#but if anyone actually knows please tell me!

[cressidagrey]

A Pawfect Coincidence

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Margot Bonheur (Original Character)

Summary:

When Arthur Leclerc loses his brother’s emotionally codependent dachshund, he doesn’t just misplace a dog—he accidentally jumpstarts a full-blown Leclerc family crisis. Luckily, Leo is found by Margot Bonheur: local vet, egg chef extraordinaire, and the girl Charles Leclerc was once devastatingly in love with (and never quite got over).

Warnings and Notes: 

I am feeling so bad about bashing Charles in White Horse that I figured I needed a palate cleanser, so I pulled this out of the purgatory that are my Google Docs.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Arthur Leclerc was not in the habit of losing things.

Not his phone, not his keys, and definitely not his older brother’s ridiculously spoiled dachshund, who was currently - oh, merde—nowhere to be seen.

“Leo?” he called, spinning in a slow circle in the middle of the park, panic tightening his chest.

Ten seconds ago, everything had been fine. The sun was sinking, he’d taken a casual detour through Parc Princesse Antoinette, texting a friend back while Leo sniffed a patch of grass for the fifth time. Arthur had only looked away for a moment. A moment.

And now? No leash. No golden tail. No floppy ears. No dog.

Arthur cursed under his breath, scanning every path and hedge. He jogged toward the playground. Nothing. He doubled back to the fountain, heart rate climbing like he was doing qualifying laps in the rain. Still nothing.

“Leo!” he shouted again, louder this time, drawing a few curious glances from an elderly couple and a kid eating ice cream. “Leo, come on! This isn’t funny!”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Charles. Of course.

Charles: All good with Leo?

Arthur stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he shoved the phone back into his pocket, muttering, “I am never going to hear the end of this.”

Because he could already imagine it. Charles’ blank face when Arthur admitted he’d lost the dog. The slow, silent stare of older-sibling disappointment. The inevitable “I asked you for one thing.”

And worst of all—Leo. Leo, who adored Charles more than anyone else in the world, probably off charming some stranger into giving him treats or belly rubs while Arthur had a full-blown anxiety attack in the middle of a public park.

He jogged toward the exit, breath catching. “I swear to God, if I find you eating someone’s sandwich again—”

Nothing.

Just the rustle of leaves. The empty sidewalk. And the slowly dawning realization that Charles’ dog might actually be gone.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with guilt in his chest.

He was so dead.

***

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: I need you to swear on your life you won’t tell Charles.

Lorenzo: ...what did you do.

Arthur: Hypothetically If someone was walking Leo And he maybe slipped his harness And then vanished into thin air How bad would that be?

Lorenzo: Arthur. Where is Leo.

Arthur: THAT’S THE PROBLEM. I DON’T KNOW.

Lorenzo: You LOST Charles’ dog???

Arthur: No!!! I temporarily misplaced him. There’s a difference. (He’s very small and very fast and honestly too independent for his own good.)

Lorenzo: Do you want to die. Is that it. Is this a cry for help.

Arthur: Please. Help me. I can’t tell Charles. He trusted me. He said “don’t let him eat anything off the street.” He didn’t even think to say “don’t lose him” because he believed in me. And now Leo is GONE.

Lorenzo: Where are you?

Arthur: Parc Princesse Antoinette. I’ve done three laps. I checked the bushes. I even bribed a child with gelato to help me look.

Lorenzo: You bribed a child.

Arthur: WITH GELATO. I’M NOT A MONSTER.

Lorenzo: Okay. Breathe. Dogs like routine. Try retracing the walk. Call shelters. And vets. Someone might bring him in to check the chip.

Arthur: Do you think I should fake an injury so Charles pities me before I break the news?

Lorenzo: Try finding the dog first.

Arthur: Right. Right. Operation Find The Sausage is underway.

***

Arthur retraced his steps.

Twice.

He checked every corner of the park, the shaded paths, the trash bins—because Leo had zero shame when it came to half-eaten food. Nothing. No flash of caramel-colored fur, no jingling of a collar, no yappy bark announcing his tiny reign of chaos.

He even tried bribery. Again.

“Leo,” he called, crouching low with the last bite of a croissant he’d bought from the boulangerie around the corner. “If you come back now, I’ll give you the whole thing. No questions asked. No leash. No walk of shame.”

Silence. A pigeon stared at him, unimpressed.

Arthur groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re not even my dog,” he muttered.

But that wasn’t true, not really. Leo wasn’t his dog, but Charles’ ridiculous little dachshund had somehow made himself part of the entire family. He’d wormed his way into Arthur’s life with stubby legs, sad eyes, and an inexplicable talent for finding the most expensive thing in the apartment to pee on.

Arthur pulled out his phone again, hovering over Charles’ name. His thumb wavered.

Don’t you dare tell him you lost Leo, his brain screamed. He’ll kill you. Or worse—he’ll never let you walk him again.

And he really liked walking Leo. The little guy made strangers smile. Old ladies waved. Children asked to pet him. Once, a girl gave Arthur her number entirely because Leo was wearing a raincoat.

Now he was just a guy pacing a park, sweating through his T-shirt, muttering to himself like he’d lost his mind. Which, fair. He kind of had.

He circled back to the park gate for the third time when a flash of hope struck—a woman with a small dog!—but it wasn’t Leo. Just a fluffy Pomeranian in a pink harness who barked at Arthur like he’d insulted her personally.

“Not helping,” he muttered, stepping aside.

Maybe someone had found Leo. Maybe he was already somewhere safe. Maybe—please, please, please—someone would scan his chip and call Charles.

***

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: It’s getting dark. I’ve checked the entire park. Twice. Then the neighborhood. Then the park again. Still no Leo.

Lorenzo: You haven’t found him at all?

Arthur: Unless he’s developed the ability to turn invisible—NO. I even asked a guy walking a chihuahua if he’d seen a dachshund. He asked if I was okay. I said no.

Lorenzo: You need to call Charles.

Arthur: No. Absolutely not. I will fake my own death before I tell Charles I lost his dog.

Lorenzo: Arthur. It’s LEO. You lost the love of his life. You think this isn’t going to end up in a group chat?

Arthur: I CAN FIX THIS. I just need a little more time. And maybe a tranquillizer dart.

Lorenzo: For Leo??

Arthur: For me. So I can stop panicking for five seconds.

Lorenzo: Okay. Deep breath. Have you called every vet in a 2km radius?

Arthur: Yes. One of them asked if I was crying.

Lorenzo: You're two hours in, and it’s getting late. If someone found him, they’ve probably taken him somewhere. You need to start thinking damage control.

Arthur: You mean like… buy Charles a new dog?

Lorenzo: Arthur. I will block you.

Arthur: Okay okay okay. I’ll call more vets.

Lorenzo: Good. And maybe prepare a will, just in case.

Arthur: Tell Maman I loved her. Tell Charles it was Arthur Jr.’s fault. That’s what I would’ve named the new dog.

***

Margot didn’t notice him at first.

Her hands were full—reusable bags weighed down with vegetables, pasta, a bottle of wine, and the fancy sheep’s cheese she only bought when she was having a day. The sun had long since disappeared behind the hills, the sky settling into a navy velvet dusk as she trudged home through the winding streets above the port.

She was thinking about the silence of her apartment. The way her keys still felt unfamiliar in the lock. The way everything in her life was still slightly off, like a puzzle someone had forced together with the wrong pieces.

And then she heard it.

A tiny, pitiful sneeze.

Margot turned instinctively, eyes scanning the dim sidewalk—and there, right at the edge of a crumbling stone wall, sat a dachshund. Small. Muddied. Trembling slightly.

“Mon dieu,” she whispered, kneeling immediately and setting her bags down. “What are you doing here?”

The dog blinked at her with glossy brown eyes, ears drooping dramatically, like a tragic Victorian heroine.

“No collar,” she murmured, reaching slowly. “No leash. You’ve clearly been on an adventure.”

The dog didn’t flinch when she touched him. He wagged his tail once. Then sneezed again.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s get you inside.”

She looked around—quiet street, no one calling out a name, no footsteps approaching. Whoever he belonged to, they weren’t nearby.

So Margot scooped him up, balancing him against her chest with one arm while gathering her groceries with the other, and started the climb to her apartment.

Her building wasn’t far. Second floor, no elevator, uneven tile floors that made the dachshund snort when she carried him inside. He shook himself out as soon as she set him down, spraying mud across her hallway rug like he was blessing the space.

“Charming,” she muttered, flicking on the bathroom light. “Alright, monsieur, bath time.”

He did not resist. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the warm water, letting her rinse the grime from his fur, soap away the stickiness from his paws. Margot caught herself smiling as she towel-dried him, wrapping him up like a burrito and murmuring nonsense in a voice she hadn’t used in… well, a long time.

It had been almost three months since she’d moved back to Monaco.

Not a dramatic return—no big announcement, no confetti, just a one-way train ticket from Toulouse and a job offer she hadn’t expected to say yes to.

She hadn’t planned on leaving. She loved Toulouse. The city had been hers in a way Monaco never had—full of light and bustle and purpose. She’d built something there. Friends. A job. A future.

A fiancé.

Her smile faded slightly as she rubbed the dog dry.

It still stung, the way it had ended. The too-calm conversation. The finality of the phrase “I think we want different things.” The way he’d packed up and moved out like they’d been roommates all along, not five years of love and shared groceries and weekend hikes.

Margot hadn’t told anyone the full story—not even her mother. Just said she needed a change. A new pace. A return to familiar streets, even if they no longer felt like home.

The dachshund gave a content sigh, now wrapped in a fresh towel, head resting on her thigh like he’d always belonged there.

Margot looked down at him and exhaled.

“Well,” she murmured. “You’re a good distraction.”

***

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: He’s still not back. It’s been hours. HOURS. What if someone took him? What if he joined a biker gang?

Lorenzo: Arthur. It’s past midnight.

Arthur: YES I KNOW. THE CLOCK IS MOCKING ME. Do you think I could set up one of those “MISSING DOG” posters?? Like old-school. With tabs and everything. “Answers to: Leo. Probably judging you.”

Lorenzo: I’m going to bed. Unless you are calling emergency services, do not text me again.

Arthur: What if he never comes back. What if I have to look Charles in the eye and say, “Sorry, your dog is now one with the Monaco shadows.”

Lorenzo: Did you eat dinner?

Arthur: I shared half a croissant with a pigeon earlier, does that count?

Lorenzo: No. You’re spiraling.

Arthur: I’m spiraling because Charles is going to MURDER me and use my body as a cautionary tale for Pierre or something.

Lorenzo: Arthur.

Arthur: WHAT IF HE THINKS I DID IT ON PURPOSE. What if he thinks I took Leo to emotionally sabotage him before a race weekend???

Lorenzo: What race weekend?

Arthur: I DON’T KNOW I PANICKED

Lorenzo: Eat something. Drink water. And stop pacing the same square kilometer like a cartoon.

Arthur: ...how did you know I was pacing?

Lorenzo: Because I know you. And because the last time you panicked this hard was when you lost your passport and it was in your pocket.

Arthur: Okay, that was ONE TIME and the pocket was weirdly deep.

Lorenzo: Look. If someone found him, they probably took him home. It’s late. Vets are closed. You’ll get a call in the morning.

Arthur: What if they don’t call? What if Leo decides he likes his new life better? What if he finds someone who gives him bacon without rules?

Lorenzo: Then you’ll be replaced. Which is fair.

Arthur: ...harsh. But valid.

Lorenzo: Go home, Arthur. Sleep. Or at least lie down and stare into the abyss like the rest of us.

Arthur: Fine. But if I die of guilt in the night, tell Charles I tried my best.

Lorenzo: I’ll tell him you wept nobly into a pile of posters with your own phone number misspelled.

Arthur: Okay that’s accurate.

***

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Joris Trouche

Joris: Morning. Charles just asked me if you still have Leo. Can I tell him yes and get back to my already overbooked morning?

Arthur: So… funny story.

Joris: No. Absolutely not. I do not have time for a funny story. You either have the dog or you don’t.

Arthur: I don’t. I lost Leo.

Joris: WHAT. You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking. Tell me this is a Leclerc brother prank. I knew I should’ve never let you all have a group chat.

Arthur: I’m not joking. He slipped out of his harness yesterday afternoon in the park. I’ve been searching all night. I didn’t even go home. I’ve walked more than I did during preseason training.

Joris: ARTHUR.

Arthur: I KNOW.

Joris: DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’VE DONE??? You lost Leo. LEO.

Arthur: I am aware!!!

Joris: Leo is not just a dog. Leo is Charles’ everything right now. You lost the one source of unconditional love he has left since the breakup. The love of his life. The only thing he’s cared about since the breakup. THE DOG WHO HAS HIS OWN MONOGRAMMED TOWEL.

Arthur: Okay in my defense that towel thing is not normal.

Joris: YOU DON’T GET TO JUDGE THE TOWEL WHEN YOU LOST THE DOG.

Joris: He cried watching a dog food commercial three weeks ago. THREE. Leo is the only thing he trusts. Leo is the only one he lets spoon him when he's sad. You lost the love of his life.

Arthur: I didn’t mean to!! I was texting back and he—he just disappeared. It’s like he melted into the pavement!

Joris: Oh my god. Oh my god.

He trusted you.

He handed over his entire emotional support system and said, “don’t let him eat anything off the street.”

And you said, “Great, I’ll just lose him completely.”

Arthur:

I bribed a child with gelato to help search. I tried. Can we not tell him yet? Maybe someone scanned the chip. Maybe he’s safe somewhere!

Joris: I swear, if we find out someone found him and called the chip number and you just didn’t answer, I am personally putting your name on a “Do Not Trust with Pets” list.

Arthur: That’s fair.

Joris: And if someone does call and Leo is fine, I’m still going to be angry. Just less angry.

Arthur: Okay. Please tell me if he’s okay. And, like. Tell Charles gently?

Joris: Gently?? GENTLY??

Arthur: He likes you.

Joris: So did Leo. AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM.

***

Joris had delivered a lot of difficult news in his tenure as Charles Leclerc’s personal assistant.

Travel mishaps. Press obligations. The time a well-meaning sponsor wanted him to pose with a falcon for reasons no one could adequately explain.

But this?

This was worse.

He found Charles outside the simulator room, still in his race suit from that morning’s promo shoot, looking relaxed in that suspiciously unbothered way that only made Joris more tense.

“Hey,” Charles said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Everything okay?”

Joris took a breath. Then another. He held up a hand before Charles could get a word in.

“I need you to remember that you love your brother.”

Charles froze. “What?”

“Just—just hold that thought in your heart for a second,” Joris continued, voice strained, hands gesturing like he was conducting a symphony of impending doom. “Because the thing is, Arthur was walking Leo. And then… he wasn’t.”

Charles blinked. “What do you mean, wasn’t?”

“Leo ran off,” Joris said, with the grave tone of someone delivering a eulogy. “Arthur looked away for maybe thirty seconds. Boom. Gone. No leash. No collar. Just vibes.”

Charles straightened. “You’re telling me Arthur lost my dog?”

Joris winced. “Arthur was walking him yesterday. In the park. And, uh… Leo slipped his harness.”

Silence.

“He what,” Charles said, very quietly.

“He… bolted. Arthur says it happened fast. He’s been searching all night, didn’t even go home. He’s calling shelters and—”

Charles dropped the knife. “He lost my dog?”

Joris took a careful step back. “Temporarily misplaced.”

“Joris.”

“He ran off yesterday evening,” Joris said, hands up in surrender. “Slipped his harness while Arthur was texting in the park. He’s been searching all night. I got the full unhinged confession this morning.”

Charles looked like someone had just unplugged him. All the light behind his eyes dimmed. “Leo has been gone since yesterday?”

