#but was the resolution kinda quick?

[cup-o-stars]

I wish I was one of those artists that can draw (and quickly) after I watch/read something really intense and cool. But no.

Instead of getting a crazed spike of inspiration, I need like a week to mentally recharge and look over my notes because I'm boring and I like 'completing' my interpretation before making anything based on it. But Arcane has so much to take note of. Too much, even. I might just have to raw dog it this time so I don't kms (joke. It's late.)

That ending was wild- a little weird even- and I felt many feelings, but it also hollowed my chest cavity of all emotion.

Anyways. Congrats to those fans. So sorry for those other fans.

Did you guys like it?

[abd-illustrates]

💜 Doppel & Glass 💜

Finally got round to doodling some of the Heartless crew again - been juggling some very intensive work and life stuff lately so it was therapeutic to get lost for a lil' while drawing this one. (Thanks again to everybody who voted in those polls a bit ago - The results were very interesting so I'm looking forward to drawing more of the most-voted characters sometime soon)

[DO NOT EDIT OR REPOST TO OTHER SITES / ACCOUNTS] ♻️reblogs are lovely tho!♻️

[eremin0109]

I can't be the only one who thinks that the fact that they've put all this silliness and shenanigans in the trailers definitely means that the actual plot of the game is going to be absolutely heartwrenching. istg SEGA if Majima's amnesia turns out to be some kind of a grief fuelled response to Kiryu's death, it will be on SIGHT.

[wall-eye]

I am re purpled and re undercutted but I also had my mom trim my hair and that was. A Mistake. It had a taper from the back to the front, the front was longer back shorter, and she was just supposed to make it not touch my shoulders anymore. She fucked up the taper and its too my chin now and I can just barely put most of it in a ponytail but bits fall out and that's very not ideal for my *food service job*. I also feel like the blueberry kid from the old charlie and the chocolate factory and I Dont like it

[krytus]

"i'll just do some light editing" <- that is the devil speaking

[victorluvsalice]

Speaking of which -- Alice, having meditated her Fury down to acceptable levels, went to take care of a spooky symbol in Smiler’s room before going to entertain the cat with laser times, while Victor set about fizzing up a batch of plasma fruit and planting some new crops in his new planters (daisy, sage, taro root, and green peas -- he’s up to Gardening 9 now by the way!), and Smiler practiced their Mixology skills in the barn for the amusement of the dog. Everybody keeping nice and busy! And it was midway through these activities that I remembered --

They had to make their resolutions for the upcoming new year! Very important holiday tradition, that. So I clicked on everybody in turn and checked what was available -- Alice I decided would want to get fit (as she’s gotten a lot more active since becoming a werewolf); Victor to complete an aspiration milestone (since he’s so close to getting to the next level of Freelance Botanist anyway -- just gotta do some PROPER grafting!), and Smiler to raise a skill (always a good standard option). So now the gang have some goals to achieve before the end of spring, nice. :)

But first -- time to try out that plasma fizz! Victor was busy getting Shadow ready for a walk, so I went ahead and had Smiler just go and grab it themselves and try a bottle. They seemed to enjoy it, but to my disappointment, it didn’t seem to relieve any more Thirst than your standard plasma pack or plasma fruit -- that is to say, not much at all. I mean, look, I know nothing compares to the rush of getting the plasma straight from the vein, but you’d think carbonating it would at least give SOME benefit. Meh. At least Smiler has it as an alternate source of nourishment going forward -- and hey, they got to share a nice chat with Alice while they were drinking. Can’t do that if your fangs are buried in someone’s wrist!

[castleinthemist]

having a sever bout of sidequesting in harvestella that keeps keeping me away form the main story quests in a very #wolmoment kinda situation

[exopelagic]

one day I’ll stop vagueposting abt The Guy but that day is not today

[rafeandonlyrafe]

fixation

words: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, male receiving oral, reader has an oral fixation

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @dream-pink

“baby i’m running out to the store real quick, do you want anything?” rafe asks, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he walks through the living room where you’ve been for the past hour, book splayed open in your lap.

“a sucker please? cherry or strawberry preferably.” you answer, only half paying attention to your boyfriend as your eyes continue to skim over the text.

“sure thing baby.” rafe says, tucking his wallet into his back pocket before heading out.

time flies as you get engrossed in your book, barely feeling like you’re reading and more that you’re inside of the book, part of the story.

“i didn’t know which kind, so i kinda got a bunch.” rafes voice makes you jump, not even realizing that he had returned from the store as he dumps a bag of suckers on the couch cushion next to you. your eyes widen at the 10 different kinds he brought back for you. you eye the group and then pick out your favorite, but really you didn’t dislike any of them.

“thank you rafey.” you hum, accepting his kiss when he leans down and presses one to your lips.

“i’m gonna head to the gym out back, since you’re still reading. you need anything else?” rafe asks, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek. you’re so unlike any other girl he has gone for in the past, but it’s why he loves you so much. you are smart, but so innocent when it comes to certain things and he loves to teach you and bring out your wilder side.

“i’m good, thank you.” you say again, pressing another kiss to his lips before rafe is out the back door. you’re surprised how quiet tanneyhill is today, but you’ve learned for the most part that all the members of the cameron family spend their days elsewhere, with eloise and sarah still in school, and ward and rose working most of the day away.

you unwrap your sucker before returning your attention to the book, feeling so much calmer now that you have something in your mouth. you reach the climax of the book, fingers rapidly turning the page until you get to the resolution, and then ultimately the end of the book.

you take a deep breath, letting in all that air you were holding from when the dramatic scenes were unfolding before setting the book onto the coffee table. you turn to pick up another sucker before realizing that you had subconsciously kept getting more, and you now only had one left, the rest reduced to white sticks.

you feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment even though no one is around, cleaning up your mess quickly but still unwrapping the sucker and sticking it in your mouth. you are just about to head out the gym, converted with weight machines and mirrors from a shed in the backyard, when rafe reenters.

“finished your book?” rafe asks, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat, hair sticking to his forehead.

“mhm.” you nod. “it was really good, i’m gonna rate it 4 stars on storygraph later.” 

“glad you liked it baby.” rafe comes up and kisses your cheek, considering your mouth is still occupied by the cherry sucker. “if you want to put the rest of the suckers in the candy cabinet, you can.” rafe says, referring to the one cabinet in the cameron home stocked full with junk food, from chocolate to greasy chips.

“i- um…” you trail off before pressing your lips together.

“what?” rafe asks, a slight smile on his lips, loving when you get flustered like this.

“i kinda ate them all. i didn’t even realize i just kept sucking.” you shrug, averting your gaze from rafe, so you miss the smirk that comes to his face.

--

“does anyone want any gum?” kelce asks, opening up the package and taking a piece for himself.

“oh my god, me!” you say, reaching out when kelce offers one to you, a slight look of confusion on the desperation in your voice as you stick the minty gum into your mouth and begin to chew. 

“i’ve been going crazy not having something in my mouth.” you say, turning your attention to rafe as kelce refocuses on the game. you’re not the biggest basketball fan, you find it entertaining enough to always agree when rafes asks you if you want to come with him and the boys, but you don’t understand most of the calls the refs make and the loud screaming from the crowd hurts your ears.

“you’re so precious, baby.” rafe says, pressing a few kisses to your cheek, leaving you to scrunch your eyebrows together, not sure what you did to gain that reaction but certainly not complaining.

you crunch the gum between your teeth, much happier now that you can focus on that and drown out some of the noise as you lean into rafe, his arm moving to be placed securely around your shoulders, up until the game comes down to a final shot, whipped from halfcourt towards the basket as the timer counts down, the ball ultimately swishing through the rim, making the entire crowd jump to their feet as the team gets the buzzer beater.

“that was exciting!” you tell rafe as you head out of the building, your hand encapsulated in his. “thanks for letting me along on boys night.” you call to topper and kelce.

