm not sure if he'd be wanting to keep his 2 lives separate for a while for some reason??) I'm wondering what he'd be like lovesick, cuz I'm definitely missin that cowboah </3 :') many thanks

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Arthur is not that interesting. At least, that’s what he thinks. He’s an open book— and he’s not the type to keep liaisons…. Until he met you. And suddenly he’s riding off to god knows where, as usual, but with a telltale smile on his face that makes people curious.

He feels conflicted, of course. He loves you. He knows the gang isn’t a safe place— and you’re too sweet to fit in with a bunch of thieves and murderers like them…. He thinks it’s a miracle that you see anything in him. That— and with the increasing instability of it all, Micah whispering in Dutch’s ear, the way it’s becoming clearer and clearer that these violent delights are going to have violent ends. He doesn’t think the gang is a safe place to be.

Then again, he remembers the last time he left people he was connected to— left them to fend for themselves while he went and played Robin Hood. He had to bury them.

As things escalate within the gang, he also worried about his attachment to you becoming known, and it calling his loyalty into question. He could give less of a damn if Dutch thinks his allegiances lie elsewhere— but he doesn’t want you in the middle of it. He’s afraid of the lengths to which Dutch will go to keep Arthur close.

Back in the day, when he really thought they were all good people, when he thought the gang was the best thing in the world and a force of charity to those who needed it, he would’ve tried to get you in just as soon as you’d shared your first kiss. But the years have washed away the rosy tint on his vision.

A part of him is guilty. Is he just using you for a refuge? A place to go when things finally go past the point of no return? Are you a contingency plan for him?

But part of what keeps him coming back is how you melt those worries away. When he’s with you, he can’t bring himself to think of all his troubles. He’s consumed by you and all your radiance. You sit under a tree on breezy spring afternoons with his head in your lap while you read a book aloud to him.

In truth, having you to go to….. having a sort of home— that’s one of the few things that’s still keeping him going.

And he never comes back to camp empty handed. He doesn’t want anyone sniffing after him…. Suspicious of where he’s gone. So he always comes back with money, loot, fresh game, a lead….. anything to keep up his image of the Van Der Linde workhorse.

He might tell a few precious and trusted friends about you. The ones who still remember true love and the life that exists beyond their traveling bubble of crime and self righteousness. Sadie, for example. She remembers love. Not just survival and blind loyalty.

And in the world where there are happy endings, he shows up bloodied and beaten at your doorstep one fateful evening— his ties severed. Arthur Morgan died on a mountain, and a new man has emerged, ready to live his life for love and quiet solitude. And despite his aches and stinging wounds— he feels better than he has in a long time. Because he’s in your arms, and for the first time, he won’t have to leave them.