“I didn’t know either,” Joris rushed to say. “Arthur didn’t tell me until an hour ago because he was apparently too busy bribing children and interrogating chihuahuas—don’t ask.”

“He lost Leo,” Charles repeated, voice rising. “He lost the only thing in my life that hasn’t let me down in the last six months.”

And there it was.

Joris had been waiting for the breakup to surface again, quietly lurking under every tired sigh, every too-long pause in conversation. Charles hadn’t spoken about her in weeks, but he also hadn’t not spoken about her. He’d just… poured all of it into Leo. Every bit of softness, every ounce of trust.

And now Leo was gone.

“He’s okay,” Joris said quickly. “Probably. He has a chip. He’s smart. And Arthur’s already filed a report and left his number everywhere.”

Charles sat down heavily on the kitchen stool, one hand running over his face.

“I knew it,” he said hoarsely. “I knew Arthur wasn’t ready. He doesn’t even like mornings. Leo’s entire personality is built around 6:45 a.m.”

“I think he genuinely thought he was doing a good job,” Joris offered. “Like… mostly.”

Charles didn’t respond. Just stared at the floor like it had personally betrayed him.

“He has a monogrammed towel,” he said suddenly, like remembering a lost heirloom. “He sleeps in my bed. He knows how to open the fridge.”

Joris nodded solemnly. “I know. You trained him well.”

“And now he’s alone somewhere. Scared. Probably judging someone else’s cooking.”

There was a long beat. Then Charles’s voice cracked—just a little, just enough.

“I can’t lose him too.”

Joris’s heart ached. He stepped forward, softer this time.

“We’re going to find him. I promise.”

Charles gave a slow nod, silent. His eyes were glassy, and he looked young—too young for the heartbreak in his voice.

***

Group Chat: Leclerc Brothers

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Charles: So. I just spoke to Joris.

Arthur: 🥲

Charles: Tell me that this is some elaborate, deeply stupid prank and Leo is curled up in your apartment right now, wearing his stupid hoodie and judging your coffee table choices.

Arthur: I wish it was. I really, really do. Charles I swear, it happened so fast. I looked away for one second and he was gone. I’ve been searching all night. I didn’t sleep. I filed reports. I called every vet and shelter.

Charles: You lost him yesterday. And didn’t say anything until this morning.

Arthur: I panicked. I thought I could find him before you noticed. Lorenzo told me not to fake a leg injury to get your sympathy, if that helps?

Lorenzo: To be clear, I said that was a bad idea.

Charles: Leo is not just a dog. He’s not a weekend errand or a plant you forget to water. He’s mine. He’s family. He’s the only thing I’ve had that didn’t leave when things got hard.

Arthur: I know. And I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry.

Charles: I trusted you.

Arthur: I didn’t mean to break that. Please believe me.

Lorenzo: He does. He’s just scared right now. We all are.

Charles: If anything happens to him— I don’t know what I’ll do. He’s been the only thing keeping me grounded since everything fell apart.

Arthur: We’re going to find him. I swear it. Even if I have to knock on every door in Monaco and personally interview every dog.

Charles: He knows how to open the fridge, Arthur. You lost a genius.

Lorenzo: Let’s focus. No blame right now. Only action.

Charles: Joris is handling it. Of course. Because Joris always handles what we break.

Arthur: …do I send him flowers?

Charles: Send him a new spine. He probably needs one after carrying our chaos for five years.

Lorenzo: Okay, but seriously—Charles. We will get him back. And when we do, I’m buying that dog a GPS tracker, a backup GPS tracker, and probably a bodyguard.

Arthur: I already picked out a name. Sir Barkalot.

Charles: If I wasn't so emotionally ruined I’d block you.

Arthur: Fair.

Charles: I just want him home.

***

Sunlight streamed through the gauzy curtains, catching on the dust motes in the air and casting soft gold across the hardwood floor. Somewhere outside, a gull screamed at an unreasonable hour, and a scooter rattled down the street, but Margot barely stirred.

She rolled over, blinking sleep from her eyes, the quiet weight of morning settling gently over her shoulders. For a moment, she forgot about everything—about Monaco, about the clinic, about the fact that her life had recently undergone a full-scale emotional implosion.

And then she registered the sound. Not her alarm. Not traffic.

Snuffling.

She squinted down toward the end of the bed.

There, curled up like a smug croissant in the exact center of her duvet, was a caramel coloured dachshund.

Sprawled out on his back, paws in the air, snoring softly, utterly shameless.

Margot groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “You did not start the night there.”

The dog gave a lazy tail thump in response but made no move to vacate the space.

“Oh, I see. You’ve claimed the bed. This is your apartment now,” she muttered, sitting up and stretching.

She padded barefoot into the kitchen,and flicked the switch on the coffee machine. As the familiar hum filled the space, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

The dog trotted in a moment later, completely at ease, and went straight to the spot in front of the window where the morning sun hit just right. He flopped down with a grunt of satisfaction.

Margot stared at him.

“You’ve been here eight hours,” she said. “Eight. You’ve already decided on a sunbathing spot?”

He blinked at her. Yawned. Rolled onto his side and looked deeply unconcerned about the fact that he’d technically been lost less than a day ago.

She crouched beside him. “You know, if you were a person, this would be deeply invasive. Just showing up in someone’s life, taking a bath, stealing the blanket, and claiming the best corner of the apartment.”

The dog offered her a single, slow blink. Margot sighed.

“…but you’re not a person,” she added, rubbing behind his ears. “You’re a spoiled little drama queen with big eyes and too much charm. No wonder someone’s probably out there crying over you.”

Margot watched him for a moment, her heart doing that soft little squeeze it hadn’t done in a while.

He didn’t seem stressed. Or scared. He wasn’t pacing or barking or trying to claw at the door. He was just… here. Cozy. Safe. Like this was temporary housing on his luxury tour of Monaco.

“Okay,” she murmured, “Let’s see if I have anything fit for a prince.”

She dug through the fridge—cheese, eggs, leftover roast chicken—and eventually settled on plain scrambled eggs. Just a little. No salt. Vet-approved. She plated them onto a saucer.

The dachshund sniffed the offering when she set it down on the kitchen floor, tilted his head like he was evaluating her taste level, then devoured it.

“Right,” Margot said. “A culinary success.”

He licked the plate clean and then followed her back into the living room, where he jumped up onto the couch like he paid rent. He curled into the throw blanket she’d left bunched in the corner, eyes half-lidded, already preparing for nap number three.

Margot leaned against the kitchen counter and watched him with a strange tightness in her chest.

He looked like he belonged there. Too easily. Too naturally. Like he’d decided she passed whatever secret dachshund test he’d run last night and now this was his summer home.

And Margot—who hadn’t expected to feel anything but detached competence and maybe a vague professional curiosity—felt something else entirely.

She felt… lighter.

Not fixed. Not whole. But not quite as adrift.

“I can’t keep you,” she said quietly, to no one and only him. “You definitely have someone. And they’re probably losing their mind.”

The dog, naturally, said nothing.

He simply sighed and closed his eyes, like he had all the time in the world.

Margot stared at him for a long moment.

She hesitated. Then added, “But if not… you can stay a little longer.”

***

The clinic smelled faintly of lavender and disinfectant, the way it always did first thing in the morning—clean, calm, full of potential chaos that hadn’t yet arrived.

Margot pushed through the door with a reusable tote slung over one shoulder, and the dachshund’s head poking around like that was a completely normal mode of transportation for him. 

“Uh-oh,” Céline called from reception, raising an eyebrow as she spotted them. “You’ve brought in backup.”

“Temporary guest,” Margot said, lifting her hand in greeting. “Found him last night. No collar. Took him home so he wouldn’t end up in traffic or under a Vespa.”

“He’s adorable,” Céline said, already standing up to lean over the counter. “What breed is he? Besides ‘absolute heartthrob.’”

“Dachshund,” Margot replied dryly. “Clearly spoiled. Possibly royalty.”

“I mean, look at him,” Céline whispered as Margot lifted the dog onto the floor. He strutted across the waiting room and flopped into a sunbeam like he was taking a press photo.

Within ten minutes, he’d made the rounds of the break room, had a staff member attempt to make him a tiny paper crown from post-it notes, and somehow convinced the vet tech intern to feed him a single piece of chicken from her sandwich.

Margot watched it all happen with an expression of pure disbelief. “He’s been here twenty minutes.”

“He’s got it,” one of the techs whispered. “Like… star power.”

“I think he winked at me,” another muttered.

Margot rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

She finally herded the dachshund into an exam room, gently lifting him onto the table. “Okay, rockstar. Let’s figure out who you are.”

He wagged his tail, smug as ever.

She grabbed the scanner from the wall, swept it slowly over his neck, and waited for the beep.

Beep.

“Good boy,” she said absently, turning to the screen.

The name appeared.

She froze.

LEO — Owner: Charles Leclerc. Contact: +33 —

Margot’s breath caught.

Her fingers hovered above the screen.

No.

No. There was no way.

She read it again.

Charles Leclerc.

She stared at the name, the familiar rhythm of it.

The Charles Leclerc.

As in, Formula One driver. Ferrari. International star.

Of course this was his dog.

Of course this smug, emotionally manipulative, blanket-stealing loaf belonged to him.

To Charles.

As in, the boy she’d kissed under the bleachers behind the tennis courts when she was sixteen. The boy who’d held her hand at the Monaco Grand Prix and whispered that one day, he’d be the one on the podium. The boy she’d cried over for at least three months after they broke up because “life was getting too busy.”

The boy who—apparently—now owned a dachshund named Leo.

“Oh,” she said faintly.

Leo looked up at her and thumped his tail, as if he knew.

Of course he knew.

Because the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

***

The phone rang just as Joris was mid-scroll through yet another email chain titled “RE: RE: RE: URGENT: Helmet Sponsor Placement Issue.”

He didn’t recognize the number. Monaco area code. That wasn’t unusual—his number was attached to everything from Leo’s microchip registry to Charles’ old tennis club membership.

Still, he hesitated. Then answered, already bracing himself for some kind of insurance call or dog-related ransom demand.

“Bonjour, Joris Trouche speaking.”

There was a pause.

Then: “Hi, um—Joris? It’s Margot. Margot Bonheur.”

Joris blinked.

Margot Bonheur?

He sat up straighter, every neuron in his brain suddenly pinging like a crash at turn one.

“Wait. Margot Margot?”

She gave a slightly breathless laugh. “I… think so? We went to lycée together.”

“Oh my god,” Joris said, stunned. 

There was a short pause. Then a soft voice, low and slightly tentative: “You don’t happen to be missing a dachshund named Leo, do you?”

Joris sat up straight. “You found Leo?”

“Uh, yes. Last night. He sort of… found me, really. He was wandering near Rue Bel Respiro, no collar. I took him home for the night.”

Joris covered the phone’s mouthpiece and mouthed holy shit to the empty office. Then he cleared his throat. “Is he okay?”

“Perfectly fine. He had a bath, has been sleeping, eating scrambled eggs, sunbathing, and judging me silently ever since he woke up.”

Joris huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s him.”

There was a beat of quiet on the line. The kind of silence that stretched just long enough to mean something.

Then Margot said softly, “He’s yours, then?”

Joris’s mouth twitched. “No. He’s Charles’.”

Another pause.

“Ah,” she said. Barely a whisper. “Of course he is.”

Joris leaned back in his chair, gaze flicking toward the ceiling like he might spot the ghost of Monaco high school past hovering above him.

Charles and Margot.

God. He hadn’t thought about that in years. The school hallway hand-holding. The shy smiles.

Margot Bonheur. Margot with the laugh that made Charles forget how to speak in full sentences. Margot who wore oversized cardigans, tied her hair with ribbons, and absolutely ruined Charles for other teenage girls.

Sixteen-year-old Charles, gangly and earnest and completely gone for a girl with curly hair and a laugh that cracked through his walls like sunlight.

Sixteen-year-old Charles, biking all the way across town with a melted chocolate bar in July because he’d heard Margot had a bad day.

Charles, heart-eyed and hopeless, telling Joris at least three times a week, “I think she’s the one, you know?”

And then the silence. The breakup.

Racing had come calling, and Charles—still a boy, really—had chosen speed over stability, pressure over presence. Not because he didn’t love her. Because he did, too much, and thought she deserved better than goodbyes over phone calls and promises he couldn’t keep.

It was the only time Joris had seen Charles cry in a hotel hallway. No cameras. Just him and a cracked iPhone screen with her name still at the top of his pinned messages.

And now?

Now she’d found his dog.

In Monaco.

At a time when Charles was still nursing emotional wounds, pretending he wasn’t sad, and sleeping curled around that ridiculous dachshund like Leo was a weighted blanket for his soul.

Joris stared at the desk.

The universe didn’t send you things like this for no reason.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “He’ll be relieved. He’s been—look, let’s just say the household emotional stability has been tied directly to that dog’s continued existence.”

Margot made a small sound, part sympathetic and part amused. “I figured. He looked very loved.”

“He is. But also? High maintenance. Like his owner.”

Another pause. He could practically hear her raised eyebrow through the line.

“I’ll text you the address,” she said eventually, voice quieter. “I’ll be at the clinic most of the day. You or Charles can come by whenever.”

“Thank you, really,” Joris said. “This means a lot.”

When the call ended, Joris didn’t move for a moment.

Then he stood, walked to Charles’ door, and knocked.

This was going to be interesting.

And if—if—it led to something more?

Well.

He wouldn’t meddle.

Not directly.

But he also wasn’t above “accidentally” scheduling Charles to pick up Leo himself.

***

Charles was halfway through pacing the length of his hotel room for the fourth time when the knock came.

He turned sharply, the pent-up worry already pushing at his chest like pressure before a storm.

“Oui?”

Joris opened the door, face unreadable. “Good news,” he said.

Charles blinked. “You found him?”

“We didn’t,” Joris said. “But someone did.”

The world tilted slightly. His breath caught. “Wait—he’s okay?”

“He’s more than okay,” Joris said. “He was found last night. Someone took him in. He’s safe, healthy, probably being pampered as we speak.”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, barely processing the words. His knees actually went a little weak, and he leaned against the doorframe. “You’re sure?”

Joris nodded. “I spoke to the person directly. They found him near Rue Bel Respiro. No injuries. Fed him scrambled eggs.”

Charles let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “He loves scrambled eggs.”

“I know,” Joris said, softer now. “He’s okay. You can breathe again.”

Charles pressed his hand to his chest like he needed to check that his heart was still there. “I thought—I thought maybe he got out of the city. Or worse. I didn’t know what to do, Joris.”

He nodded, too many thoughts tumbling around in his head. Leo. Safe. Leo, who he’d been picturing lying under a car or lost in some alley. Leo, who had become more than just a dog—his anchor, his post-breakup coping mechanism, the one living being who never asked for anything but a lap and a few treats.

His eyes stung. He scrubbed a hand over them.

“I know,” Joris repeated. “It’s handled. You can pick him up when we’re back in Monaco this evening.”

Charles closed his eyes for a second, letting it sink in. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “He’s really okay?”

“Completely,” Joris confirmed. “He’s just waiting for you.”

Charles looked away, blinking hard. “I thought—I kept thinking about the road. Or if someone tried to take him. Or if he was scared and cold—”

“He wasn’t,” Joris said gently. “Apparently, he made himself at home. Shocker.”

Charles let out a weak laugh, finally sitting down. “God. I feel like an idiot. I should have never let Arthur take him out.”

“No argument there,” Joris muttered.

A pause.

Then Joris added, voice casual: “Oh, and maybe don’t wear that hoodie when you go to pick him up.”

Charles frowned. “Why?”

Joris sipped his espresso. “Just a feeling.”

***

Group Chat: Disaster Mitigation Team

 Members: Joris, Lorenzo, Arthur

Joris: Update: Leo is SAFE. Found last night. Someone took him home, gave him a bath, scrambled eggs, and emotionally supported him through what I assume was a dramatic 12 hours. He’s completely fine. A little smug, but fine.