“happy to have you.” topper says with a friendly smile, making rafe tighten his grip on your hand slightly.

--

“do we have any popsicles?” you ask, fanning your face with your hand, the bright sun beating down on the boat.

“yeah, should be in the cooler in back.” rafe says, gesturing towards the back of the yacht as he continues to steer the boat to the place he wants to anchor for the day to fish.

“mmkay thanks.” you say, getting up off the captains bench, where you always sat with rafe so he could keep a close eye on you while he also paid attention to the water in front of him. “you want one?” “nah, thanks though baby.” rafe glances away for a moment to look at you, his eyes soft. “hurry back though.” you smile, knowing he’s only being so strict with you because he loves you. you rush to the back of the boat, digging into the cooler for a red popsicle before returning to take your place next to rafe.

“are you too hot? you should drink water too.” rafe says, placing one hand on your thigh while he steers the boat with the other.

“nah, just wanted something cool in my mouth.” you say, too focused on the sun glimmering off the water in front of you to notice that rafe has to readjust himself in his shorts.

“gonna try this spot first.” rafe says, slowing the boat to a stop. you get up and move to where you know he’s going to fish from. you used to offer to help anchor, but you know rafe would never let you get your hands dirty.

“are you good princess?” rafe asks once everything is done, fishing pole and tackle box in hand.

“all good.” you nod, already having gotten a second popsicle from the cooler.

--

“what is it?” rafe asks.

“huh?” you question, taking your thumb out of your mouth that you didn’t even realize you were sucking on until rafe spoke up.

“you keep sucking on your fingers and you’ve got that look in your eyes. are you nervous for something, doll?” rafe asks, his voice soft and genuine.

“midsummers.” you pout, making rafe tilt his head to the side. he’s such a confident man, especially in social situations. he’s charming and outgoing, meanwhile you prefer to keep to yourself and watch things from afar, but it’s impossible with rafe, he’s always the center of attention in any room, like all the lights shine on him.

“i’m gonna be with you the whole time.” rafe says, not even having to ask why you’d be nervous for the big party.

“i know, i still hate the idea of all those eyes on me.” you shudder, sticking your thumb back into your mouth to provide some comfort.

“if you need to leave, we can leave after making an appearance.” rafe says, knowing he’d get shit for not sticking around longer, but he doesn’t care, you come first, always.

“thanks rafey.” you say, slightly muffled by your thumb in your mouth.

“i love you, baby.” rafe leans in, pressing a kiss to your jaw before pulling you onto his lap, letting you relax against him, eyes fluttering close as the sucking on your thumb eventually slows as you fall to sleep curled up in his arms.

--

“can we stop and get some gum? or a sucker?” you ask rafe, hands nervously twitching in your lap.

“baby, we are on a tight schedule we can’t be making stops for candy.” rafe says with a sigh, wishing he could accommodate you, but he knew he’d be in a rush ever since he stayed in bed this morning for an extra fifteen minutes to cuddle and kiss you.

“barry is late all the time, i don’t even know why you have to be on time to meet him.” you complain.

“don’t be a brat.” rafe says, already stressed out. sure, barry is often late, but rafe has different expectations of himself, and if he says he’s going to meet barry at a certain time, you can be damn sure that he will be there on time, if not five minutes early.

you cross your arms over your chest, not bothering to hide your annoyance from your boyfriend.

“here, you just wanna suck on something, go ahead and suck on my finger.” rafe says, gripping the steering wheel with one hand while he shoves his finger towards your mouth.

you would say no, but that really is all you want, so you pull your knees up to your chest and rest rafes wrist against your knees, sticking his finger into your mouth, moaning slightly around it at the pure relief of having something to focus on while rafe speeds down the backroads.

you suck on his finger, swirl your tongue around it, even gently press your teeth down on it, all while rafe sits there, cock swelling in his jeans while he wishes it to stay down, not needing to greet barry with a hard on, especially when you’re so blissfully unaware of the effect your mouth is having on him.

“alright we are almost there.” rafe says, making you whine when he takes his hand away, again reaching down to adjust his crotch, not sure how much longer he can put up with this.

--

“can we go to the store and buy a sucker? or maybe get some ice cream?” you ask, hands pawing at rafes chest as you lay in bed.

“come on, i just wanna stay here all day.” rafe says with a yawn. you were both up late partying, but you were getting bored of just sitting in bed all day, even if you do like being pressed up against your boyfriend.

“give me your fingers again then.” you reach out for his hand, but rafe snatches it away.

“i have something else you can suck on.” rafe says, making your head quirk to the side, inquisitive.

“you trust me, right?” rafe says, which you of course eagerly nod to. you trust rafe more than anyone else, so when he raises his hips and lowers his sweatpants down his legs before kicking them off to the floor, you don’t feel the same nervousness that you usually do.

“you want me to… give you head?” you swallow thickly. “i told you i’ve never done it before.” you’ve had sex with rafe before, but the focus was always on you, how he could bring your body to pleasure, how he fit inside of you.

“i know, but you’re always wanting to suck on something.” rafe shrugs. “might as well suck on my dick. besides, i’ll teach you.”

“o-okay.” you nod, eyes flicking between meeting rafes gaze and his length, clearly obvious and straining against the fabric of his underwear.

“now, i’m already hard just because i always am being around you, but why don’t you explore a bit with your mouth over my underwear, hm?” rafe says. you nod, figuring the best thing to do if you felt nervous was following his directions, afterall, he hasn’t led you astray in the past.

you slide down the bed until you’re laid on your stomach between his legs. you start with kisses around his underwear, before planting one on his length, kissing down the shaft until you reach where you presume his head is. you flick your tongue out, giving an experimental lick that makes rafe moan, so you double down on your effort, pushing your tongue against the fabric, creating a wet spot.

“that-that feels really good.” rafe says, his voice so breathless, causing you to look up at him, his eyes glazed over with lust.

you take matters into your own hand upon seeing how turned on you’re making him. you always let him finger you, or eat you out, or fuck you to orgasm, but you’ve never done the same to him in return, mostly because you are inexperienced. so, you pull his underwear down suddenly, allowing his cock to spring up.

you don’t give yourself any time to feel insecure as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, making rafe curse and bring a hand down to grip your hair, but he doesn’t shove you down, knowing you’re not ready for that and will move at your own pace.

you rub your tongue against him, surprised by how much you like the taste as you try to move your mouth down some, to take more of him. you succeed for the most part until you have to pull off to take a breath.

“baby, when i cum you can pull off that way it doesn’t go all in your mouth.” rafe says, wanting to warn you now before he gets too wrapped up in the feeling of your warm tongue to forget his words.

“and what if i want you all in my mouth?” you question, sinking your lips around him again, trying to go deeper again before you start to suck, having had lots of practice with your suckers and popsicles. you may have never given head before, but you know to keep your teeth away from his sensitive skin, so you hope that means you’re doing a good job.

“breathe thr-fuck. breathe through your nose, baby, it’ll help.” rafe says, reminding you. you give a hum around his length in acknowledgement, making rafe let out another curse.

you try it again, sucking and then humming, sucking and then humming, and clearly from the look on rafes face, he likes the vibrations on his cock. 

you pull off after a minutes, licking around the base of his cock and slowly moving up, wanting to taste every inch of him. you get back to the head and notice he’s leaking slightly out of his tip, which you quickly dart up with your tongue, making rafes hips raise up, pushing his cock against your tongue.

“you’re so fucking good at this.” rafe moans, one hand still gripping your hair while the other is fisted in the bedsheets, trying his best to hold back from shoving your head down onto his cock and fucking your mouth.

“i’ve got lots of practice with sucking things.” you giggle before taking him into your mouth again, bobbing your head as you suck, flicking your tongue over his head every time you pull back.

you decide again to try to take more of him into his mouth now that you’ve gotten more comfortable, but you swear rafe has swelled as you can’t take nearly as much as before.