Arthur: OH THANK GOD. I’m not going to be disowned??? I can come out of hiding???

Lorenzo: Where was he?

Joris: Wandering near Rue Bel Respiro. A vet found him. Took him home for the night.

Lorenzo: This is the best news I’ve heard all week. Tell me who found him so I can send them a fruit basket and/or a handwritten apology.

Joris: …you’re going to want to sit down for this.

Arthur: Bro if you say it was someone from Ferrari PR I will actually combust

Joris: It was Margot.

Arthur: ...

Lorenzo: ...

Arthur: As in Margot Bonheur??

Joris: That would be the one.

Lorenzo: As in “Charles’ teenage girlfriend” Margot?

Arthur: As in “the only girl Charles ever wrote poetry for and then immediately denied it” Margot??

Joris: Yes. THAT Margot.

Arthur: NO WAY. Margot who used to make Charles forget how to speak?? Margot who literally ended all his teen crushes after 2012??

Lorenzo: Margot who knew how to shut him up with one look? That Margot?

Arthur: This is cinematic.

Lorenzo: This is fate.

Joris: I’m not saying I’m thinking about matchmaking but …I’m thinking about matchmaking.

Arthur: YES. FINALLY. She was the best of all of them. And she liked us. Remember when she brought cookies to family lunch and Maman asked if we could keep her?

Joris: The very same. Vet now. Back in Monaco. And apparently, Leo has chosen her as his new emotional support human.

Arthur: She was always my favorite. Honestly, best of all his exes. No contest. 10/10. Would support a redemption arc.

Lorenzo: Same.

Joris: I’m not saying I’m plotting anything. But I may have strategically left out her name when I told him he could pick Leo up tonight. Just… letting fate cook a little.

Arthur: Oh my GOD you’re playing the long game. I’m so proud.

Lorenzo: We support this. You have our blessing. 

Arthur: If they get back together, I’m taking credit. Even though I lost Leo in the first place. Especially because of that.

Joris: Focus, gentlemen. Tonight, Charles picks up Leo. From Margot. Let’s just see what happens.

Lorenzo: You want us on standby?

Joris: No interference. No chaos. Let them talk. Let the dog do his work.

 We may be watching the start of something ridiculous.

Arthur: Or something really, really good.

***

The clinic looked ordinary from the outside—white stone, blue shutters, a potted plant wilting just slightly in the sun. The kind of place you wouldn’t look at twice unless you had a limping retriever or a cat with dietary issues.

Charles had passed it before. Years ago. He hadn’t remembered until he stood outside the door, hand hovering over the handle, heart thudding with the kind of nervous energy he usually reserved for a final lap in the wet.

He wasn’t sure why he felt so anxious. Leo was safe. That’s what mattered.

And yet—he couldn’t shake it.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen Leo in two days. Maybe it was because this whole week had felt like a slow unraveling. Maybe it was because he’d been forced to confront the terrifying truth that he’d built his emotional stability on a dachshund with judgmental eyebrows.

He pushed open the door.

The bell above chimed.

Inside, it smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender. Soft music played overhead. The waiting room was empty, save for a sleepy golden retriever stretched out across the floor tiles and an older man flipping through a dog breed calendar like it contained state secrets.

He wasn’t sure why he was nervous.

It was a veterinary clinic, not a press conference. He wasn’t here to face a grid of rivals or answer uncomfortable questions about tyre strategy or heartbreak.

He was just here for Leo.

That should’ve been it.

But his palms were sweating, and there was something tight in his chest he hadn’t been able to shake since the moment Joris said, “She found him last night.”

She.

He hadn’t asked questions. He’d been too focused on the relief of knowing Leo was safe. Alive. Fed. Unbothered.

But now?

Now, something about the quiet warmth of the waiting room made his heart stutter.

“Bonjour,” a receptionist called from behind the desk. “Can I help you?”

Charles pulled off his sunglasses. “I’m here for Leo. Someone brought him in this morning?”

“Oh! Yes, he’s in the back. Quite the charmer you have there, Mr. Leclerc. Margo found him yesterday. He’s still with Dr. Bonheur. She said to send you through.”

Dr. Bonheur.

Charles blinked.

The name hit like a gear shift slamming into place.

No.

He didn’t move right away—just stood there, rooted to the tile floor, as if his body hadn’t caught up with the memory. The receptionist gestured politely to the hallway, but her voice felt distant, muffled.

Margot Bonheur.

The girl who used to tuck daisy stems behind her ears. The girl who gave him her library card because he kept forgetting his. The girl he’d tried so hard not to look up after the breakup, because he knew he wouldn’t like the feeling if he saw her happy without him.

The girl he hadn’t seen in years.

And she’d found Leo?

Of course she had.

Of course it was her.

Because fate didn’t tap you on the shoulder. It threw your dog into the arms of your teenage heartbreak and waited to see what you’d do next.

Charles swallowed hard and walked toward the back hallway, feet moving before his brain could catch up.

The door to the exam room was ajar.

He pushed it open gently.

And there she was.

Margot stood with her back to him, crouched beside a small exam table where Leo sat like an unbothered loaf. She was tying a bandana around his neck—a soft green one that made him look outrageously smug. The same springy curls. The same soft concentration in her movements. She hadn’t changed.

And then she turned.

Their eyes met.

And for a moment, the world tilted.

Margot blinked. “Oh.”

Charles opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

She gave a slow, cautious smile. “Hi, Charles.”

He couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

Memories rushed in uninvited—bike rides and beach afternoons, shared earphones on the school bus, her handwriting on the corner of his notes. And that goodbye. That stupid, quiet, I don’t want to make you choose kind of goodbye.

Charles couldn’t speak.

He was sixteen again, sunburned and awkward and head over heels. He was seventeen and heartbroken. He was eighteen and too busy pretending he didn’t still think about her. And now he was… what, exactly?

Margot didn’t look away.

She stood, slow and steady, wiping her hands on the hem of her white coat, as if grounding herself in the motion. She looked older, yes—but not in a bad way. She looked like someone who’d lived through things and come out steadier for it.

Leo gave a grunt, apparently offended by being forgotten in the middle of his reunion fanfare, and thumped his tail once against the exam table.

That was what broke the silence.

Charles finally let out a shaky laugh, stepping fully into the room. “He looks like he owns the place.”

Margot smiled softly, folding her arms. “He acted like it. Claimed my couch, my blanket, and the best sunspot in the apartment before I’d even finished putting my groceries away.”

“I believe it,” Charles said, crouching beside Leo. The moment he touched the dachshund’s fur, something in him cracked wide open. “I thought I lost him. I thought—”

“I know,” Margot said gently. “I figured someone would be looking. He’s… unforgettable.”

Charles let his hand rest on Leo’s back. “He’s been everything. These last few months… it’s been hard.”

She didn’t press. She never had.

“I’m glad he found you,” he said finally, lifting his eyes to hers. “I mean—really. Thank you.”

Margot looked at him for a long, quiet beat. “I wasn’t expecting you to walk through that door.”

“Me neither.” He stood slowly. “When Joris said someone found him… I didn’t ask who. I should’ve.”

“Would you have come if you had?” she asked, not accusing, just curious.

Charles met her gaze. “Yeah. I would’ve.”

Her lips curved, a little surprised. A little knowing.

There was a silence, comfortable and awkward all at once. The kind of silence that could only exist between two people who used to know each other completely and now didn’t know how to begin again.

“I heard you were back,” he said eventually. “From my mum, I think. Or someone in town.”

Margot nodded. “Three months ago. I’m working here full time.”

“That’s… that’s good.” Charles shifted his weight. “Toulouse wasn’t forever?”

“No,” she said, quiet. “It was good. Until it wasn’t.”

He understood that far too well.

“Well,” she said, patting Leo’s head, “your prince is in one piece. Clean, fed, slightly spoiled.”

“Always has been.” Charles hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out Leo’s leash. “Can I… take him?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “Though he might pout for a while. I think he liked my eggs.”

Charles bent down, clipping the leash onto Leo’s harness as the dachshund made a snuffling noise of vague disapproval. “I can’t believe you cooked for him.”

“I was trying to win him over,” Margot said. “Turns out he’s an easy bribe.”

Charles glanced up, and for the first time, he smiled. Not the tired, strained smile he’d been wearing lately—but something warmer. Real.

“Can I walk you out?” he asked. “Just… for old time’s sake?”

Margot paused.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

***

Outside, the sunlight hit the street in soft amber as they stepped out together, Leo strutting ahead of them like a celebrity returning from a five-star vacation.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, their footsteps slow and in sync.

“You look well,” she said finally.

“You too,” he answered, and meant it.

Another pause.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said. “For back then. For how I ended things.”

Margot looked over, surprised. “That was a long time ago.”

“Still,” he said. “I never said it. And I should have.”

She looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then: “Thank you.”

They reached the corner. Leo stopped, sniffed a bush like it owed him money, and flopped down dramatically on the warm pavement.

Margot laughed. “You may need to carry him. He’s decided he’s done.”

Charles crouched again, scooping Leo up effortlessly. “You really took care of him.”

“I was glad to,” she said.

Their eyes met again.

“Margot,” he said, quietly. “Would you—maybe sometime—want to catch up properly?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like dinner?”

“Or coffee,” he said quickly. “Or a walk. Or, I don’t know. Something.”

She tilted her head, considering him. “Are you asking for you, or for Leo?”

Charles gave a sheepish smile. “Both.”

Margot bit back a grin. “Then maybe.”

Charles smiled back, a little stunned. A little hopeful.

And Leo—smug, full, and freshly bathed—closed his eyes in Charles’ arms, perfectly content.

***

Group Chat: Leclercs & Logistics

 Members: Lorenzo, Arthur, Joris, Charles

Arthur:DID YOU GET HIM???? IS HE OKAY?? IS HE MAD AT ME??

Lorenzo: Photos. Now. I need visual confirmation of the sausage prince’s wellbeing.

Joris: Are you still breathing or do we need to send a second emotional support animal to your location?

Charles: Yes, Leo is back. No, I didn’t cry. Yes, I nearly did.

Arthur: Tell him I love him. Also tell him I’m sorry and that I accept any form of punishment he deems fit.

Lorenzo: Start with a restraining order and work from there.

Joris: And how was Margot?

Charles:Yeah—about that. You could’ve warned me, Joris.

Joris: Warned you about what?

Charles: THAT MARGOT FOUND LEO. You let me walk in there unprepared, like it was any other Tuesday! I could’ve had a heart attack! Or worse—said something weird!

Joris: I believe I said, “someone found him.” That is technically true. I just didn’t say who the someone was.

Charles: YOU LEFT OUT CRUCIAL INFORMATION Like the fact that my teenage heartbreak was about to hand me back my dog.

Arthur: Did a breeze catch in her hair at just the right moment? Was Leo smug about it??

Charles: Yes to both. He refused to leave until she said goodbye. And she tied a stupid little green bandana around his neck that somehow makes him look even more entitled. It was… weird. Familiar. Like nothing changed, but everything had.

Lorenzo: So basically: cinematic.

Joris: So… how did it feel seeing her again?

Charles: Like getting the wind knocked out of me and then immediately wrapped in a warm blanket. She was Margot. Still Margot.

Arthur: CHARLES. ARE YOU IN LOVE AGAIN??

Charles: I never really stopped.

Lorenzo: Oh.

Arthur: OH.

Arthur:Did you ask her out?!?!

Joris:Are we preparing for a slow-burn second-chance narrative?!

Charles: I asked if she wanted to catch up sometime. She said maybe.

Arthur: A MAYBE IS A YES IN DENIAL

Lorenzo: A maybe is the foundation of hope. I approve.

Joris: I’m scheduling you both for a casual Leo-themed coffee run in two days. Nothing obvious. We’re letting the tension simmer.

Arthur: You’re terrifying.

Joris: I’m efficient.

Charles: You’re all insane.

Lorenzo: And yet here you are. Smiling at your phone like a lovesick teenager again.

Joris: We’re not rushing this. No chaos. We give them space. Let Leo work his magic.

Arthur: Can I at least put together a playlist??

Charles: You’re all insane.

Joris: Yes. And we love you. Now take that dog home, feed him something outrageously expensive, and start planning your next casual run-in with Monaco’s most emotionally significant veterinarian.

Lorenzo: I’m so proud. 🥹

Arthur: Tell Leo he’s getting a new raincoat. Embroidered. “Wingman of the Year.”

Charles: He deserves it.

***

Margot had no idea why she was nervous.

It was just coffee.

With her ex-boyfriend.

Her first boyfriend. The one who used to blush when their hands brushed and left flowers in her locker with absolutely illegible notes. The one who broke her heart the way only someone young and kind and convinced he was doing the right thing could

 And now… he was sitting at a tiny café table across from her, stirring sugar into his cappuccino like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like it hadn’t been years.

Like he hadn’t shown up at the clinic two days ago looking like he’d lost his entire world—until Leo launched himself into Charles’ arms, and then everything shifted. Warmth. Relief. Something deeper that still hummed under her skin if she thought about it too long.

“So…” Charles said, glancing up with a shy sort of smile. “I feel like we should start with something safe. Like weather. Or Leo’s digestive schedule.”

Margot snorted into her mug. “It’s Monaco. The weather is always smug. And Leo’s digestive schedule appears to involve manipulating humans into feeding him eggs.”

“I knew that smug face meant he was being spoiled,” Charles muttered, mock-affronted.

She leaned her elbow on the table, chin in her hand. “He was a perfect gentleman. Demanding, slightly judgy, but charming.”

“So basically me at seventeen.”

That made her laugh. “You were never demanding.”

He shrugged, a little sheepish. “Maybe not out loud. But I was kind of... all-in. With you.”

That stilled something in her chest.

She didn’t look away.

“I was too,” she said quietly.

There was a pause—gentle and heavy in equal measure. The little café noise hummed around them: clinking glasses, a scooter rattling by, someone’s dog barking at a pigeon.

Charles cleared his throat, voice softer now. “I’ve thought about reaching out. Before.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He gave her a small, honest smile. “Because I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me. And… I didn’t know if I was someone you’d be glad to hear from.”

She sat with that for a moment. The honesty of it. The way it didn’t sting, because it wasn’t said to wound.

“I was angry,” she admitted. “Back then. Not because you left. I got it. But because I kept waiting for you to stop choosing everything else first.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said. “From the chaos. From me, honestly.”

“I never needed protecting,” she said. “I just wanted honesty.”

Their eyes met. This time, there was something calmer there. Grounded.

“I’m not seventeen anymore,” he said. “I can’t promise I’ll be less chaotic. But I know how to show up now.”

Margot’s lips curved slowly. “Even if I burn the eggs next time?”

He grinned. “Especially then. I feel like Leo would riot otherwise.”

She laughed again, warmth blooming in her chest. “Well. In that case…”

“In that case,” Charles echoed, brushing his fingers against the edge of her mug, just barely, “maybe this doesn’t have to be just coffee.”

Margot looked at him, really looked. And saw not just the boy he was—but the man sitting in front of her now. Tired, maybe. Bruised by life a little. But open. Trying.

And hers, maybe, if she wanted him to be again.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” she said.

And across the city,  snoring on Charles’ couch, Leo Leclerc dreamed smug little dreams of eggs, sunbeams, and the chaos he’d orchestrated to make this happen.

[girl4music]

“You guys DO know that when someone says "god", they might not be referring to the Christian god..”

When I tell people I believe in God and they look at me like “Why? He hates you!”

First of all - why do you assume my God is a “He”?

My God is actually genderless because my God encompasses and embraces all gender identities thank you very much. My God is not the Christian God.

“Oh really? What religion does your God come from?”

It doesn’t. The religion I primarily follow is not a dogmatic one. It’s still referred to as a religion.

It doesn’t have a “God” in the sense that it distinctifies from the notions of omnipresentness and presentness.

The religion I primarily follow is Taoism and although I do consider myself a Taoist, I am in no way a practicing one. I just very much resonate with the philosophy of it.

In comparison,… I was born into Christianity. Protestantism. I never resonated with any of it.

But instead of thinking and believing there was something wrong with me, I went the other way.

There was something very much wrong with it.

You can believe in whatever higher power, god or deity you wish, but if the requirement for that is to make yourself less… that’s not a good thing. Please leave!

Your faith will follow alongside you. I promise you.

I have never had a good experience with Christianity but I don’t necessarily think the religion itself is the problem. I think it’s the people that are advocating it.

No matter what they claim, these people are faithless.

They have no regard for anyone but themselves.

And no religion in this world ever advocates that.

No God or deity would make that law and order.

This is people. Horrible, selfish, cruel, heartless people.

Religion is not evil in itself. But how it’s used can be.

Whenever I see a queer invalidate another queer's relationship with god, I just get disappointed. "We need more complex queers!" You can't even handle religious queer people.

[bubblegumgothglados]

hiii i’m wondering if you have any advice on how to properly vet doms? I’ve been trying to catch one on an anonymous messaging thingy my college uses and so far anyone that’s been interested has had extremely limited experience (it’s crazy to call urself a dom when all you’ve done is ties ur exes hands together once or some shit). when i’ve talked to these people i’ve explained that i don’t wanna have to teach someone what they’re doing (again lol) and tried to de-50shades-ify their conception of bdsm. do you have any advice on what to ask if i find someone that actually knows what they’re doing? are there things i should be vetting for beyond basic competence and human decency? red flags i may easily miss?

If you have any general advice for me on my endless search for a dom too i’d really appreciate that, god knows i’ve been unsuccessful so far lol.

(thankyouuuuu)

Great question

Nuance, my opinions, blah blahh blahhhh

There are three things I look for when judging another dominant

First. Kindness, caring, compassion, etc. You gotta be kind before you're allowed to be cruel, you gotta be respectful before you can treat someone disrespectfully, you gotta make them feel safe before you can make them feel scared, and so on. In practical terms you can see this in the way someone treats those they see as lesser. How do they react to bugs; you almost always have full power over bugs, you can kill them on a whim, so the way that you treat them says something about the way you treat things you have power over. How do they treat children; kids ask questions that seem stupid or make comments that can be hurtful because they're still learning, the grace with which you handle that says something about how you'll treat others when they're less than perfect. These things matter when evaluating a dominant because submissives are often toys or pets or slaves or something else inherently lesser.

Second. Enthusiasm for learning, willingness to accept your own mistakes and their consequences. We all fuck up, sometimes badly, how we move forward after that is what's important. Making a mistake once is inevitable, making the same mistake a second time means you didn't learn from it. So how do they react if you correct them? Do they get huffy? Angry? Shout until you tell them they're right even if they aren't? Or do they accept it graciously, maybe even thank you for teaching them something. Can they tell you about mistakes they've made in the past and what they've changed because of that?

Third. Fucking dominance. Not "I just want to make you happy" actual from the heart dominance. More "service doms" should embrace that they're actually submissive tops. This ones really difficult to read but hopefully you can get a vibe based on how they talk about being in control, if they think it's something they're supposed to do or if they actually enjoy it and want it

I think that's all I have to say, but if anyone else has advice please do weigh in

[oddballwriter]

if its alright, could i request some jealous ena? do you think both sides of her would handle jealousy differently?

Jealous Dream BBQ ENA headcanons

Warnings: our lovely polygon wife struggling with big feelings of jealousy and a bit of self doubt if you squint, Meanie getting into fights, the big sad but then comfort. If I missed anything please feel free to tell me.

Author’s Snip: yay more of our BBQ babygirl

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Oh, for sure she feels some sort of way.

People are literally so rude. You know? They were already rude and mean to ENA already but ever since you two became public about dating, it’s like there’s a whole new thing for them to tease and bully ENA about. Some people will just straight up flirt with you right in front of her like she’s not standing right next to you and talking to them.

Not to mention that people probably say stuff about your relationship to her right to her face about how she’s just a rebound or something. Someone said to her, “You know they’re just dating you because their ex got the big ring and they wanted to make them jealous, right? I heard all about it.”. Or that you felt so bad for her that you started dating her out of pity and will earn to heart to break up eventually. It’s awful.

And it really gets to her head sometimes. She knows deep down that it’s not true. You love her. You tell her so and show it in your own way. And you wouldn’t lie to her. She knows that you love her with all your heart and will be by her side despite what everyone says about her and the reputation that you may get when people find out you’re with her. You’re hers and she’s yours.

But again, sometimes it just gets to her

Her salesperson side is a little more subtle about it, but you can feel it a bit when she puts an emphasis on “my faithful partner in the market of love and affection” (her side’s way of saying you’re her s/o) and how her mitten of a hand takes yours when she notices the person you two are talking to seemingly eyeing you up.

It’s a bit awkward because that hand doesn’t have fingers, so it just kind of cups your hand, but you know that that’s her substitute for intertwining her fingers with yours on that hand and you subconsciously follow suit and hold her hand too

And even if someone does make a pass at you, she intervenes by stating “I’m afraid that we are derailing from the subject matter of our brief meeting.” and ignores the glare they give her or grins back at them letting them know that she knows damn well what they’re trying

Her meanie side… is not so subtle or polite. To put it mildly

She cuts straight to the point and straight through the bullshit like she always does and calls them out

“Hey, pal! Keep your eyes off! That’s my lucky score! Get your own at the bottom of the bargain bin!”

She’s willing to through hands and mittens with anyone and anything. She knows how to fight. She looks like that clawed hand can give a good scratch and the mitten can give a good sucker punch. The megaphone can be used for more than just yelling into it.

No fr though she’d fight someone for you and probably has or almost has if it weren’t for you holding her back. Though she has just popped her arms off and tried to fight by kicking before.

…

…

She got her ass beat but she swears to this very day that she did more damage to the other guy

She does also repeat and reinstate the fact that you’re hers to you.

IE “You’re MY little heart pest!”

She never gets too mad at you though. She just gets very passionate about you and making sure that you let her know that you’re hers and that you have no interest in how the other person was acting towards you. But in never gets to anything actually harsh or abusive, and you know that.

That’s just how she talks and is. That’s literally the whole main component of that side of her.

But in terms of warding people off, she has a very “bark and maybe even bite” approach

After these cases, her salesperson side comes in and apologizes. Mainly to you though. She’ll give the person the most customer service ass apologies as she walks away with you, but with you she’ll have a more heartfelt one about “acting unprofessional and hostile in front of such a respected and valued person of my personal interest”

ENA will never really talk about her feelings of jealousy to you as to not bother or burden you with it even if you’re offering to listen to her and help her feel relieved of them if you can tell that somethings weighing her down.

Her salesperson side denies it entirely and her meanie said calls it stupid and idiotic. It’s honestly like pulling teeth

But you honest to GØD have some sort of spell over her that makes her give in after a few good tries and a private enough area away from prying eyes

It’s always her pale side that talks during there’s moments, which makes sense. You love the salesperson side and all the good joy and positivity it brings. But you know that this side of her feels all the intense things.

She’s not yelling, throwing insults, or sarcastic anymore. Her voice is much quieter, almost soft and fragile. Almost like she’s about to cry. And she hangs her head like it’s too heavy for the pull of her body to hold it up properly.

She doesn’t say much. She just asks “You do like me, right? They’re all lying to me again, right?”

You don’t really have to say much either. No big flowery and loud profession of love and devotion. You just need to have her look at you and tell her that you do love her and that everyone else can go eat smoke. She’ll know that you mean it just by the look in your eyes. She knows you just as much as you know her and can tell when you’re lying. And the fact that she knows and feels deep down inside that you’re telling the truth makes her feel better.

After that she goes back to her regular self, either meanie says some thing about “gross softie feelings” or her salesperson side comes back in and displays that big ol grin that you love so much

People can get to her. But you basically live inside of the coding of her heart and soul

[leashybebes]

Idk, maybe it is a little odd but "♟: Patching up a wound", if you want :)

may i offer you a little superhero au in these trying times? don't blame me, blame lou's goddamn superman jawline

"Buck, I'm sending someone to your apartment," Athena says, with no preamble.

"Uh…what? Who?"

"Don't ask questions. He needs stitches."

"He needs stitches? Shouldn't you send him to Hen or Chim or - or a hospital?"

"What did I just say about asking questions? Hen and Chimney aren't options. He should be with you in fifteen minutes. He'll have equipment, but get your first aid kit just in case."

"Wait, Athena - "

"Bye, Buck."

The night is as dark and quiet as it ever gets in downtown LA. Buck paces up and down the loft a couple of times, never straying far from the front door. Which is why he doesn't hear anything to give him any warning before there's a single, loud thump from the balcony, followed by a groan that's audible even through the closed glass.

By the time he gets to the door, a figure is pulling itself to its feet, using Buck's outdoor furniture for help.

What the fuck, Buck thinks, but opens the door anyway.

"Athena send you?" he checks.

"A lot of men fall from the roof onto your balcony?" A deep voice asks, sounding pained. What the hell has Athena gotten him into?

"Fair," Buck says, and hurries to get one shoulder under the guy's arm, hauling him further upright and helping him stagger inside.

In the light of the loft, he can see that the guy has some kind of cowl covering most of his face, just a strong jaw where a bruise is starting to blossom and a cleft chin and a pair of pink lips set into a firm line. The cowl is the same dark blue as the rest of his outfit which is some kind of…jumpsuit maybe, with flashes of silver at the wrists and - hooooooly shit.

"Holy shit," Buck breathes, unable to help himself. "You're The Pilot!"

"No autographs, kid."

"Athena hates you!"

"Sergeant Grant and I have a complicated professional relationship," The Pilot says, while Buck bites back approximately a million questions. "She said you would be able to help."

"I mean - I haven't actually given anyone stitches before," Buck admits. "But I've watched Hen and Chim - I work with them, they're paramedics - I've watched them do it like a hundred times. I don't know why Athena didn't send you to one of them…" he says, fishing a little.

"Long story," The Pilot says, and Buck helps him get seated on one of the kitchen stools. "You were closer."

"Okay," Buck says. "What's the damage?"

"Knife got through a couple of plates in the suit."

"Wait, this thing is armor plated? That's so cool!"

"Glad you approve. Here." The Pilot pulls at a previously invisible join in his suit, revealing a long gash across his ribs. It's bleeding sluggishly, not too deep, but the skin around it is angrily red.

"That might get infected," Buck says, chewing his lip.

"Need you to clean it. Please."

"Okay," Buck says. "Do you want some water?"

"That…would be great, actually."

He drinks from the glass of water Buck hands him while Buck works on cleaning the wound. He tries his best to be gentle but the guy doesn't even flinch. Which, of course he doesn't. He's a literal superhero. There is a literal superhero in Buck's loft and he can't help it anymore.

"I've seen you before," he says. "On scenes. I'm a firefighter."

"I know."

"Athena, right, of course." Buck washes his hands again and gets what he needs from the first aid kit.

"Before we get started, can I ask you a question?"

The Pilot shrugs. "You can ask."

Buck takes a deep breath. "Where do you get your suits? And why do you do this? And can you really fly? And what's your real name?"

Through the gap in the cowl, pretty blue eyes blink at him. "That wasn't a question. I can't tell you where I get the suits or what my real name is. I can fly light aircraft and helicopters but I can't fly fly. And I do this because people need help, and I can help."

"That's so cool. My name's Evan Buckley, by the way."

"Hi, Evan Buckley." The Pilot's lips curve into a smile for the first time. "Great to meet you. Now can you stitch me up before I bleed on your floor?"

[no1blacksapphirefan]

Hi 👁👅👁! So other than crk I also play other games like hsr and stuff like that so can I please get self aware hcs where the cookies hear us gushing on and on about characters from other games?

Fellow HSR player? Me too haha, fun fact actually. My main blog/account is actually a HSR based one, themed after my fav character from the game as well. A sundae for anyone who can figure it out/j

Shadow Milk Huh!? His ears perk up and he's quick to try and listen in, it's not that he's jealous, he already knows he's your favourite in this game but you play other games? Who is it, he's curious. Is it someone like him? Or a character with a different personality.

Hmm, Gallagher? After hearing you talk about him more, he's become more interested. Tarot card symbolism, he's a fictional character...within a game? And he's invited other characters to all tie in together to save a place? Now he wants to meet this Gallagher, he doubts they'd really see eye to eye but meeting someone who played a part in a bigger plan? That'll be interesting.

Though with how much you talk about him, he doubts a meeting will matter, he's getting all the information he needs from your voice. A much better way to learn about someone in his opinion (he's bias)

Pure Vanilla He's interested to hear about this other game you play, listening intently as you rant about it, well more specifically a character. He'd love to meet this character that has also peaked your interest.

What's his name? Luocha? Oh he seems like a nice ma-...what do you mean he has a God in his coffin? Well...he isn't gonna judge you at all for characters you like but he did not expect that bit of information to be true. He's a bit more intrigued by the game though, he wants to know of the other characters you seem to favour.

Hearing you talk on and on about your favourite characters makes him want to listen, he already knows most in his "game" and if he doesn't. He can easily meet them. But hearing about other games and their characters? How interesting...

Black Sapphire It takes him a moment before realising you're talking about a different game rather than theirs. He doesn't exactly mind though, now he can take what you say and talk about said character too as if they're a cookie as well. He's not technically lying, the character is real...just...not in their world.

Besides, who wouldn't want to know about a "cookie" trying to recreate a, what was it? Emanator? Ruan Mei is her name right? Her story seems fascinating and perfect to tell all cookie kind, he's sure it'll get some cookies scared and others excited and he's gonna love to see the two of them argue.

He'd listen to you talk about whichever character peaks your interest any day, he won't get jealous that quickly. Besides, he's probably heard you rant about him to your friends before anyways. As long as he still knows he's one of your favourites. It's all good.

Fire Spirit What's that? Gotta speak up, oh a new game? He wants to know all about. If it's peaked his beloved "God" interest to the point of you gushing about it. It must be amazing. And he's interested in hearing about the characters as well.

Oh that Kafka girl seems quite interesting. A woman who can't feel fear? He'd love to test how far that lack of fear goes, you said she wanted to experience it right? He'd love to show of his flames and see how much of it she can handle. Besides, he's sure you'd love to have 2 of your favourites on the same screen. You probably talk about him when you're playing that other game anyways.

He'll love to hear you talk about more characters, especially ones that seem like they'd enjoy the heat! Haha, he may not be able to meet them. Perhaps they're not self-aware like himself but oh does he want too.

Frost Queen she doesn't care at first. Not that she doesn't enjoy hearing your rambles but she doesn't exactly have any feelings towards who you talk about and the game you're now talking about. What matters to her is that you still play "her" game and favour her.

She can't help but listen to you speak of various characters backstory though, especially when it seems like the characters past has put you in distraught. Jingliu being one of them. She'll admit, her backstory is quite interesting, and she's strong. While she hasn't seen how she fights, your description shall be enough for now. She's especially interested in the Mara struck bit of her.

While, unlike most of the others, she wouldn't be actively listening to your rants, certain characters can and will make her ears perk up as she'll quickly come and see what the news is about.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNdNAeyPs/

I immediately thought of jaehyun and sweets 😭😭😭

more of Sweets being an agent of chaos! Hell yeah!!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ What is this going to cover?! ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: f!reader, suggestive comments)

"You do know spring break is only a week, right?" Fratboy!Jaehyun asks with an arched brow.