“baby-i-close-i-” rafe stutters out, pushing your lips further, causing his cock to push into your throat as he releases to your tongue softly licking his length even you gag.

you feel rafe release, thick ropes of cum lining your insides as you swallow down repeatedly until he’s dry, completely milked free of cum. you pull off with a cough, rafes hands dropping limply to his sides.

“god, your mouth is amazing.” rafe moans.

you smile at the praise, glowing under his words. you look to the cock in front of you, now softening against his thigh.

“can we do that again?” you ask, quirking your head to the side.

“absolutely.” rafe nods. “once i recover. why don’t we get you a sucker until i can get hard again?”

[natsaffection]

Reward | N.R

MINORS DNI 18+!

Summary: Natasha is proud of her best player.

Warnings: g!p Natasha, kinda manipulative, desk sex, rough sex

Word count: 1,9k

A/n: first time writing g!p. It’s a little rushed, but that came suddenly in my mind 🧍🏻‍♀️

The halftime buzzer echoed through the gymnasium, signaling a break in the intense game. Natasha, clad in her coaching attire, surveyed the court with a stern expression. The tension in the air was palpable.

Natashas piercing gaze followed the players as they retreated into the locker room. Her team was trailing, and the urgency of the situation reflected in the crease of her brow.

As the players settled into the locker room, Natasha’s eyes remained fixed on you. A silent understanding passed between you both – Natasha knew that you were their last hope for a comeback. The weight of expectations rested squarely on the your shoulders, and Natasha’s intense stare conveyed the gravity of the moment.

Inside the locker room, the air was charged with anticipation. Natasha, standing at the center, addressed the team with a steely resolve. “This is our chance to turn the game around. We’ve got the skills, the talent, but we need to play as a cohesive unit. Y/n, you’re our linchpin. The team looks up to you, and we need your best performance out there.”

Her eyes bore into you, emphasizing the crucial role you played in the team’s destiny. Natasha delved into the intricacies of the revised strategy, urging the players to synchronize their movements and capitalize on their strengths. The locker room echoed with the intensity of Natasha’s words, each one a call to action.

You, absorbing Natasha’s gaze, felt the weight of responsibility but also a surge of determination. This was the moment to prove yourself, not just as an individual player but as the catalyst for the team’s resurgence. Natasha’s demanding coaching style became a beacon of inspiration rather than an obstacle, pushing the team to elevate their game.

As Natasha continued to outline the strategy, her eyes never wavered from you. It was as if she could see the potential waiting to be unleashed. The halftime break ended, and the team, led by Natasha, returned to the court with a renewed sense of purpose. The second half unfolded with precision and determination and your team executed Natasha’s strategy flawlessly.

Under Natasha’s watchful eye, you showcased her your exceptional skills with a fierce determination. Every move was calculated, every shot purposeful. The team rallied around you, the synergy evident in their coordinated efforts. The scoreboard gradually shifted in their favor, the gap closing with each passing minute.

Feeling the weight of Natasha's expectations, you drove towards the basket with a newfound determination. The opponents, sensing the shift in momentum, intensified their defense. Yet, you maneuvered skillfully, executing a flawless layup that brought the crowd to their feet. A quick glance towards Natasha revealed a subtle nod of approval, a silent acknowledgment of the pivotal play.

However, the game was far from over. The opponents retaliated, scoring a basket that widened the gap. Natasha's stern expression betrayed a momentary tension – a coach acutely aware of the precarious situation. Her jaw tightened, and the lines on her forehead deepened as she contemplated the next move.

Gathering the team during a timeout, Natasha's voice cut through the air, firm and resolute. "We're running out of time, but we don't back down. Tighten your defense, trust the plays. Y/n, lead the charge. We're not letting them dictate this game."

Fueled by Natasha's unwavering belief you rallied the team. The court became a battleground, each possession a testament to their resilience. Natasha, though stoic, radiated a fierce determination that reverberated through the team.

In the closing minutes, you orchestrated a series of plays that saw the scoreboard narrowing the gap. Natasha, on the sidelines, displayed a subtle shift in demeanor – a mixture of anticipation and confidence. With seconds ticking away, you seized the moment, sinking a game-changing shot that tied the score.

The crowd erupted, and Natasha, unable to contain her pride, allowed a rare smile to grace her features. The final buzzer echoed, signaling a dramatic turnaround. As the team celebrated their hard-fought victory.

———

Natasha approached you with a subtle yet undeniable glint in her eyes, a mix of pride and something more enigmatic. The post-game euphoria lingered in the air, creating a charged atmosphere between coach and player.

"Y/n, that was an exceptional performance out there," Natasha commended, her voice carrying a rare warmth. "You truly stepped up when the team needed it the most."

Natasha's hand brushed against your shoulder, a subtle yet deliberate touch that sent shivers down your spine. With a glance towards her office, Natasha extended an invitation. "Why don't we discuss the game in more detail?“ You were too naive to understand her real intuition, so you just agreed. She is your coach after all, so what could go wrong?

As the two of you enter her office, Natasha walks ahead and you close the door behind you. She leaned against her desk, her gaze fixed on you with an intensity that surpassed the boundaries of a post-game analysis. The subtle hum of the air conditioner was drowned out by the unspoken tension between coach and player.

"Y/n," Natasha began, her voice a low murmur that seemed to draw you closer. "There's something about you on the court... a fire that's not easily extinguished. It's intriguing."

You, still caught in the afterglow of the victory, met Natasha's gaze with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. "Thank you, Coach. I just did what I thought was best for the team."

Natasha circled the desk, closing the distance between you both. "You did more than that. You showed a level of skill and determination that goes beyond the court. It’s rare."

The air in the room thickened as Natasha's fingers lightly traced the neckline of your jersey, a subtle yet deliberate touch that sent a shiver down your spine. Your heartbeat quickened, the unspoken tension taking a more palpable form.

"I see potential in you, not just as a player," Natasha whispered, her lips mere inches from your ear. "But as someone who understands the game beyond its rules."

Caught in the magnetic pull of Natasha's presence, you felt a swirl of emotions. Confusion, anticipation, and a hint of something more. Natasha's gaze bore into you, a silent invitation that transcended the boundaries of a typical coach-player relationship.

"C-Coach Romanoff," You began, the words catching in your throat as Natasha's proximity became more pronounced. "I'm not sure I understand..."

Natasha silenced you with a finger against your lips, her eyes locking onto theirs with a smoldering intensity. "Sometimes, Y/n, the best plays happen off the court," she murmured, her voice carrying a seductive undertone. "Let me show you a different kind of victory."

You look up at her innocently and she leans down to kiss you. As she continued, you felt her hand slide down to your pussy. She runs her hand over your panties and rubs her fingers further inside. She held onto your shoulders a little with her other hand so that you wouldn't squirm too much. “M-Mrs Romanoff, I don't think we-”

She continued until she could feel your wetness through your underwear, "It's pretty wet down here.." she whispers in your ear and now starts to knead your breast. She grabbed your nipple and twisted it between her fingers, her head still in your neck “Should I stop?” The action was already sending waves through your body and your body twitched, “I..D-Don’t know...." she twisted them more, "Do you want it or not? You decide.“

Her movements ran through your whole body. Even your fingers were starting to cramp, “Comon, Detka, Say 'please don’t stop'..” She let go of your nipple, but now pushed it into your breast and you twitched again. “p-please don’t stop! Do not stop.."

This turned Natasha more on. You give your complete control only to her. She smelled your neck and licked it, “Say 'I want you’. ” Your head was so covered that you didn't even know what you were actually saying, “I-I want you..”

Now she let go of you completely and you staggered briefly to find your feet and stand again. She took a step back and took off her leather jacket, “Good girl.”

She walks you back and pushes you against her desk. She holds your waist, lifts you up and sits you on her table. She stands between your legs and her hands caress your soft thighs.