You guys were only going on vacation for five days, not a whole year. This was the 700th package that you'd had delivered because you "needed" it for vacation. He hoped you understood that you were all just going to the beach... not a remote island that had never seen any humans before. The beach town you were going to had stores, had restaurants, had rental homes that you had all splurged on, it had everything anyone would need. Jaehyun was, to say the very least, confused as to why you felt the need to buy a whole new wardrobe. You had summer clothes! You had bathing suits! He didn't think there was any need to reinvent yourself for five days.

"Okay, but this one is so cute!" You pout as you reenter the room, now dressed in one of his shirts. You closed the door behind you and plopped yourself on his bed while reaching for the slim package you'd thrown just a minute ago when you got here.

Jaehyun watched as you tear open the package and pull out a small bundle of light blue... string? You squeal excitedly, "wait! Baby, oh my god! This is s much better than on the website!" You wiggle one hand at him, showing off your nails, "it's going to match perfectly!"

You hand the small bundle to you boyfriend while you toss the packaging in the trash. Jaehyun flicks his gaze from you to the blue wad in his hand. "What am I looking at here?" He asks.

You start to unravel it, pulling it apart to reveal exactly what Jaehyun had suspected. Two strings. Jaehyun holds one and you hold the other. You lift the one in your hand, squealing with excitement and a bright smile, "I'm actually going to scream. It's perfect!"

He continues to stare at you like you grew a second head, "I'm confused."

You compare both pieces, a smile on your face as you twist the string around your fingers, "well, I'm holding the top and you're holding the bottoms."

"The top and bottom of what?" Jaehyun coughs out, eyes wide and cheeks read.

You cock your head and roll your eyes, "Jae, please be serious. You know I've been ordering stuff for spring break."

"But you told me you were only wearing sandals for the whole trip. I watched you open packages with six pairs of shoes for a five day trip," Jaehyun details, slowly, hoping that thinking out loud will help him understand.

"I am wearing sandals, this isn't for shoes. It's for me to wear! It's a bikini!" You state excitedly.

He doesn't waste a single second, "you're joking."

"I've been really working on being more body positive, so the girls helped me pick this out! The patterns isn't usually something I'd really go for, but I'm trying to broaden my horizons," you explain casually.

Jaehyun stares at you with with a mix of confusion and exasperation. Okay, yay to body positivity, but you were each holding a string. A string! A string no wider than his pinky nail at that! And- and! What fucking pattern were you talking about?! These were plain, light blue looking shoe laces!

He closed his eyes and exhaled for a moment, "alright, maybe I'm not hearing you correctly. This is your bathing suit?"

You nod, "yes."

Perfect, just perfect. Unfortunately, he did hear you correctly. He throws his free hand up, shaking the string around, "this is a shoe lace! What is this going to cover?!"

"You're so conservative, baby. It's actually really popular right now, it's trendy," you tell him with a nod.

He holds the string up between his legs, "if I wore something like this, my parts would be hanging out! A string isn't going to cover anything, Sweetheart!"

"Well, you have different parts than I do," you sigh, "plus, you don't even know how to do it right. It takes some finessing to get the cutest style."

"I've seen your parts! I've been all up in your parts! No matter how you finesse this, nothing is getting covered, Sweet Girl," Jaehyun borderline cries out, overwhelmed with stress.

You pout, reaching out to kick his thigh lightly, "I was really excited to show this to you and you're making me feel bad."

"Sweetheart, I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I just have never been more confused in my life. Please, tell me you're joking," he tells you quietly, feeling bad that he killed your excitement.

You crack a smile, leaning in to cup his cheeks and pepper his face with kisses, "I was just joking, baby. I got these shoe laces for some sneakers I have."

He lets out a sigh of relief, "I swear I was going to have a heart attack."

You giggle against his lips, "you're so gullible, baby."

"Maybe you can make it up to me by wearing these skimpy little strings just for me," Jaehyun mumbles against your lips.

You break the kiss and roll your eyes, placing a hand on his chest to push him away gently, "you're a freak."

[rhiannonsknife]

ms knife ur actually kinda evil including a little sub pervert rhiannon and not expanding on the idea

now it’s all i can think about 😵‍💫

in conclusion: someone has to take my phone away from me when i ovulate. nsfw content. mdni.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who gets back from a kill, blood still spattered all over her, chest heaving with adrenaline, and drops to her knees before you the second the door falls shut behind her. she’ll whine, hands tugging at your waistband as if she thinks she can earn the praise she’s dying for. she tries so hard to be good for you after. sometimes, she even cleans up her clothes and scrubs the blood out from under her nails. rhiannon she still brings the knife home like a gift, though, drops it in your lap, all shiny and warm. “i thought you’d want it,” she says, almost shy. “it’s still got them on it.”

speaking of which: sub!pervert!rhiannon who gets so fucking needy after a kill. she’ll crawl into your lap, her mouth slick from licking the blade clean. “i did it so well this time,” she murmurs, breath hot against your neck. “aren’t you proud of me?”

sub!pervert!rhiannon who loves being restrained. whether it’s being pinned, tied or dragged into position, it short-circuits her. she could kill you, you both know it: rhiannon has always been the physically stronger one, and yet she doesn’t. she lets you hold her down, getting off on the vulnerability of being powerless.

we all know that scene of her slapping craig (lucky bastard, i mean WHAT) but…sub!pervert!rhiannon who comes embarrassingly fast when you slap her face and tell her to look at you. she gasps, stunned for a second, her cheek blooming red and her cunt pulsing. “again,” she whispers with her lip trembling.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who grinds down on your thigh when she wants attention. from just a little rutting, she’s already gasping and whispering how badly she needs it. “fuck- can i come like this? please? just like this, you don’t even have to touch me-” she’ll cry when you ignore her, mascara streaked down her cheeks as she grinds against you while you pretend she isn’t there. “i’ll behave,” she sobs. “i’ll do anything. i just want your eyes back on me.”

sub!pervert!rhiannon who loves when you make her wait naked on the bed, hands in her lap, lips parted like she’s already being fucked just by the thought of you. she twitches when she hears your footsteps in the hall, a puddle of her wetness left where she’s been waiting on the sheets. “you said ten minutes,” she pouts when you finally enter. “you made me wait twelve!”

sub!pervert!rhiannon obviously has a praise kink. she’ll come untouched if you praise her in just the right tone. “good girl,” you whisper, making her hips stutter. “god- please, say it again.”

sub!pervert!rhiannon who melts when you grab her jaw and tell her to open. she’ll obey before you finish the sentence, lips parted, tongue out, breathing heavy, not even knowing what’s coming, just craving the act of obedience. “look at you,” you tell her. “always so eager.” “only for you,” she rasps.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who wants you to dress her up after a kill…lace her into something soft and pastel, wipe the blood from her lips, brush her hair tenderly and make her pretty again. it’s the aftercare for her post-murder adrenaline <3

sub!pervert!rhiannon who gets so wet when you scold her……..

sub!pervert!rhiannon who wants you to mark her up. hickeys, scratches, bite marks, anything so that she can look at herself and see something you did to her, not something she did to anyone else. she’ll catch her reflection in a mirror and smile, pulling her collar aside to trace the bruise on her neck with two fingers and feel it pulsing.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who’s a squirter. she never used to be, she’s not sure she even believed it was real until you got her there. it happens when rhiannon is spread wide, overstimulated and near tears, her fingers twisted into the sheets as she sobs through her third orgasm. she’s soaking wet already, yet this sensation is different and she looks horrified when it happens. “did i-?” she gasps. “you did,” you murmur, smiling down at her. “look at the mess you made for me”

sub!pervert!rhiannon who wants to be recorded. not just the audio, she wants videos: full-blown, disgusting, intimate clips of her getting ruined by you. later, when she’s sore and clean, she gets comfortable on your chest and makes you replay it while she jerks off with one hand down her panties.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who wants to be watched. she touches herself, straddling your face with your legs spread as if she’s being examined, spread open, grinding against the three fingers she’s got stuffed into herself. “am i doing it right?” she whispers, biting her lip. “do you like how i look like this? how filthy i am for you?”

sub!pervert!rhiannon who sends you pictures and obscene texts from her desk at the gazette. she’s meant to be editing some article, yet no one is paying enough attention to notice that she’s taking the fifth bathroom break in the span of two hours. instead she’s got her hand down her tights in the stall, lips parted as she balances her phone on her knee and takes a shaky photo: soaked panties pulled aside, stiff clit on display. you make me so distracted, the text says. fix it when i get home?

sub!pervert!rhiannon who records voice memos while she’s touching herself. she sends them from the office bathroom as well, whispering your name between gasps. she knows the walls are thin, she just can’t help herself when she’s fingerling herself for you. “thinking about your fingers,” rhiannon pants over the obscene sounds of her wetness. “please- please listen to this later and think of me. was dripping all over my seat for you”

sub!pervert!rhiannon who asks you to film her with your strap inside her to see how far it disappears. “i want to know how deep you are,” she breathes as she hands you the phone. (as if the bulge on her belly isn’t enough yet…)

sub!pervert!rhiannon who is generally obsessed with your strap:

sub!pervert!rhiannon who insists on you packing in public. her knees are pressed together under the table, unable to think about anything but the outline under your jeans. she’s not subtle, either. at dinner, she slips a hand under the table and drags her nails across your inner thigh and over the strap’s tip. later, she follows you into the bathroom like a dog in heat and drops to her knees in the stall, nuzzling your zipper then mouthing at the bulge in your pants like she’s starving.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who will suck your strap like it’s your real cock. she’ll wrap her lips around it, spit slick and mess running down her chin, eyes teary and red. she’s shamelessly drooling all over the toy, too far gone to care. “doesn’t even matter,” she’ll mumble between slick kisses to the silicone. “doesn’t matter if you can feel it. i need to suck it. i need to-” and then she’s deep-throating it, one hand jammed between her thighs.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who rides your strap like she's trying to make it come. “you're gonna fill me up, yeah? gonna make me yours?” and you just watch her from beneath, one hand curled around her throat, letting her spiral.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who whispers “fuck, fuck, fuck, please get me pregnant” even though she knows it's silicone and completely impossible.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who also wants you to talk her through it like it's real. “feel that?” you murmur, rocking your hips. “feel how deep i am, baby? you're taking me so well.” and rhiannon nods frantically, sobbing. “so deep, it's in my fucking stomach” she babbles. “don't stop, please, it's perfect- you're perfect”

sub!pervert!rhiannon who gets so turned on from reenacting her own kills, in detail, with you watching. “i slit his throat, like this,” she’ll murmur, trailing the tip of her knife across your pulse point. she’s straddling you fully clothed and her hips start rolling slowly the more she tells you. it also gets her off when you interrogate her, asking her about her whereabouts the night before. where she went. who she saw. that’s enough to get her squirming, knees pressed together, as you pace slowly in front of her. “you’re not mad, are you?” she asks, blinking up at you. you crouch down, lean in. “should i be?” rhiannon inhales sharply. “maybe.” her panties are already damp.

sub!pervert!rhiannon who loves the humiliation of being stuffed with her own knife handle…? slapping sub!pervert!rhiannon’s clit with it…?

[riorgail]

since this is getting so much attention, i want to make my point clear.

my point is—why are we making grown fucking women so childlike and weak? why are we not giving them a personality or a backbone?

and also, what’s happening to diversity? why is there a lack of diversity and representation on these fanfics? or even inspo/aesthetics pics

anyways, i wrote some stuff down from what people replied to make my point as clear as day, so here goes nothing

(you might notice how i mostly talk about an mmc x fem!reader and that’s because those are most of the tags i read. but i’ve been told that it also happens in wlw fics)

a lot of people told me about tagging. they told me that i didn’t have to choose those tags or that i could just ignore the fics people post with the tags i don’t like. you see, the problem is that a lot of the authors who write the stuff im talking about in my post don’t usually use the correct tags. when i say that i have tried to ignore the fics with things that i didn’t like but it got so repetitive that i had to speak about it, trust me. im anything but interested in the “bimbo!reader” or “trophywife!reader” tags i talked about in my original post.

someone mentioned in my comments that tumblr is supposed to be a “safe space” and that they don’t like negativity, but it’s hard to stay positive when “x reader” fanfics are starting to become anything but “x reader.” and also, let’s be real, fandoms/tumblr are never going to be a 100% safe space.

this same person said, and i quote, “I hope everyone is doing okay and learns that things that aren't actually hurting people can coexist with the fact that some people just don't like it.” sorry to break it to you, but this problem does hurt people. for example, women of color, including me. i wrote this post because i started to feel like i wasn’t being represented in fics that SHOULD make me feel represented. and im sure that a lot of women of color or women that don’t want to be seen as dumb or stupid can agree.

can someone please tell me when we started normalizing objectification? a user replied on my original post complaining about the “bimbo!reader” tag and they basically said that the reader gets reduced to this pink and stupid girl that just gets fucked and that’s the whole point of the fic. honestly, i couldn’t agree more. why are we making the reader dumb and stupid? why is the whole point of most fanfics with that bimbo!reader tag to get fucked by whatever character you’re reading about? it pisses me off that most “mmc x reader” fanfics make the reader (that is a woman, like, 93% of the time) submit and allow to be treated like an object. another user also said that fandom is a tool of patriarchy and i couldn’t agree more at this point.

also, i’m sorry, but i don’t give a FUCK if “objectification” or kinks where a woman gets constantly put down—by, specifically, a man—is your kink. it’s not empowering. you’re reading about a woman being narrowed down into a fuck toy and completely disregarding everything else. and trust me when i say that i used to be into this stuff until i realized how smut/porn addicted i was and how this type of kink just shames women and narrows them down to pocket pussies. i don’t know what radicalized me but yeah.

i know people can write and post whatever they want, but it gets to a point. and that point is when you completely disregard the years of work it took for women to be treated as anything but objects. and some may say “it’s not that deep,” but trust me, it is. with the state of the world and the very clear recession there’s going on, it IS that fucking deep. and if you can’t see how media/pop culture and the current state of the world influence each other, then research. for the love of god, please research it.

i’m pretty sure that’s the end of this post, but i just wanted to make shit clear because i didn’t in my original post (my bad sorry). all love to anyone that reads this.

if anyone wants to talk about this with me, just send me a message through my anon request thingy.

why do i keep seeing “young!ditzy!reader” or “trophywife!reader” or stupid shit like that where authors make the ‘reader’ the most fragile person in the world??

at the end of the day, this recession theory shit is real. and it is seen clearly as day on this app.

why are the inspo pics for the oneshot just blonde and skinny white girls?? why are we making the reader sweet and innocent and fragile??

and look, there’s nothing wrong about being a blonde and skinny white girl, but after seeing the same pictures as inspo for a series or a oneshot, it gets annoying and repetitive how there’s no diversity.

also, i’m not saying every post in the “x reader” tag is like this, but they just keep popping up on my feed and i had to speak my mind about it.

please, if anyone reads this, tell me if you found the same problem or i’m just going crazy.

[vero-lynn]

Whatever everyone, SIT DOWN. We're talking about advocate. Yes. ADVOCATE.

Okay y'all, hi hello I need to yap and nobody is around so I gotta talk to a wall.

So, advocate huh? Anytime anyone says that this was a warning for Jay that something was about to happen to Brian I go INSANE. Because NO. IT'S NOT A WARNING. How could it be?

BRIAN, AT THIS POINT, IS GONE FOR THREE YEARS. THREE. YEARS. Advocate can't be a warning because at this time, there was nothing to warn about. Alex MOVED AWAY, he's not in the area for the past THREE YEARS. He dealt with Brian ALL THOSE years ago when he killed him during those three months of recording marble hornets. Okay? Okay.

Now, what IS advocate?

If this was a warning, giving it this title would make literally NO sense whatsoever, so let me tell you what I think this is, and bare with me, it might actually sound a little stupid and crazy but all of my HCs and theories do so y'know, the usual.

Advocate is Brian literally telling us what happened and what he's doing ATM. I mean, JAY DID ASK, and he replied. I don't think Brian ever wanted to keep his identity a "secret", I feel like he was telling us that he's a part of something bigger, and we were supposed to connect the dots later as we see him in S2, and so was Jay - he just .. didn't. And Brian didn't feel the need to repeat himself, I mean - HE SAYS HIS NAME IN NULL!!!

(the crossed out 0 is a B and then you move the rest of the letters around and it literally says Brian.)

HE INTRODUCED HIMSELF AS THE ADVOCATE, AND THEN GAVE US (and Jay) A GOOD-BYE.

Advocate isn't a warning, it's a hello. And I'm so insane about it, I love TTA SO MUCH. We know Brian HATES liars and lying, I mean, he literally calls out MASKY in messages when he comes after Jay and tries to out Tim to him, like.."tell us, you have been keeping secrets, smile for the camera." WITH TIM'S PICTURE IN THE BACKGROUND?? he's so messy.. my baby.. my shayla..

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the read, feel free to discuss because I need this in my life.. I need to talk about these guys.

Guys please talk to me about marble hornets I need someone to yap to.

[sqgeism]

On a roll with the Anaxa fics! (i love him so much i cant even)

so, a bit specific; sometimes i bottle up emotions and get so anxious i might even get physically sick from it. what would phainon and anaxa do for reader when that happens? +anyone else you like

Thank you for reading. Don't do if this crosses boundaries

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | anaxa and phainon (seperate) x gender neutral reader

love mail — hellooo anonnie!! thank u i try my best w him and the others ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ i hope you're alright!! i hope this request is up to standard and u enjoy also erm anaxa's is more nausea n stuff.. phainon is like. actual sickness. like you're unwell.. sick and stuff... sorry i wasn't sure so i did both ゜゜(´O｀)°゜

long before you got into a relationship, you understood how to handle yourself when your stomach began to churn in nausea. your own steps to stop it, or to recover afterwards.

anaxa watches as you fidget quietly, today was another experiment regarding his pursuit for knowledge- but it involved something physically violent for him. he knows you're more morally intact than him, more human, but he's not going to act above those feelings. he cares for you, even if it's hard to see upon first glance.

"sorry." you see him staring, and force yourself to hold it together. but anaxa isn't having it.

he puts away whatever he was focused on, but the confrontation makes it worse. you don't wanna ruin his experiment, so you abruptly stand. "please excuse me. don't wait, just continue."

he blinks as you walk off, out of his lab and back to the hallways. it doesn't take long for him to follow, noticing how you frantically down a cup of water.

anaxa puts two and two together. he's not stupid, he knows your habits, he knows you.

before you can even reach out to the cabinets, he's already opening them and reaching for crackers that you leave for moments like this. he pops a bag and passes a cracker to you, his expression stern but caring. "i noticed these help you, please, eat it slowly."

once his hands are free, anaxa opens the kitchen window to let in fresh air. then you notice, that he's noticed. he knows how to help, he's learned how to help, and you've never realized it before. "is there anything else you need?" the utter concern snaps you out of your daze, and anaxa's suddenly looming over you now, his knuckles brush against your cheek and his eye is fixed on your face. studying you for any more signs of discomfort.

"i won't be continuing with the experiment today," he sees how your face shifts and shakes his head. "don't worry, i'll find something else to do. i'm realizing now that my experiment has too many risks, yet the only one i care about is the one that tells me that you'll be upset with me."

the sage brings you into his arms, having you close as he buries himself in your hair. "please, never be upset with me."

phainon doesn't want to scold you, but he really wants to. though you don't need that right now, especially with the fact you've had such a shit week and the fact you're bedridden.

he's cuddling you while you rest, listening to you snore as he's behind you, your head on his bicep and legs tangled together. he'd say it would make it hard to leave, but he has no plans to. so he doesn't care.

you two often had conversations about how you handle emotions. you were still navigating that realm of your relationship after being an independent person for so long, and phainon understood that it would take time.. but moments like this made him worry. had his heart aching, wishing he could do more.

he wasn't able to catch on that you were bottling it up either, you were good, he'll give you that. but you could've gone to him, he knows you don't want to be a bother but he prays that you'd 'bother' him. that you'd choose to focus your attention on him, for anything. because he'll be there, aeon forbid he's halfway across the universe cause he'll do anything to go back home, to you.

"i wish you'd trust me more." he knows you're sleeping, but he doesn't mind. he hopes that these words reach you while you're at least at peace. "i'd never force you to, i promise. but it really does something to me whenever this happens and i feel powerless to help." phainon chuckles in a way that's completely robbed of any humor. "i'm a chrysos heir, for aeon's sake. i can handle whatever outburst you throw at me that you'll think i'll be upset over."

his hand ghosts over your hair, slowly caressing you. "but i'll never be. i'll never be upset, not at you. and not when you're just experiencing stress."

he brings his mouth to your ear, whispering. "i love you. i love you, and you know that. so let me take care of you."

he notices how you shiver slightly.

that's when phainon lets out a genuine laugh, stopping you from squirming away from him.

[miniwheat77]

No fun. (Captain Price x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, p in v sex, reader dealing with a crisis, unprotected sex, alcohol, choking, talk of suicide. NO MINORS!

Please enjoy the shit show I’m going through, happy birthday to me or whatever.

They only want you when you’re seventeen. When you’re twenty-one, you’re no fun…

Eyes glossed over, world spinning. This is normal.

This is completely normal, most people spend their birthday sitting at a dingy bar, on their fifth glass of the cheapest liquor they have. Oh who are you kidding…

You had dried blood on your knuckles, underneath your black jacket was a blood stained shirt. It was a mix of your blood and whoever else’s after the mission you’d been on. It didn’t go so well and you’d been beat and slashed but it was a better way to spend your birthday than how you’d originally planned it. Though you expected someone to notice what day it was. Everyone always remembered birthdays, even last year on leave you got a text from Johnny at least.

But after she joined the base, you rarely if ever heard from any of them anymore. A new recruit, freshly out of boot camp. She was only on base for a few short months before they shipped her off somewhere else but she’d grasped the attention of the entire task force.

You weren’t jealous or angry. You actually quite liked the girl. She had her head screwed on straight for being so young and that’s what the military needed.

It was the nostalgia that killed you. You missed being a teenager. You miss the innocence that came with not being battle hardened. You missed when people showed interest and now, you were getting older and people wanted maturity. You missed the high school flings, breaking the rules. But here you were. Where you always seemed to be anymore.

Tipping back another glass of Jameson.

Most days you spent hungover. Sick to your stomach and you skipped meals like crazy but who really even gave a damn. They saw it but they didn’t ask. The abnormally pale skin, weight loss. More specifically, the shaky hands when you chugged coffee in the mornings to hide the liquor on your breath.

It was part of the military, who cares. They sure as hell didn’t. They only cared about themselves and that girl.

It didn’t end. Falling into bed shitfaced, eyes full of tears as you thought about the fact that there was no end in sight of this suffering. Only a black hole, sucking you deeper and deeper until you bottomed out and gave in. Either to the voice in the back of your head telling you to end it all, or to the addiction that slowly consumed you. At this point? You didn’t care anymore. Who would’ve guessed that your mid-to-late twenties held more staggered walks home from the bar than random hookups or a baby on the way like everyone else at this age.

Your lip was split, cheek was slashed. Busted knuckles clutched a bottle as you sat on the sidewalk and ignored the way you felt. And that was it.

Happy Birthday Y/N.

Captain Price was looking for you. He always checked up on people after missions and you’d taken a particularly bad beating but you didn’t really seem to care.

Captain Price had all but watched the spark burn out in your eyes. Something he hated but was rather familiar with. The military did things to people. He couldn’t find you anywhere, which made him worry. “Has anyone seen Y/N?” He asks. The young girl bites her lip. Looking away quickly and he notices immediately. “What is it?”

“Think she’s at the bar again Captain…” she trails off. “What? Y/N never goes to the bar.”

She looks utterly shocked. “Than we clearly don’t know the same Y/N.” She mumbles. “What?”

“She’s been at the bar every single night for the last few months. I didn’t want to say anything but I’m getting rather worried.” He thinks to himself. Had he noticed anything off about you? “That doesn’t sound like Y/N at all.” He mumbles. “That’s the truth. She’s got all the tale tell signs too. Pale, shaky, doesn’t eat. I mean she comes in late all the time. I’ve asked her a few times how she’s doing but she just brushes me off with an ‘I’m fine’ and goes on with her day. I mean… Y/N is insane on the field and that guy nearly took her head off with a knife today.”

Captain Price’s stomach drops. The spark in your eyes really was fading. Your love for the field was dissipating rather quickly and he’d missed it. All of it. He looks down, confused. He walks away without another word, to his office. You’d been struggling this bad and he’d never noticed it before? Who went to the bar after such a bad mission anyways? As bad as you’d been hurt, you should be recovering in the infirmary. That’s where he went to check on you, where you said you’d be. You must’ve slipped out then. He opens your file on his computer, seeing the photo that had been on that folder for years now. You smiled so wide. He’d hate to see how unhappy your next photo would be.

Y/N Y/L/N

DOB: xx-xx-xxxx

Something felt off about that… the numbers on the screen.

He glances down to the corner of the computer, reading the exact date.

Nine o’clock.

He stands up, nearly shoving his desk over as he hurries. He grabs his jacket, rushing for the door. “In a hurry, cap?” Soap smiles. “Yeah. It’s Y/N’s fucking birthday and we forgot.”

The look of horror on Gaz and Soap should’ve been something you’d laugh about usually. But you wouldn’t have been interested, not anymore.

Your mind races as you look down at the rushing water, how good it would feel rushing over your injured skin. Carrying your lifeless body down a rapid current, pulling you under. The buzzing, floating. It sounded like peace. Like an end to whatever this is. You don’t remember walking here. You thought when you woke up this morning to your Captain calling each of you for a last minute mission that it was a surprise party. They’d given her one.. the new girl. She had balloons and so many gifts from the task force you’d lost count. You’d gotten her a set of customized grips for her sidearm. She was ecstatic.

You got nothing in return.

Your hands shook violently as you held them over the rapid flowing water. You were so close now that it misted your shaking hands. You were so close…

It was so cold. It won’t be long now.

The five of them rushed into the bar, nearly knocking over barstools and a rack of pool cues as they went. Rushing up to the bartender. “Have you seen this girl?” Captain Price asks in a hurry. Holding up a photo of you. “Y/N? Yeah. Like every night for the last few months.” The young guy behind the counter smiles. “Have you seen her tonight?” He asks. “Of course I have, she just left bout twenty minutes ago. Although tonight she looked rough. You guys must be her military buddies. When she first started coming in she talked about you guys all the time.” He smiles. “Although these days she keeps to herself.” He mumbles. “Anyways. I’m not supposed to tell anyone but when she leaves here, she buys a bottle of Jack and goes for a walk, tonight she said the bridge over the river.”

Captain Price’s stomach drops. “You let her leave with alcohol? Isn’t that against the law?” Ghost asks, angrily. The guy smiles. “You’d have to have seen her these last couple weeks to understand. Poor girl is really going through it.” He looks sympathetic. He scoffs, turning his back. “I’ll stay here in case she comes back. You guys go.” The young girl nods.

They hurried back out into the pouring rain, piling into Captain Price’s truck and he speeds down the road to get to the bridge, only hoping things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

You’d staggered your way back up the bank to the bridge. You were soaked head to toe and you sat on the brick railing of the old bridge. Who knows, maybe the old thing would give way and you’d die in a terrible accident.

Your feet swung back and forth as you tipped the bottle of Jack back. It didn’t burn anymore. You were too hammered to taste anything. Your jacket was sopping wet, not providing any warmth anymore. You dreaded going back to that base. Having to look them in the eyes and pretend as if nothing is wrong when everything so clearly was. You’d tried so hard to talk about your feelings to anyone who’d listen but they wouldn’t. Even Laswell had shrugged you off when you’d mentioned to her how bad these days have been. It was a “chin up, you’re just tired.”

You are tired. So… so tired. You wiped your mouth, another set of headlights illuminated the bridge behind you. But nobody stopped.

You didn’t expect them too. You were just a lonely person dressed in black. Contemplating the depth. How many feet was it you think? One-hundred feet? One-fifty? Not too bad anyways…

Your eyes barely stayed open, everything was so blurry but the rush of the rapid river was so peaceful. You tilt your head back and let that spinning feeling wind you up. It usually made you sick, but tonight felt different.

“I’m such a bad fucking Captain.” He shakes his head, mumbling angry to himself. “Captain you can’t blame yourself. She hasn’t asked for help, she hasn’t confided in anyone.” Soap mumbles. “How are we supposed to know if she doesn’t tell us?”

“She has been trying to tell us. For weeks now. Even Laswell brought up how Y/N had come to her about a few bad days. I thought nothing of it. I swear if she’s jumped…” he hisses. “I should have noticed. She was in my office talking to me everyday for a week and it was so out of the ordinary for her and I just sat there doing my work, ignoring her. And forgetting her birthday…” he trails off. Everyone in the truck feels shame. “I’ve noticed it too. The shaky hands and late nights. I just thought maybe the work was getting to her.” Ghost mumbles.

Captain Price is nearly there, speeding to get to you.

You had tiny rocks, from when you’d slipped down the bank. Dropping one of them every so often and counting how long it takes before it hits the water. It was getting rather hard to see with the darkness surrounding you. Besides, you were heavier than a little rock, surely you’d hit the water faster than that.

Headlights lit up your back this time, only now, you heard the tires on the wet pavement coming to a stop behind you. Some bystander coming to play hero most likely. Maybe you’d entertain it so they’d leave you alone. “Thank you sir or ma’am. I don’t want to kill myself anymore!” You smile at the joke.

“Y/N?” You hear his deep voice call from behind you, your stomach falls. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. You stay quiet, hoping they’d think it was someone else. You hear his footsteps getting louder as they approach. Course it’d be your Captain no less.

“Trying to kill yourself? We can’t have that. You’re discharged!”

You smile to yourself again. Head spinning. “Y/N. Darling?” His steps have slowed and you turn to look at him. “You don’t have to be all gentle, sir. I’m not going to jump if you get too close.” You give him a lazy smile and that’s when he knows it’s bad. Really fucking bad.

“You’re supposed to be in the infirmary. Healing.” He mumbles. “I did go. That was hours and hours ago, sir.” You mumble. “Bandaged my arm.” You hold it up. The bandage was completely ruined with water. “I stuck my hand in the river, wasn’t thinking and got it all wet.” Your voice is slurred. “You.. you were down there?” He asks. “Mhm. I go down there all the time. Good fishing in the summertime I hear, sometimes I see the fishermen. I’ve talked to a few of em.” You move to tilt the bottle back for another swig but he grasps it, pulling it away. “Think that’s enough. It’s time to go.” He mumbles. “Don’t think so, Cap.” You mumble. Sniffling. He watches you drop another pebble between your feet, whistling as it descends to the water. He can clearly see what you’re doing. “Y/N…” he mumbles. “We.. we forgot your birthday.” He mumbles. You laugh. “That’s okay, I hoped everyone would. I mean I’m at the age they don’t really matter anymore, anyways.” It stings.

“That’s not true Y/N. You’re young. Too young for this. Please get down.” He breathes. He’s got a tight hold on your shirt that you didn’t realize he’d had at first. You spin around, rolling over the railing and facing him. You smile. He can tell you’re about to say some fucked up stuff just from looking at you. “You know.. I had this.. whole thing. Every-“ you hiccup. “Everything I’d say. If I ever found myself like this. I told myself I’d go to you and I’d say “Captain Price. I’m really struggling and I need help. And you know what I got?” You smile.

“You wouldn’t want to be like your dad, would you Y/N?”