She kisses you again, moving her hands further up. She grabs your ass, pulls you a little closer and lets her cock rub against you. You moan into her mouth and pull away. You put your hands behind you and brace yourself on her desk. She continues to rub herself against you, her eyes scanning your body. She moans and pulls away, quickly pulling your panties to the side. She kisses you as she slides her finger into your pussy.

Your eyes close as she begins to slowly pump her fingers in and out of you. You gasp as she curled a finger inside you. But then she lifts you off her desk, turns you around, and presses your chest flat against the desk. She spreads your legs, bends down and presses her chest onto your back.

There was a slight rustle as Natasha opened a packet of condoms and slipped it over her member and then she pressed herself against you, cursing and cursing under her breath. You let out a breathy moan at the penetration, pushing yourself back onto hers. "God, you're so tight..." Natasha hissed as she was fully inside your vagina.

She didn't start gently and wait for you to get used to it, she immediately started hitting you roughly. Within moments you were moaning and panting wantonly, your body almost melting into the table. “Mrs R-Romanoff!”

She moaned in agreement, your knuckles already white from gripping the edge of the desk so tightly. Natasha began rocking you, first with small, hard thrusts, then longer and deeper. She changed positions a few times until she managed to hit your perfect spot, causing stars to appear in your vision.

The desk creaked and rocked under the force of her thrusts, and you were sure someone could probably hear the rhythmic tapping of the desk, but that only added to the whole excitement. “That’s it, make some pretty noises for me.” The dark sound of her voice echoed through your body, sending your racing brain into hyperdrive.

Every time her hips slammed into you, you felt white, hot ecstasy pouring from your core and coursing through your entire being. You couldn’t stop the moans and whimpers that fell from your lips, no matter how much you wanted them to.

“Such a good fuck toy,” she purred, burying a hand in your hair and tugging painfully. “Taking my cock so good.” Suddenly and violently, she jerked your head up so that her lips touched your ear. "Since you've had so much practice lately, I’ll give you a little reward.”

You arch your back and scream, "F-Fuck!" felt a lot of joy and couldn't hold back your salivation any longer. She stares contentedly at your drooling face, knowing that she is the only one who has the privilege of fucking you senseless. “Fuck yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on that damn cock!” she grits her teeth as she penetrates you. She feels your tight little hole begin to twitch around her and doesn't let up, feeling you buck your hips against her. “I think I c-can’t, I can’t...”

“Yes you fucking can, baby, let go..Lose control for me..” She pumps into you faster, getting dangerously closer to her own release. “You can do it, baby, just fucking let go!”She throws her head back and rubs circles on your clit with her thumb as she relentlessly drills your pussy. “Fuck yes!!”

“I-I’m coming-“She grabbed your neck and pulled your face towards hers. She brutally claims your pretty little mouth, swallowing your screams as you cum hard on her cock.

-

-

-

-

[theereina]

Big Mama Pt. 10 | You're Supposed To Know

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +2K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut (alluding to sexual situations), heavily dialogue-centered, angst, verbal argument

Synopsis: When an argument between Terry and Havana sends them into a spiral, love is the last thing on their minds. Terry’s inability to see the situation through Havana’s POV becomes the single catalyst for a bomb that's ready to self-destruct.

Now, Terry must come to terms with the fact that this may be the end, and it’s all his fault. In a moment of desperation, Terry returns home and seeks advice from his parents. His parents give him raw and unfiltered guidance that shakes Terry to his core.

“Will Terry’s indiscretions ruin everything he and ‘Vana have built, and is forgiveness even an option?”

Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 4 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 5 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 6 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 7 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 8 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 9 => 🦋

*Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

“’Vana, don't you walk away from me!” Terry yelled behind me as I stormed out of the bedroom.

“No, fuck this! I'm going home! You’re acting like I'm the problem!” I yelled back. I continued to walk into the living room without slowing my pace.

I was on fire. My mind was going 100 miles a minute, and nothing was going to calm me down. I didn't want to talk anymore. Terry's lack of understanding could only be tolerated for so long. He was letting his pride get in the way.

“Come here!” Terry said, grabbing my arm.

“Let me fuckin' go! I'm not doin' this anymore. I'm sick of explainin’ myself!” I yelled as I snatched my arm from Terry.

“Aight, ‘Vana. Calm yo’ ass down. We've been at this all day, and I'm tired. What the hell are you still mad for?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

What was I still mad for? Terry couldn't be this dumb or naïve.

“What am I still mad for? What kinda dumbass question is that? You don't see what you did wrong?” I asked, stepping closer to him.

“Watch it! You gettin’ beside yourself, mama. Keep it civil,” Terry said, eyeing me. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Anger was the only emotion present in the room as hues of red dominated our auras. Red was all we had the capacity to see at this point. Our eyes veiled in our pursuit of blood. Lacking empathy and compassion in every word we spewed out of spite. There were no white flags in our future.

We were no longer seeking a resolution, instead, we were now struggling to declare a winner. Who was right? Who was wrong? Who did this? Who did that?

Ears were no longer listening as we were too focused on responding. Quick, sharp tongues leave no room for gentleness. Battling it out like two wordsmiths who hate each other, finding value in inflicting pain with the same lips we used to express the deepest depths of love.

Unknowingly, we both wanted it to stop, but that meant someone had to lose. Unfortunately, I was stubborn, and so was he. Neither set of lips yielded long enough for a reprieve. This was nothing more than a senseless act of immaturity. Both of us were unaware of just how fierce and passionate the other could be when we felt unheard or misunderstood.

“Civil? Keep it civil?! You can't be that dumb, Terry? You don't see nothin' wrong with what you did… Better yet, what you didn't do?” I asked, poking him in the chest.

“Don't do that!” Terry said as he lightly grabbed my hand. “Just stop it, ‘Vana! Use your fuckin' words and talk!” he said, putting my hand by my side.

“Don't fuckin' touch me! You obviously don't care! I've talked all damn day. I've used my words. I've cried. I've… I've… I'm done!” I said, turning on my heels.

“What did I just say?! Stop walkin’ away and talk!” he yelled again.

My movements stopped. I was beyond exhausted. We had repeated the same conversation over and over. Each time getting an even worse result. This fight would not end tonight or maybe ever.

With a heavy heart, I decided for both of us.

At this moment, I would rather walk away than continue to fight. Even if I felt like I was right, we were too far gone. There was probably no coming back from this. Trust was gone. Communication was broken. Feelings were hurt. Lines were crossed. Too much was said, and too much was left uncertain. My heart was damaged. Maybe, I wasn't built for this.

“I'm not repeating myself again! If you think you're right, fine. Fuck it. I don't care anymore. There's nothing more for me to say when you're supposed to know…. Hell… How don't you know?” I said, opening the front door.

I walked out the door, half expecting Terry to stop me. When he didn't follow me, it only reinforced my decision.

After all of that, I was forfeiting this battle.

I conceded. He won.

“Son, tell me what happened?” Rochelle, Terry's mother asked earnestly. She leaned over and kissed Terry's head, hoping to comfort him.

One thing Ms. Rochelle didn't play about was her baby boy Terry. She had yet to meet Havana, so this was a bit of a problem, considering her baby had shown up teary-eyed and distraught over a girl she had never met.

“She found out about what happened between me and Taylor. I was gonna tell her at first, but then I didn't see the need to. It ended right there. It ain't like I kept communicatin’ with her,” Terry said, leaning back in his seat on the couch.

“What you mean by that? What happened wit’ you and Taylor? Mae Ann told me Taylor said she saw you a few days ago. Is that it, or is there more to this story?” Rochelle said, rubbing Terry's back.

“I mean… yes and no,” Terry shrugged.

“Son, spit it out,” she said, rolling her eyes. She could see straight through Terry. He was trying his hardest to repress his feelings, but Rochelle knew Terry was at war inside his head. What she didn't know was that Terry’s internal monologue was growing more chaotic by the second.

“I met up with Taylor after she texted me. She asked me to go with her to Eli’s grave. I mean, we were together when he died. So, I felt like maybe she just needed a friend. So I went—,” Terry said.

“Terrence Richmond! I'm starting to see why this woman was pissed off. You met up with your ex, and didn't think to tell her that? Even if nothing happened, that leaves way too much up for interpretation. Use your brain, baby!” Rochelle said, crossing her arms.

“Well, I didn't want her to get mad at me or get the wrong idea,” Terry said, sinking into the couch.

“And how did that work out, huh?” she said, leaning up to grab Terry's face and forcing him to look at her. “Look at me,” she continued.

“I just thought it would be best if she didn't know. I know ‘Vana. She woulda tried to kill Taylor. Hell, she'd probably woulda tried to kill me, too!” Terry exclaimed. Pausing to gather his thoughts, Terry tried to figure out the best way to tell his mother the rest of the story. “To be honest, Mama, that ain't even the worst part. Taylor kissed me, and… uh… tried to… uh… touch… y’know,” Terry said, nodding towards his groin.

“Unh unh! Terrence, did you at least stop the girl?” she asked loudly. The more her son talked the more she understood Havana’s sentiment. She would wring his father's neck if he didn't tell her about something like this.

“Yes, of course I did. We were in my truck which made it worse. I pushed her off and held her back as best I could, but I was driving. Plus, she kept tryin', so I dropped her off at Julie's. I promise, Mama. Nothing happened. I just honestly didn't know what to do after that,” Terry said, letting his face fall into his hands.

“Nothing happened, my ass! So, you mean to tell me that you let this girl kiss and touch all over you, then expected your girlfriend to be okay with it? Wait a damn minute… I thought you said you didn't tell her,” Rochelle said, knitting her eyebrows together.

“I didn't… She did,” Terry mumbled under his breath.

“Who did? Who is she? What are y—. Terrence! I know damn well you didn't let Talyor tell her first. Come on, honey. This ain't right, and you know it. You should've known this wasn't gonna end well,” she said, popping Terry upside his head.

“Rochelle!” Terry’s father, Franklin, yelled as he entered the room.

“Go ‘head. Tell your father about the mess you done got yourself into. Franky, you gotta hear this,” Rochelle said, shifting in her seat.

Franklin sat in his recliner, facing Terry. “Boy! Talk! Ain't no sense in hangin’ ya' head,” he said, leaning up to get Terry's attention.

Terry sat in silence for a moment. He started the story over, telling it from beginning to end. The more he talked, the more he realized how disappointed his parents looked and the worse he felt. It was becoming more evident to him that he fucked up. Havana had every right to be mad.

“Chelle, can you give us a minute? I think this might be one of those conversations, baby,” Franklin said, rising from the recliner.

“Alright. Please, talk some sense into this boy,” Rochelle said, standing.

Franklin approached Terry's mother kissing her on the cheek. Rochelle left the room and left the two men alone. Franklin knew that this was a conversation that needed a Father's touch. His mother could only understand to a certain extent.

“Son, listen. Before I even start speaking, do you even know what you did wrong?” he asked as he sat back in his recliner.

“Yes. I just… I just didn't think it was that serious. I never wanted to hurt ‘Vana. I love her too much. I thought I was protecting her,” Terry said, looking at his father.

Franklin stared at his son. The look on Terry's face was all too familiar. This was the face of a man who knew he messed up but didn't know if he could fix his mistake. He knew his son well enough to see that whoever this girl was she had Terry's heart— all of it.

“That’s a start. At least, you know you were wrong. Listen to me, son. When it comes to women…., or better yet, when it comes to love, omission is lyin’. It doesn't matter what your intentions were. You let another woman tell your woman something she didn't know about. What makes it worse is that Taylor ain't some random woman, she’s a woman you gotta past wit’. That’s gonna immediately throw some doubt in there no matter how much she trusts you. I can only imagine how Taylor spun that story. So, of course, her initial thoughts are gonna be all over the place. She’s gonna question why you weren't the one to tell her, and if nothing happened, why'd you hide it? You left too much unanswered, son. Then, you let another woman answer for you,” Franklin said. He could see the wheels turning in Terry’s head.

“I know, Dad. It’s just that I don't even think she wants to see me, let alone talk. ‘Vana was more than pissed. She looked hurt. I shoulda followed her. I shouldn't have let her leave. She was right there—,” Terry said, sniffling.

“Son, what I'm about to say is gonna hit you like a shot of whiskey with no chaser. Stop thinking like a man and think like a lover. Don't you dare call that woman tryin' to talk over no phone. Go find her, and let her know how you feel. Meet her wherever she's at, pour yo’ heart, hit yo’ knees. Do whateva you need to get yo’ woman. But before you go over there, you gotta come to terms with something. She don't have to listen, and she for damn sure don't have to forgive ya’. All you can do is let her know how you feel. Hell, show her how you feel. You want that girl bad enough; you won't give a damn about how you look in that moment. Look at me, Terrence! When you get done, her heart should be full, and yours should be empty. Do you understand me?!”

A/N: Remember, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by ME (theereina). Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

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[kheprriverse]

Some more replying!

Ty so much!! I wanna reply to this one to answer the Aryll question.

Also they’re both sisters; I don’t think its too necessary to change Aryll all that much if at all! I don’t think it’d change her character either way (regardless of subverting expectations) but I’d like to focus on the bond between them as sisters. I’d be very willing to hear opinions/feedback tho since everything is still a wip atm.

Also some more info under the cut, since this got sorta long? I wasn’t really expecting to keep going on the topic, but below is more about Delta and a bit of my thoughts.

Delta is transfem -> struggling with her identity for quite a while but the journey to save her sister (and then Tetra. And then maybe the HW arc?) somewhat helped her keep it in the back of her mind. Temporarily. Aryll was much more important to her at the time than her own needs. The Delta we’ll see is very happy with where she (and her sister) is now.

We have heroes struggling with their role in hyrule, family situations, love situations, building/rebuilding kingdoms, etc. I like to think having at least one Link being at peace with their life in the moment (and possibly the future) and not having doubts about themselves/others would be nice, especially with it being Delta. I think out of all of them, even as young as she is, she’d be the most likely candidate. She’s living the pirate life with her pirate gf sailing the high seas and hunting down ghost ships and treasure. That sounds like a dream to me, what more could she want?

I don’t even think Ko’jin knows where he belongs and he’s thousands of years old LOL (he has a pretty good excuse tho so I don’t blame him all that much)

I didn’t expect to go on about this so hopefully its not too much considering this was just supposed to be about Aryll. I just really like Delta and WW :’D

Hero of Winds, Delta.

Finally got myself to restart on my redesign of WW Link. She's been on my mind for so long now and I can't wait to draw her more!

-> Support me on ko-fi!

[nrhshm]

EKRKRK I LOVE YOUR WRITTING I was wondering if I could request an easily fatigued reader with smoker, mihawk and Shanks? Like they come got soaking wet and shivering from having to walk home in a storm and readers REALLY shy so they're like "no its fine I'm fine!" But then kinda get teary because they don't want to be a bother (sorry if that sounds weird but it's just something I would probably do😭) and just how they'd react? TYSM LOVE YOU‼️‼️

I tried to expand on three different reader personalities in each oneshot. So their reaction to each situation differs. Let me know what you think of it, anon!👋

And Shanks! Oh I went a different way with Shank's story🫡 but it was too good to change...

Smoker, Mihawk and Shanks with an easily fatigued/frail reader

who hates being a burden

---

. Sfw

. Mentions of kidnapping on Shank's part.

. Spoiler free

. Reader is g/n (female in Shanks's part)

---

Smoker

The storm outside was unrelenting, a cacophony of rain and wind battering against the tall office windows. Inside, the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a desk lamp, casting shadows that danced on the walls. Smoker sat at his desk, the air thick with the faint smell of his cigars.