Captain Price forgot that he’d said it. He knew about your past with your dad and everything you’d gone through as a kid and why you were so tough on the outside. He doesn’t know why he said it. Your presence was bothering him that day because he was just trying to get his work done.

“Oh he’d be proud wouldn’t he.” Your lip quivers and your smile falters. “I am young. Too old to live, too young to die.” You mumble. “If it’s okay, I’d like to walk back to base. Don’t think you want to leave your truck there.” You look at it. Spotting a pale white skeleton mask through the slightly tinted window. “Ah shit.. you brought everyone. That’s great.” You mumble. “I’ll start back.” You push past him, staggering down the sidewalk.

He rushes across the street, pulling the back door open. “There’s a coat back there, hand it to me.”

“Is she okay?”

“No. Far from it.”

Ghost hands him the jacket. “I’m going to walk with her, drive my truck back to base please.” He mumbles. You hear his quick footsteps behind you. Sighing. “Here.” He passes you the coat and you take it with hesitation. “I’m already soaked sir.” You mumble. “I don’t care.” He says. “How much longer do I have?” You ask. He looks confused. “What are you talking about?” He asks. “Surely I’m off your task force for this. How long?”

His heart shatters to pieces. How little do you think he cares about you?

He pushes you back into an alleyway, off of the main road and underneath the edge of the roof to keep you out of the rain. “Swap your jacket, go on.” He mumbles. Holding his hand out. You sigh, shedding the soaked jacket. “I’m not going to remove you from my task force for something we all go through Y/N. It’s a bad day, not a bad life.” He mumbles. “It’s been a bad few months, Captain.” You mumble. He sighs. “I know Y/N… I know.” He mumbles. “It’s going to be okay. Come on.” He mumbles. The walk back to base is slow you seem to be dreading the return. Captain price has never felt so poorly before. He had missed so much, look at you.

When you finally make it back, the concrete entrance coming into view, he stops you. “Listen. We’ve got a lot to work on okay? And you’re far from sober now. So I’ll come find you tomorrow. Go in and go to bed okay?” You nod your head. He makes sure you’re in your room. It doesn’t take you long to pass out but John waits outside your room to make sure you actually stay inside.

The next morning, you wake up. And something is off.

You wake up completely sober with a massive headache, which can only mean one thing. You’d overslept.

You dart out of bed, snagging your phone and seeing the clock read 11:00. You were usually up at 5:00 every morning. You scrambled to get dressed, struggling your hardest since this is the most sober you’ve been in weeks. You reach for the door handle, and that’s when you freeze. The events from the previous night come flooding back to you. Not only were you most likely already on thin ice with your Captain, but now you’d slept in late. You were furious with yourself. You rip the door open and head straight for his office. You open the door, not bothering to knock and walk straight in. You see her sitting in front of desk and want to scream, you probably look like hell. “Ah. Y/N.” He smiles. “Was just getting ready to come find you.” He goes to stand. “Uh.. yeah. Sorry sir, my alarm didn’t wake me up like usual, I’m not sure what happened.” Your hands shake, you look pale. He worries the moment he’s got eyes on you.

“It’s okay. I went in and turned it off, I figured you’d need the sleep. We were just finishing up, take a seat.”

“I can come back another time-“

“No, we were just going over her discharge.”

You look concerned. “Excuse me- discharge?”

“Yeah.. it’s not going to work out with her here.”

“Well obviously there’s not enough work to go around but she shouldn’t be discharged, brought to another base maybe but she’s rather good-“

“Y/N.” She laughs, getting your attention.

“I’m pregnant.” She laughs. Your eyes widen. “Shit.” You sigh. “I mean shit- that’s exciting. That sounded horrible. I’m sorry.” You mumble. Sitting down.

“Thanks, I know what you meant. We decided it be best before I get in too deep here you know?” She smiles sadly. “Yeah.. yeah I guess so. Your kid deserves a mom and that’s not guaranteed in this line of work. You’re making a good choice.” You mumble. She smiles. “Thank you Y/N.”

Captain Price smiles. Despite how fucking bad you were struggling you still cared so much for those around you. But he’s saddened by the fact that on two ends of the spectrums, your lives had severely changed. You were an alcoholic bordering rehab and she was pregnant, giving up her career. It was fucked up.

“Oh. And I got you this, I totally had your birthday mixed up with someone else’s- I’m really sorry.” She passes you a box. “I’ll be going now though, planes leaving here in about thirty. Thanks for having me.” She says her goodbyes and exits through the door. You look sadly down at the box she’d given you.

“Why’d you let me sleep in?” You ask. “Because I’m willing to bet good money that’s the most sleep you’ve had in weeks, no?” He smiles.

You nod. “But uh.. you’re not gonna like what I have to say.” He sighs, sitting down in the chair that she had just left, right next to you rather than across his desk from you. You swallow hard, nodding your head. “I want you sober in no less than a week. If you can’t do that, I’m shipping you off my base and to a rehabilitation facility. Am I clear?” You nod your head. “Yes sir.”

“Good. Now that that’s squared. We need to talk.”

You sigh. “Can we just skip this part and go to me being sober?” You look sadly. He laughs. “No. You scared the shit out of the entire task force last night. What’s been going on?” He asks. You sigh.

“To be honest? I don’t know.” You mumble. “The biggest thing is like.. I guess I thought I’d just have done more by this age. You know? A family? Kids? A sugar daddy at least?” It takes him off guard and he laughs a bit. “Christ, you haven’t changed a bit.” He rolls his eyes. You smile. “I just feel disappointed in myself, and seeing her really made me realize what a failure I’ve been. I’ve done all of this work and have nothing to show for it. I thought I’d made a bigger impact on everyone yknow? And then everyone forgets my birthday and it’s just like.. it was just a punch in the gut.” You sigh.

He sighs. “Us forgetting your birthday is no excuse. Time slipped our minds and then the mission. I made a huge distraction for everyone, if you’re gonna blame anyone, blame me. I didn’t even realize what day it was until last night when I sat down for just a second and saw the date.” He mumbles. “I don’t blame anyone sir. It’s not that big of a deal of course, I guess I just thought I was more important than I am.”

It stings.

“Y/N.. that’s not true okay? You are important to us. Yesterday on the mission and last night, you gave all of us a really good scare. Which reminds me, we need to be on our way to the infirmary to get you looked at.” He mumbles. He rests his hand on your thigh. “It was shitty of us to forget. We will make up for it, I promise. But for now? We’ve got to get you back on track.” He runs his hand back and forth. “You shouldn’t be disappointed in yourself either. It’s not too late to start a family, and now you’ve got a solid career for yourself. You could easily slip back into a desk job and never see the field again if you decided to have a family.”

“Though I will be really sad because you are one of the most skilled soldiers I’ve ever seen, that’s why you’re on this task force.” He laughs. You smile.

He stands up and helps you up. The both of you making your way to the infirmary where you get checked out and re-bandaged. The next week you’re on the road to being sober again.

The guys don’t say too much to you, which hurts you beyond repair. It makes you wonder if staying on this base is worth it. You seemed so close to them for so long and now?

It’s how it seemed anyways, until day 7.

You were on day 3 with absolutely no alcohol and it was getting easier. The first couple days were hell, but now it felt just like you were back into your same old routine. It was Sunday and you slept in longer than intended but eventually crept out of your room into the mess hall. You gathered your breakfast and sat down at a table and began eating by yourself.

You were fine until the four of them appeared. But they weren’t getting breakfast which was unusual. They approach your table, each of them carrying grocery bags. You looked up from your toast, confused. “Uh.. something wrong?”

“No, actually. We’re happy to see you eating real breakfast rather than pounding coffee with shaky hands.” Ghost chuckles, seeing you smile. “Yeah, well. I keep everyone on their toes it’s what I do. What’s with the grocery bags?” You bite into your toast, looking at them. “Ready?” Johnny looks at Ghost than back to Gaz. “Ready.” The four lift their bags and dump them onto the table. You watch candy and all sorts of stuff fall from the bags onto the table. Captain Price sets a six pack of non-alcoholic beer on the table. You laugh. “That’s funny Captain, really. Might just be my 13th reason but a good one.”

He rolls his eyes. “What is all of this?”

“All our favorite candy cause we’re gonna sit here today and we’re gonna catch up, cause we’ve clearly missed so much.”

“Ah- yes. My birthday included.” You take another bite of your toast, seeing them all flinch. “Yeah- well. We’re idiots what do you expect. Besides, we had this big huge plan made up this year and lost track of time so you’ll have to wait until next year. But anyways, here’s your stuff. Stop talking back.” Johnny shoves the pile of your favorite candy toward you. “Awe! You got me gummy life savers I haven’t had those since I was a kid!” You pick them up, looking at them. He rolls his eyes. “I know, you told me about it on our mission to Iran. Same with The… pixie sticks? Gummy sharks? And uhhh.. gaz said something about gummy frogs.” He pushes them all toward you.

You felt like crying.

Even though these assholes forgot your birthday. They remembered the little things.

You swallow hard. “That’s uh.. that’s really sweet.” You set your toast down. Your eyes zero in on the candy, and you feel the biggest breakdown of your life coming on. You feel so guilty. “Y/N?” Captain Price rests his hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, are you alright? Can you hear me?” You look up at him, standing up. But he wasn’t going to let you go this time.

“Hey- it’s okay. We know how you feel and there’s nothing wrong with it okay? Just try to relax.” You nod your head, tears stream down your cheeks and you look away from them. You don’t want them to see you like this. “Sorry- it’s been a rough few months.” You clear your throat, wiping your eyes furiously with the sleeve of your shirt. “It’s alright. We’re all here for you Y/N. You scared us.” Gaz mumbles. You nod your head. Your nose goes red, as it always did when you got upset. And you sat silent for a while with tears spilling over your eyes as the five shared a normal conversation, waiting for you to calm down. There was a long road of healing needed to be done for you, but you’d be alright.

And you’d have your brothers along for the bumpy ride.

———

The sound of your door knob jiggling makes you scramble to hide what you’re holding. Shoving it under a blanket and sitting on top to secure it.

Captain Price gives you a look, letting you know that he’s just seen it and crosses his arms after shutting the door behind you. “What is it?” He asks. “It’s- it’s nothing sir.” You feel your face going hot but he doesn’t see it. “Y/N. Tell me what it is. Is it alcohol?” He asks. “What? No. I told you- I’m sober.” You swallow hard. He narrows his eyes. “Well. I told you. I’m checking your room weekly and that’s why I’m here. So give it up.” He crosses his arms, moving in closer. “Sir-“ he sighs, moving toward you and pushing you away. “Please Captain- you have to believe me. It’s not alcohol I’m telling yo-“ he draws your blanket back and when he sees it, he can’t help the crimson running up his cheeks and his earlobes.

A little pink bullet vibrator. “Hm.. okay.” He laughs to himself, covering it back up with your blanket. “Before I search the rest of your room- is there anything else like that I might find?” He turns to look at you, seeing the look of pure embarrassment on your face. “N-no sir.” You swallow hard. “I’m usually on top of hiding it but I forgot you were checking tonight and I was us-“ your eyes widen in horror. “I lost track of time.” You swallow. He turns away from you to smirk, not wanting to embarrass you further. “I believe you. Step out for a moment?” He laughs. “Yes sir.” You rush out the door. You could crawl into a hole and die.

He usually sent you out when he searched, but you’d been good. No alcohol at all, you’d been sober and on the road to healing. With a little help from your pink friend when things got extra tough.

You’re sitting outside your door reading a magazine when he reappears, opening the door and leaning on the frame. “I’m impressed. Not even a drop.” He laughs. “Told you sir, I’m sober.”

“I know, I can tell. But we’re going to keep doing this. Least for a while.” He laughs. “I understand sir.” You blush, looking down. “Y/N- I gotta ask.” He mumbles. You turn and look up at him as he leans against the door frame. Hovering over you slightly since you’d sat just outside the door. “Hm?”

“What’s the reason behind you not being married with kids already?” He asks. You chew at your lip. Thinking over an answer. “To be honest? I don’t know. I’ve never clicked with anyone, let alone gotten far enough into a relationship to even discuss the topic of kids.” You mumble. He nods his head. “You have to cut men some slack, who are we to compete with this?”

You shoot out of your seat, eyes wide as he holds up your vibrator. “Captain!”

“Y/N.” He says your name steadily with a smile.

“I’m wondering if it’s the booze I should worry about, or this?” He smirks. Seeing you narrow your eyes. “Yeah well. If you confiscate that one, can you at least return it with new batteries? Those ones are going dead.” You smirk. He raises his eyebrows. “If I’m not mistaken, I think you’re trying to flirt with me.” He moves from the door, stepping in front of you. He crosses his arms. You lower your voice, taken aback by what he’s saying. “And I think you’re the one holding my vibrator.”

He smirks. He’s moved closer, his face merely inches from yours. “Never cared enough to ask about a boyfriend or kids before Captain, what are you getting at exactly hm?” Your eyes are dark, voice is low and sultry. Never in a million years did you think this would be happening.

Captain Price? And you? Come on.

He bites at his lip. “Go into your room Sergeant.”

“Yes sir.” You step to the side, walking into your room and spinning around as he follows you. He closes the door behind himself.

When it’s locked, he’s stepping toward you quickly, backing you up a few steps as he moves closer. “I’m not reading this wrong, am I?” He asks. He’s got a beanie on. Jeans and a black jacket. You look up through your eyelashes at him, eyes snapping to his and locking eye contact with him. A look in your eyes he’s definitely never seen before. “No.”

“Good.”

He smashes his lips to yours, kissing you deep and passionate. It’s sloppy, teeth knocking into each other. It’s something the both of you have needed for far too long now. Someone to just get lost in.

He cups your jaw, fingers locking at the nape of your neck and he pulls you closer, kissing deep and hard.

When he draws away, you’re in a daze. You’ve never been kissed like that before. Your fingertips feel numb.

Numbness starts at your fingers and moves up your arms, down into your toes. You’re frozen in the spot until he’s pushing you back into your bed. He parts your legs, pushing himself up against you and rocking his hips into yours. He kisses you again and you moan into his mouth as he grinds up against you. His cock is hard and you can feel it through your soft sweatpants. Ironically, a pair he’d bought you a few weeks before when you were having a particularly rough night.

He’d spent countless nights holding your hair back for you as you threw up from the withdrawals. Shaky and sweaty, sobbing your heart out. You thought you couldn’t look worse to him.

Now here he is, about to fuck you raw on a metal cot in your room.

He nudges the striped sweatpants down your legs, feeling how soft they are on his skin. He gets his jacket and shirt off, not even bothering with his jeans. Once the both of you are unclothed just enough to get his cock inside you, he’s notching his tip at your entrance and sinking into you. You gasp and he cuts it off with a kiss. Drawing back and thrusting fast back inside. You’re wet and he slides easy, feeling how warm and soft you feel around him. “Fuck you’re tight-“ he hisses.

Words you NEVER expected to hear out of your Captains mouth.

Who would have thought you’d love them so much, anyways?

Your legs shiver from his rough pace. He’s relentless with his thrusts. Holding your thighs up and thrusting deeper. Keeping your eyes locked to his when he’s not kissing you. He forces you to focus on him as he fucks you deep.

“I think I get it now.” He draws back, raising himself up onto his knees, still thrusting but not as hard. “W-what?”

You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Waiting for an answer. You gasp when he presses the vibrator against your clit. Slowing his thrusts and fucking you deep as he holds it there. You look down for a second, seeing his hands on you. It hits you like a freight train what’s happening. Your eyes snap straight to his in a heated stare and chills run down his spine. The way you look at him always has him on edge. You had a harsh look about you sometimes.

“S’not supposed to be competition.” He smirks. You can’t help but laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

He chuckles. He lays over you once more to kiss you. Pushing your legs up further into you and sliding deeper. He keeps the vibrator pressed into you. “Can you stay quiet?” He asks. “Yes sir-“ you shiver slightly at his tone of voice.