Tick… tock…

His eyes drifted again to the clock on the wall, the hands creeping forward with a maddening slowness. It was 10:15, and you were late. Not just by a little. The patrol shift had ended at 9:30.

For any other soldier, it would have been a reprimand, a quick note in their file. But for some reason, the idea of something happening to you had twisted his gut into knots he’d rather not admit to anyone—especially himself.

He exhaled a stream of smoke, the ember on his cigar flaring briefly.

“Something’s not right,” he muttered, more to himself than to the empty room.

The storm wasn’t normal—not tonight. He’d seen sailors, seasoned and unshakable, hesitate at the thought of venturing into it. And yet, you were out there, alone.

Tick… tock…

The clock seemed to mock him, its endless rhythm a reminder of his helpless waiting. Finally, with a grunt of frustration, he stood, grabbing his coat. Enough was enough. He wasn’t going to sit here while the storm kept raging and the worst possibilities gnawed at his mind.

Just as he reached the door, it slammed open with a gust of wind and rain.

“Commander Smoker!” Your voice cut through the storm’s roar, sharp with urgency. You stepped in, water pooling at your feet as you stood at attention. “Apologies for the delay, sir! I—”

“Where the hell have you been?” His voice was sharp, though the edge softened almost immediately. His eyes swept over you, taking in the sodden uniform plastered to your skin, the way your hair stuck to your face, and the faint tremble in your shoulders. The reprimand he’d been planning caught in his throat. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, standing stiffly despite the rain dripping down your face. “The patrol was delayed because of the weather, and I lost track of time. I apologize for being late, sir. If I may, I’ll begin my report—”

“Forget the damn report!” His sudden outburst made you blink, startled. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re soaked to the bone, and all you care about is procedure?”

“I didn’t mean to worry you, sir,” you said, voice small but resolute. “It’s my responsibility to—”

“Enough.” His tone left no room for argument. Before you could react, he shrugged off his jacket and stepped forward, draping it over your shoulders. The fabric was warm, heavy with the faint scent of smoke and leather.

“Commander, I don’t—”

“Stop arguing,” he said firmly, towering over you. “You’re freezing, and I’m not about to have one of my soldiers collapse because they’re too stubborn to take care of themselves.”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed and caught off guard by the unexpected gentleness in his voice. For a moment, you forgot how to speak, the weight of his concern settling heavily on your chest.

“I—thank you,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, his hand coming up to rest briefly on your shoulder, warm and steady. “You need to stop trying to do everything on your own. I’m your commander. You can rely on me.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor, your hands clutching the edges of the jacket tightly. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Idiot,” he muttered, though there was no heat in the word. His hand lingered a moment longer before he stepped back, giving you room to breathe. “You’re not a burden. Stop thinking like that.”

The warmth in his voice made your chest tighten, but you forced yourself to stand a little straighter. “Yes, sir.”

He looked at you for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders easing as he seemed to confirm for himself that you were truly okay. Then he turned toward the door, grabbing his hat.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “I’ll walk you home.”

Your breath caught, but you nodded quickly, following him into the storm. His presence beside you felt steady and grounding, his coat a shield against the chill.

If Smoker’s feelings lingered unspoken in the air between you, you didn’t notice. And if his hand hovered just a little closer to your back, ready to steady you against the wind, neither of you said a word.

Mihawk

The night was eerily quiet, the humandrills’ growls and the clang of steel against steel the only sounds cutting through the stillness. You moved as swiftly as your aching body allowed, haki crackling faintly in your strikes. Each movement grew heavier, your limbs protesting every swing. The creatures encircled you, their primal strength and cunning pushing you further to the edge.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your vision blurring, but you couldn’t stop—not now, not after today. Not when you had something to prove.

Then, in a moment too fast to process, one of them lunged. Its weapon glinted under the moonlight, and your sluggish body betrayed you. You braced for the impact.

A flash of black steel tore through the air, and the humandrill was gone, its companions scattering in panic. Yoru, the unmistakable black blade, stood lodged in the ground before you, humming faintly with power.

Your heart skipped. And then, he stepped into view.

Mihawk’s golden eyes pinned you where you stood—or tried to. Your legs gave out, and the ground rushed to meet you, but his hand shot out, steady and strong. His grip was firm as he caught you, holding you upright like you weighed nothing.

“You’ve lost your mind.” His tone was cold, sharp, and laced with irritation. His gaze swept over you, taking in the bruises, the blood, the shaking in your limbs. “What exactly were you thinking?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered stubbornly, trying to stand straight.

He raised a brow, his voice dropping into a dangerous calm. “Fine? You’re about to collapse.”

“I just wanted to—”

“To what?” he cut in, his voice harder now. “Get yourself killed? Or is this another one of your attempts to outrun Zoro?”

The mention of your rival made you stiffen, your jaw clenching. “I don’t need anyone’s help,” you snapped, though the words lacked conviction.

“And yet here I am,” he replied coolly, his eyes narrowing.

The heat of your embarrassment flared, but before you could argue further, your body betrayed you again. You stumbled, and his grip tightened, keeping you from hitting the ground.

“Enough of this nonsense.” His voice held no room for argument, his usual measured calm tinged with something firmer.

Before you could protest, he shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. The motion startled you, your words catching in your throat as you stared up at him.

“What are you—?”

“Carrying you back,” he interrupted bluntly, his tone making it clear he wasn’t entertaining any more arguments.

You could only blink, too exhausted to resist. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes softened slightly as they flickered over your face. “You push yourself too far,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Strength without control is meaningless.”

You stayed silent, your pride too wounded to admit he was right.

As he carried you through the quiet forest, the weight of his presence felt grounding. You glanced at his face, searching for any sign of mockery, but found none. Just calm, focused intent.

When he reached the castle, Mihawk set you down carefully on a bench near the fire. His golden eyes met yours, steady and unyielding.

“You’ll never surpass anyone if you’re too broken to fight,” he said. His tone was flat, but there was something beneath it—a flicker of something softer. Concern, maybe.

You opened your mouth to reply, but he shook his head. “Rest. That’s an order.”

As he turned to leave, his words lingered, low and almost under his breath. “Don’t make me save you again.”

And then, like a shadow, he was gone.

Shanks

You had grown up surrounded by elegance, refinement, and rules. As the eldest daughter of the Alabasta royal family, your every move had been dictated by tradition. You were taught diplomacy, grace, and poise, but not how to wield a sword or navigate the rough-and-tumble life of a pirate crew. When your father announced your arranged marriage to the infamous Red-Haired Shanks, the Yonko, it had felt like a betrayal—a sacrifice made to secure an alliance between your kingdom and the pirate world.

And yet, you agreed. For your family. For your kingdom.

Weeks later, you found yourself aboard the Red Force, surrounded by rowdy, boisterous pirates whose laughter echoed into the sea. Shanks, your husband, was everything you hadn’t expected. Carefree, loud, and full of life, he was the polar opposite of the strict, composed men you had known.

He’d tease you gently, his easy grin always present, saying, “You’ve got to loosen up, princess. Life’s too short to keep your shoulders so stiff.”

But you couldn’t. The world he lived in was too foreign. You didn’t belong here. And worse, you felt like an outsider—a burden among warriors who risked their lives at every turn.

The breaking point came during a crew meeting. You’d overheard the others discussing their plans for the next mission: docking on a notoriously dangerous island to retrieve a devil fruit.

“She’ll slow us down,” one of the crew muttered, not unkindly but with a tone of concern.

“She’s not trained to fight,” another added.

“Beckman will stay with her,” Shanks said, his tone casual but decisive. “He’ll make sure she’s safe.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You knew Shanks meant well, but to assign his right-hand man to babysit you on such a critical mission? It was a slap to your pride. You weren’t some helpless child. You were the wife of a Yonko.

That night, as the crew prepared for the next day, you made your decision.

---

The dawn was still pale as you slipped away, knife concealed beneath your dress. The ship was quiet, the crew unaware as you stepped onto the dock and into the bustling village.

The plan was simple. You’d explore the island, avoid trouble, and return before anyone noticed. It wasn’t reckless—it was proof that you could handle yourself.

The market was lively, filled with colorful stalls and chattering villagers. For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of independence. But as you wandered deeper into the streets, the vibrant atmosphere gave way to shadowy alleys and silence.

That’s when they approached.

At first, it was just one man, smiling too broadly. Then another. And another. Their words were slick, their laughter dark. Your heart pounded as they surrounded you, their intentions crystal clear.

“Such a delicate thing,” one said, brushing a hand against your arm. “What’s a lady like you doing here alone?”

You tried to pull away, but their grip tightened. A cloth was forced over your mouth, muffling your cries.

---

The air shifted.

It was subtle at first—a faint pressure that made the hairs on your neck stand on end. Then it hit like a tidal wave, an overwhelming presence that crushed the very air around you.

The men froze, their smug expressions dissolving into sheer terror.

At the mouth of the alley stood Shanks.

Gone was the carefree man who laughed too loudly and drank too much. His usual easy smile was replaced by a look so dark, so furious, it made your blood run cold. His eyes burned with unrelenting rage as they locked onto the man who dared touch you.

“You dare take my woman?” His voice was low, a growl that seemed to echo through the alley.

The thug didn’t have time to react. In a single, fluid motion, Shanks swung his sword, and the man’s hand hit the ground with a sickening thud.

The others tried to flee, but they didn’t stand a chance. Shanks didn’t even need to use his sword again—the sheer force of his haki dropped them one by one, their bodies crumpling to the ground.

When the last threat was dealt with, Shanks turned to you. The fury in his eyes melted instantly, replaced by something far more vulnerable.

He was at your side in an instant, cutting away the ropes that bound you. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice trembling just slightly. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, though tears streamed down your cheeks. Before you could speak, he pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to shield you from the world itself.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice breaking. “When I realized you were gone, I—” He stopped, his breath shuddering. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Your heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice. “What about the mission?” you whispered, guilt weighing heavily on your chest.

“The mission?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his brows furrowing. “You think I care about the mission right now?” He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “I told the crew to wait. Your safety comes first. Always.”

You broke down, the weight of your fear and guilt crashing over you. “I just… I didn’t want to be a burden,” you sobbed. “I wanted to prove I could handle myself.”

Shanks shook his head, his expression softening. “You’re not a burden,” he said firmly. “You’re my wife. If worrying about you is what it takes, I’ll gladly do it.”

His words unraveled the knot in your chest, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to lean into him fully.

After a moment, you looked up at him, your voice shaky but resolute. “Teach me how to fight.”

Shanks blinked, clearly caught off guard. Then, a grin broke across his face, his usual teasing demeanor returning. “Fight, huh? Guess I’ll have to, or you’ll keep sneaking off on your own.”

You smacked his arm lightly, pouting. “I’m serious!”

“And I’m serious about carrying you back to the ship.” He scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you in his arms. “Besides, you’re cute when you pout.”

Despite your frustration, you couldn’t help but smile. Resting your head against his shoulder, you let out a small sigh of relief.

As Shanks carried you back toward the harbor, his laugh echoed through the air, a sound that made you feel, for the first time, like you truly belonged.

[goldfades]

i heard manager series?

I have been summoned

also wym angst season 🙁 tis the season of JOY and you’re BREAKING MY HEART (plz continue🤭)

-🐹

HELPP ME for me december is the season of ✨angst ✨ idk why it just IS. but my 12 days of christmas is gonna be all fluff

yes i miss manager series sm, let’s do some headcanons rn now that im thinking about it 🤗 (yes these were in my notes ive been waiting for this)

The freshmen this season are clingy. They immediately latch onto you like baby ducklings and are constantly looking for your approval.

Paige jokes that you’ve got “new toddlers,” but she secretly gets a little jealous when they monopolize your attention. KK is quick to remind them who the original favorite is:

KK: “Y’all can hang out with manager, but don’t forget—I built this relationship.”

TikTok remains a chaotic mess this season, with you reluctantly dragged into every challenge, dance and prank video.

The team introduces a new “Manager Cam,” where they document your reactions during games and road trips.

Fans are OBSESSED.

Paige once stole your phone mid-practice and went live, narrating your every move

Paige: “And here we have the elusive manager in her natural habitat, organizing chaos like a queen.”

You: “Paige, I will delete all your playlists.”

Manager x Paige Moments

Still Keeping it Low-Key (Kinda)

By this point, the team knows about your relationship, but Paige insists on keeping the PDA subtle.

Subtle... except for the way she stares at you during team meetings or how she casually drapes her arm over your chair during dinner.

The freshmen think Paige’s protectiveness is just a team thing until they catch her sneaking forehead kisses when she thinks no one’s looking.

Game Day Rituals

Paige starts a pre-game ritual where she insists on a “good luck hug” from you before every game. The team starts teasing her about it relentlessly.

Azzi: “You’re so subtle, P.”

Paige: “Jealous?”

Fans compile videos of Paige hyping you up on live streams, TikTok, and Instagram.

Paige’s favorites: Paige scrolling through your phone gallery: “My wife’s an artist, guys.”

You ranting about the chaos in the locker room: “You’re so cute when you’re mad, P.”

Paige caught staring at you for the 500th time.

Long Bus Rides = Chaos

The team uses bus rides to get creative with pranks, and you’re often their favorite target.

One time, they taped a life-size cutout of Paige to your seat, captioning it “Manager’s emotional support girlfriend.” You pretended to be mad but secretly found it hilarious.

Paige’s retaliation? She confiscated all the Red Bulls, leaving the team in a sleepy stupor for the next bus rides

Late-Night Conversation

On late-night rides back to campus, you and Paige always end up huddled together in the back of the bus, whispering about anything and everything.

KK once tried to eavesdrop but got caught immediately.

You: “What’re you doing, KK?”

KK: “Uh... team bonding?”

Locker Room Drama and Resolutions aka Conflict Mediator Extraordinaire

This season, you’ve become the go-to person for resolving team drama.

Paige jokingly calls it “Momager Diplomacy,” but you take the role seriously, ensuring the team stays united.

Your “manager death stare” remains undefeated. A single look from you has even the loudest arguments settling within seconds.

Manager Popularity Skyrockets

Thanks to the “Manager Cam” and your frequent appearances on team socials, fans are OBSESSED with you.

A TikTok trend emerges where fans recreate your iconic death stare. Paige films herself trying to imitate it and fails miserably.

Paige: “I just don’t have the same terrifying... yet oddly hot... energy.”

Despite the team knowing, fans are still speculating about your relationship with Paige.

A clip of Paige adjusting your hoodie during a timeout goes viral, with fans captioning it: “Wife behavior.”

Paige still leans on you heavily, especially during stressful games or tough days.

After one particularly hard loss, you stayed up with her in the hotel lobby, holding her hand while she vented.Paige: “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You: “Luckily, you’ll never have to find out.”

[leth-writes]

I'm so happy to see someone writing for twilight it really doesn't get the love it deserves.

This is weirdly specific, so bear with me.

Can I request Paul (twilight) x reader who's Jacob's ex-girlfriend, and they had like a really messy brake up so they REALLY don't like each other and so Paul and jacob get onto a fight about it.

Thanks for your time I've really been enjoying reading your work❤️❤️❤️

hello, lovely anon!

Usually I do shorter pieces for requests, but I kinda blacked out and wrote 2000 words for this... Sorry?

Please enjoy!

It was quiet, without Jacob. The two of you had been dating for over a year, before suddenly all he could think of was Bella, Bella, Bella. She was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. You didn’t mind the two of them being friends, you weren’t jealous and you didn’t believe the rumors spreading at school, but you still wanted to SEE him! You loved him, for god’s sake! But no, Bella was sad or Bella was tired or Bella wanted to go exploring and suddenly, he had no time for you. 