“Good. Deep breath now, you’re going to need it.”

He clamps his hand around your throat, taking your oxygen away as he hammers his hips into yours. You clutch your eyes shut, trying to swallow but you can’t. You feel the pins and needles in your face from your lack of oxygen but the intensity from the pleasure you feel takes over. You can barely hear him.

“Cum for me. Go on sweetheart.”

You grit your teeth. Your whole body feels numb except for that one spot.

You try to cry out but can’t, reaching your peak in silence as black pin pricks fill your vision. You shake and twitch, walls throbbing hard around him. You try to draw away from the vibrator but he draws it back. He finally lets go of your throat and you gasp in air just as he finishes with a groan. Clenching his eyes shut. You take a few seconds to breath, brain no longer foggy as you look at him.

It’s the best sex you’ve ever had by far.

Your chest moves up and down as you breathe hard. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth.

He draws back, standing up. The reality of what he’s just done hits him hard. The two of you had just had sex. On base. And he’s your captain and you’re a sergeant on his task force.

He can’t help but smile.

“You alright?” He asks. “Y-yeah. Mhm.” You look up at him, cheeks on fire. “Not how I saw my night going at all but I’m fine.” You laugh softly. “Yeah.. me neither. It’s your fault really, you’re a temptress.” He barely finishes his sentence before you’re slapping his shoulder. He can’t help but laugh. “Hey- I got you something, actually.” He mumbles. “What?”

“I’ll be right back.” He stands up, getting redressed quickly and exiting through your door. You take the time to get redressed and cleaned up. Fixing your messed up hair and sitting down. You pick the magazine up once more, reading through it. He’s gone for a few minutes before reappearing. He sits on your bed in front of you, holding out a little black box. “What’s this for?”

“I saw something like it and thought of you.”

You look confused as you open it, drawing out the little gold necklace. It’s an old dried clover pressed between two tiny thin pieces of glass, turned into a keychain. A keepsake pendant.

“But I don’t think I understand.” You look confused. He smiles. He looks at his watch, reading that it’s past midnight. “Well, I meant to give it to you tomorrow but since it’s midnight.” He laughs. “Today technically marks three years since I recruited you for my task force. The day we officially met each other and you joined the base. You beat me to the base and didn’t have much to do that day so you spent it outside. We were on our way back from a mission. You found a four leaf clover in the grass and when I arrived I saw you waiting outside. I introduced myself and you said “hi, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” And passed me the clover and said “it’s a good luck charm. With me here, you’re gonna need it.” He smiles. You smile down at it. “You.. kept it?”

“Of course I kept it.” He laughs. “I figured you’d have just thrown it away. That’s.. that’s really sweet John.”

The use of his first name takes him off guard.

“Yeah well. You’re a really sweet girl who deserves better than this but I’m not too thoughtful.”

“That’s such a lie. This is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten.” You look up at him. He laughs.

“I uh.. hope this won’t be the last encounter like this with you.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to take you out on a date. A real date. If you’re okay with it. I know I’m a lot older than you.”

“I would love that, Captain.” You smile. “Thanks for being here for me these last few weeks.”

“I would never leave you hanging. I hope you know that.” He grasps your hand, taking it into his. “You’re doing really good and I’m proud of you. And I’m sorry for what I’ve said to you.”

“Thank you.”

“What are you going to put it on?” He asks. You think for a second.

“I’m thinking my vest.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

[cloudcountry]

Hello uhm... i want to request break up prank for the Frostheim, Sinostra and Vagastrom House if you dont mind :")

SUMMARY: joking that you'll break up with your partner

WARNINGS: kaito has very unhealthy ways of coping with break ups!!

CHARACTERS: Jin, Luca, Kaito, Alan, Taiga.

COMMENTS: character limit is five for requests so i picked some random charas via SPIN THE WHEEL!!! the selection is just so cruel i fear. also the prank itself is cruel. please dont actually do this.

Jin is a fixer. You might be joking, but he isn’t. He’ll sit you down and talk through why you even thought of saying you’ll break up with him. Jin is very thorough about it too, gruffly prodding for every possible answer you can give him. Has something upset you? Did Tohma say something? Was it those underclassmen? With him as your partner, there is no stone unturned in your relationship. If Jin wants to keep you, he’s going to fight for you. You are the one person he can truly trust. Don’t fuck it up.

Kaito immediately hits panic mode. His heart starts pounding and his vision gets fuzzy. It’s like he’s about to pass out with worry as he begs you to reconsider, tears in his eyes. You’re so mean if you play this prank on him. He’s finally gotten everything he’s ever wanted, you by his side and happy to be seen with him, and now you want to end it!? What is he supposed to do with that information!? He’ll do anything, change his personality and his looks, just say the word and he will craft himself to be the perfect man for you!

At the risk of sounding redundant, why would you do this to Luca? He’s going to take you very seriously. Another guy who sits down with you and asks you what he did wrong and how he can fix it. If he can fix it. Once you tell him it’s a joke he’d breathe the biggest sigh of relief before telling you to not joke about that sort of thing. Luca is dead serious even though you’re not. He doesn’t know what he would do if he ended up hurting you so bad you thought leaving him was the only way to fix it. Just the thought of it...he hates it.

The last thing Alan wants to do is force you. If you say you want to break up with him, he says okay, and turns to leave. You know better than anyone that he is hurting badly right now, blaming himself for every time he so much as grazed you, assuming that he must have physically or emotionally hurt you so bad that you never wanted to see him again. Because of course you wouldn’t, it’s a miracle you felt safe with him for even a moment...tell him it’s a joke right NOW you MONSTER.

Taiga goes silent almost immediately. His eyes are boring into yours, staring deep into your soul as if trying to discern your intentions. With bated breath, you wait as his frown turns into a smile. “Trying to fool me, kitty cat?” Taiga mocks, narrowing his gaze at you, “That’s not very funny.” You’d better apologize if you don’t want him to march out into the casino and take his anger out on some poor unsuspecting person. He’s not having it at all.

[oddlylovingaddiction]

What Clark Kent (Superman) as a your yandere would be like…

Tw: Morally bad behaviour and stuff that nobody should do, and if you catch a guy doing this beat him call the cops.

Yandere Clark Kent is probably the best (worst??) yandere because no way are you ever catching his ass.

He definitely fell for you in his civilian form. I think he accidentally saw you committing a single kind act, like let’s say you pet a stray animal, helped an old lady cross the street, comforted a crying child or something else entirely and that’s how he first got hooked. He won’t immediately become a yandere but after a phew months of just being aware of you as a person, his obsession would escalate.

Good thing about Clark is his love for humanity. He will definitely not cross your boundaries. Tell him you don’t like being hugged or kissed a certain way? Done. He’s definitely not one to force you to do what you don’t want. He also won’t isolate you from friends or family instead he chooses to win them over.

However…. He definitely will create situations where you’re required to get close to him. Great example is that he’ll befriend you and then one day, your apartment gets suddenly shut down because turns out the landlord was actually a criminal and when you go to your friends or family to stay with them for a bit while you get your shit together, they all coincidently have reasons they can’t let you stay until the last one your left to turn to is him. During the time you stay with him he’ll definitely turn the charm to the MAX. For example, First thing you wake up to is the smell of cooking in the morning, and he’ll serve you your favourite breakfast but he will act like he had no idea it was your favourite.

He uses super hearing a lot to collect information on your likes and dislikes, also because when he goes to sleep at night he likes to hear your heartbeat as he falls asleep it soothes him. He also uses his powers to protect you from danger, walking home alone in the dark? He’ll eliminate any threat.

When you finally get together, he’ll be the most perfect boyfriend ever. Absolute gentleman. He’ll also be an absolute fool in love, you’ll catch him just occasionally staring at you like you’re the most beautiful sunset. he’ll sometimes randomly grab your hand to kiss it.

I think he’d finally tell you he was Superman when you both are cuddled up in bed. “My love… I have something to confess, but I need you to swear on the moon and stars you won’t tell a soul.” He’d probably say, making you super nervous because it sounds like he committed a murder or something. “I’m Superman.” To which you’d laugh like a maniac. You’d know if your boyfriend was superman right?! Besides your lovely boyfriend couldn’t be— then he steps out of bed and lifts the entire bed up with you on it with one hand. Without struggling.

Shit your boyfriend is superman.

That definitely took some time to process and to talk about your future together, however you ultimately decide to stay with him. Thank god really because if you chose to break up with him… he won’t do anything. he’d just make sure you never date anyone else, Like your newest date suddenly cancelled because of a leak in his house or something that type of thing if you broke up. Cause if you ain’t dating him you dating NO ONE LOL.

Once he tells you he’s superman he’ll definitely propose. But he’ll be superrrr particular about it. Like he’ll measure your finger just right, get your dream ring (screw the cost, if he can’t buy it, he’ll just become a welder and make it for you.), he’ll plan the perfect spot etc.

“I never knew I would fall so deeply in love with someone, to the point where if you were to disappear it would be like the sun had stopped shining. That’s how much I love you, you’re my sun. my dear, will you please marry me?”

Bro starts crying when you say yes like he didn’t expect you to say yes to the most jaw dropping proposal ever. He still picks you up and hugs you gently when you do though…

The wedding is also perfect by the way, he makes sure every step of the way it’s the perfect wedding for the both of you. He’ll make sure nothing is too overwhelming for you and is always agreeable. If something makes you anxious he’ll remind you “I don’t care how the wedding will be as long as I marry you. I’d marry you in the middle of a desert.”

NSFW and mention of pregnancy but it’s short & optional UNDER CUT

By the way for your first night after you get married… save your stamina up. Best advice because he’s showing all his possessive sides, he’ll growl in your ear when putting you into the meanest mating press, “Who’s your husband.” To which you’ll be forced to scream out his name over and over again. He’ll keep fucking you until the sun comes up.

And if you can (and want to duh.) get pregnant do expect to be having to take a phew tests in a phew weeks.

[that-girl-from-nicu]

Just a random once-off of how I think a whatsapp group chat would look on a normal Wednesday.

No warnings. Just a bit of fun.

Scene: fem reader is rostered off for the day when her whatsapp explodes. Robby threatened an intern.

Dr Robbys Sad Boi bitches. 🐶

Trinity: hey NICU, your man is this close 🤏🏼 to getting stood down by Gloria

You: sounds like him. What'd he do this time? Intubate with a Foley catheter and somehow make it work? 🙄

Victoria: oh it was so chaotic. Matteo told me everything. An intern was thirsting over you at the nurses station when he saw your photo at Robbys computer. Robby heard it and flipped his entire lid. 😳

Dana: he's gone from Sad Boi to super Mad Boi.

You: low-key moist picturing him fighting for my honour 🫠. Which intern?

Trinity: first off, ew. Secondly, it was Sensor Light.

Mel: why is he called Sensor Light?

Dana: only starts working when someone walks past.

Mel: oh that actually makes sense.

You: okay but why is Robby gonna get reamed by gloria?

Trinity: he threatened to crush him like a school yard juicebox if he so much as looked at you again.

Victoria: he's so funny. Like Matteo but old.

You: JFC 🤦🏼‍♀️ Dana can push your ward-mom dominance on him please. Keep him in line.

Dana: done that already. Job's tidy. Gloria wont get wind of this 🫡

Trinity added Robby to the group chat

Trinity: hey Dr Robby. Your missus was just talking about reaming and dominance.

You: Santos I swear to God I will end you.

Robby is typing...

Victoria: this is getting so good 🍿

Whittaker: does anyone have a spare set of scrubs in their locker?

Robby is typing...

Trinity: fuck are you serious Huckleberry?

Robby is typing...

Perlah: Dr Robby, I think Whittaker needs to go home for a shower.

Princess: and an iron infusion amirite?

Robby is typing...

Whittaker: I just want scrubs and maybe a hug. Please

Robby: why is this chat named "Dr Robbys Sad Boi bitches"?

Santos: because "a group where we all insult each other and share gossip" seemed unprofessional.

Robby: what is a sad boi??

You: oh honey 🤦🏼‍♀️

Victoria: lol he's so old

Robby: what is lol?

You: it stands for 'lots of love' 🥹

Dana: LOL

Mel: LOL

Victoria: 😂😂😂

You: Santos you need to wipe this thread. Anyone who heard Robby threaten Sensor Light, no you didn't. Michael, grab some milk on your way home tonight? xx

Santos: 'Michael' 😂🤮

Victoria: oh that's so wholesome that she uses his first name 🙊

Robby: back to work, all of you. I'll bring home some milk babe. LOL 😘

Dana: 💀

Trinity removed Robby from the group chat.

Trinity: my GOD he's old.

You: he's wise, Santos. In all the right ways 🥵

Victoria: he is isn't he!

You: settle, Javadi. Settle.

Santos: I think I just threw up in my mouth.

Whittaker: least it wasn't on your scrubs. Seriously can someone help me please.

Mel: what's everyone's favourite planet? Mines Jupiter 😀

----

A moment later you received a text from Michael.

Just for the record, I do know what LOL means. Don't tell them.

I know babe. You're not THAT old. Don't forget the milk

[docholligay]

Fic prompts! "17. things you said that I wish you hadn't" for Hawkeye and Roy?

Congratulations! This doesn't actually follow the prompt, is short and not very good, and also PLEASE BEAR IN MIND I HAVE SEEN ONLY THE FIRST 14 EPISODES OF FULL METAL ALCHEMIST AND PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL MEEEEEEEEE and also forgive if any of this is, you know, factually incorrect. I don't know, I'm dumb.

“Riza.” 

You don’t call me Riza. No one calls me Riza. My name is Lieutenant, or Hawkeye, or both if someone is feeling formal. I haven’t been called Riza by anyone, including you, since before my name was Lieutenant.  

That’s how bad it’s gotten, at the end of the world. We will die here. It’s you and I at the cleft of a wind-blown crag, and I can hear the rumble in the distance, closer and closer. You would think I would be afraid. But I have come to realize it was always going to be this way. You and I are different weapons of the same iron, from the same maker, and we’ll melt back in the same smelter. 

I don’t regret it. I have followed you everywhere, and you have taken me with you, and whether I was pushing you or you were pulling me is impossible to know. I never wondered that much. You have been the great love of my life, I discovered, as our backs are against the crumbling, sandy bit of rock. Sandstone soaks up blood. This ought to be impressive for whoever finds us. They will kill me first, because they won’t have a choice. I will be the bigger danger, Flame Alchemist be damned. 

I don’t know what it means to love you. I do not in any way love you in the way of books, and of plays. I don’t want you to kiss me. I would hit you if you did, and you know I can throw a punch. You would never attempt it. I know you. I love you in the way I love myself. I love you like I love my arm, or my liver, or my own heart. I love you like survival. I have never told anyone this, not even you. Others because they wouldn’t understand. You because you understand so well I don’t have to tell you. 

I am your liver, too. 

Your hand brushed mine, the rumble so close I could taste the dirt cloud. Our eyes met, yours darker than a desert night, your hair falling over your brow. This is it. This is how we die, Colonel Mustang. You stared at your glove, and then back at me. 

“Riza--” 

“Colonel. Stop talking.” I clicked the safety off, and met your eyes. “I have your six.”

I knew you knew what I meant. You don’t have to say my Christian name. I know you know it. I don’t have to tell you what’s behind ‘I have your six.’ You know. 

You smiled. 

“Me too.” 

In the end, our blood will mix like the rest of us, and soak into the dirt and the sandstone, and they won’t be able to separate us. The way it should be. The way it always has been. Visible, now. 

At the end, maybe I’ll answer you. When it begins to go black, maybe I’ll whisper one last thing into the darkness, call for the only person that ever understood the great wall that was Lieutenant Hawkeye, who was once called Riza. 

“Roy.”