It had been weeks since you’d last truly spoken beyond a quick 20 minute phone call every time you tried to hang out. In fact, you decided, today was the last day. It was the last day you would grovel and beg for his attention. This was it; if he didn’t agree today, you were done. He could go date Bella for all you cared.

You stomped down the stairs, your socked feet hitting against the soft white carpet, and skidded into the tiled kitchen. The grey light streamed in, illuminating the phone like a halo. It was fitting for something that would determine the fate of your relationship.

Angry, yet hopeful, you strode forward and picked up the phone, resolutely dialing Jacob’s number and waiting as it rang.

Finally, someone picked up. “Hello?” Jacob called, sounding groggy.

“Hey, Jake! I was thinking, we should spend some time together! It’s been a hard couple of weeks, and I haven’t seen you at all!” You said, anger draining and hope filling your chest, suddenly feeling weak at the knees. God, you’d missed his voice. “Can’t, Bella and I are going to try and build the motorcycles. You know she’s been having a hard time recently, and I think I’m really helping!” He responded, sounding distracted and far from the phone. 

The hope shattered like ice, cutting up your insides. “Jake, we haven’t hung out in 3 weeks. I could really use my boyfriend today,”. Even to your own ears, your voice was pleading. It sounded weak and brittle, like you were fragile, not the strong front you’d tried to put on for him.

He sighed, voice crackly through the receiver. “Listen, you know Bella hasn’t been doing so well, and I’m the only thing that makes her feel better. You can’t expect me not to go out with her, just because you’re feeling a bit lonely…” His voice was exasperated and distant, like he was already done with the conversation.

Suddenly, that anger came roaring back, licking up the sides of your chest and burning away at your heart. You felt yourself trembling with rage, with despair, at the way he was talking to you.

“No, you listen, Jacob! I’m done! If you aren’t going to see me, if you’re going to prioritize Bella, then you can go stay with her! I never want to see your stupid, selfish face ever again, you fucking asshole!” You practically shouted, slamming the phone down. You whirled around, nose practically bellowed steam, and stomped to the couch, grabbing a pillow and screaming into it. You’d show him, you’d go out and have fun all by yourself and prove you didn’t need such a shitty boyfriend anyways!

It’d been a month since you last talked to Jacob, and while the breakup hurt, you were glad you’d ended the relationship when you had. Looking back, the thought of hanging on was depressing; you’d reconnected with your friends in the past month, going out practically every day and hanging out anytime it got too rainy to go to La Push. You hadn’t seen Jacob or Bella around, and you could honestly say you were happy to not have to so much as think about them anymore. It wasn’t your business.

It was the perfect day to go La Push, and your friends were already there when you pulled into the parking lot. It was overcast, no real sign of rain, and a gentle, cool breeze was drifting through. The beach was covered in large rocks, not really meant for swimming, but perfect for drinking and just listening to music and gossiping, and that’s exactly what you did. 

Until, of course, they arrived. Jacob had been sure they were a blossoming gang, but you hadn’t been so sure. You’d never really spoken to them but Billy had thought they were good kids, just a bit… odd. Yet, now, seeing them on the beach, you could understand where Jacob would’ve gotten that misconception. Sam and his friends were massive, Sam himself standing at almost 6’6” by the looks of it and the shortest member, the boy with the dimpled chin, cleared 6’0” easily. They were heavily muscled, each wearing cargo shorts and shirtless, and were rough-housing as they walked, bumping into each other and shoving each other as they approached your small group. The loudest of the boys, the one with the intense expression and the loud voice, shoved the smallest and laughed boisterously. Then, he looked over. And he made eye contact with you.

And he stared.

And stared.

Eventually, you grew uncomfortable, shifting uneasily on the small picnic blanket you were sitting on as you looked away, toward Sam. He was pulling the loud boy to the side, harshly whispering as the boy kept eye contact. You leant over to your friend, quietly asking which boy was which. You listened as she pointed them out; the one staring at you was Paul, and he was dangerous. You gulped, once again looking away and out toward the shoreline.

“Hey, mind if we join you guys?” Sam asked, approaching with his group and staring at you. The others also looked exclusively at you, though not as intensely as Paul, as though your answer was the only one that mattered. Shivering, suddenly cold, you nodded and looked down. “Hey, at least they’re hot,”one of the girls in your group muttered, and the tension was broken. You burst into laughter, snorting as you held your sides. At least you weren’t feeling uncomfortable anymore, even if you did feel a little dorky. You glanced up through your lashes and Paul was still staring, though less intensely, a soft gleam in his eyes and a small, genuine smile on his lips.

That was the beginning of your relationship with Paul.

You woke up to loud pounding on your front door. Racing down the stairs, you skidded to a stop in the front hall, making eye contact with Bella. Fucking Bella Swan was at your door at 6 in the morning, pounding furiously and looking like death warmed over. You sighed, resigned to not getting to sleep in on a Saturday, and opened the door slowly.

“There’s something wrong with Jacob!” Bella exclaimed. She looked haggard, eyes ringed with deep purple bags and pale skin looking almost translucent. Her hair was ragged and greasy, hanging limply around her wan face, clothes baggy and dirty. She looked like shit. Maybe Jacob broke up with her?

“Okay, and why does that involve me?” You said, leaning against the door jamb and staring off into the distance, squinting at the pale morning light.

“You’re his girlfriend, he’s bound to listen to you!” She cried, thin clammy hand clutching at your wrist as she tried to tug you toward her red rustbucket of a truck.

You remained unmoved, now glaring at her. “No, Bella, I’m not his girlfriend, we haven’t been together for over a month, and I haven’t seen him in over a month and a half. He spent all his time with you; why would he listen to me now?”

She paused, hearing the hurt hidden in your voice and glancing up into your eyes for the first time all morning.

“Wait… you broke up? But Jacob loves you!” She said, voice weaker than before, almost a whisper.

“Yeah, well, he cared about you more. But, I guess if he’s in trouble, fine. What do you need me to do?”

Jacob’s yard looked exactly the same as you remembered it. That made you feel oddly sad, like you’d subconsciously expected it to reflect Jacob’s sadness at you leaving. Yet, it remained the same, just as it was before you’d ever come into his life. Had you really had such a small impact?

Bella was already out of the truck, running toward Paul and the others as they sauntered toward the house from the tree line. You sprinted to keep up, knowing she was going to say something and futilely trying to prevent it. When you reached them, she had shoved Paul and was accusing the boys of hurting Jacob, whatever that meant. Paul was shaking, literally trembling, as his muscles jumped and leapt under his skin. It looked like his skin was… moving as he puffed in effort. “Paul?” you tentatively approached, drawing closer as he leant over, panting as his shoulders jerked. “Shit!” Sam cursed, leaping forward to pull you back and away from Paul. You kicked and struggled as he picked you up, trying to get back to Paul. Couldn’t they see he was sick?!

Suddenly, Paul was gone, and in his place was… a giant wolf. It was like he’d been cut out of the world and replaced. What had happened to Paul?

“Bella!” Jacob shouted, vaulting over the porch fence. His skin seemed to split open, replacing by rapidly growing fur, and his face elongated as his nose broke and became discolored. By the time he hit the ground, he was a wolf. Were you hallucinating? You felt faint, leaning heavily against Sam, who shifted to support your weight and drag you away from the fight. Both wolves were now circling each other, growling and barking, trying to nip at each other's flanks. You felt like you were receding from your body, like you weren’t real. Everything felt far away, and your ears rang. Then, you passed out and went limp.

You jerked awake with a gasp almost as soon as Sam caught your full weight, shifting to lift you up into his arms.

“Paul!” he called, and the wolf who had replaced Paul looked over, eyes wide and sad as he saw your trembling form. Then, the wolf was gone and Paul was standing in its place, quickly pulling on clothes as Embry passed a pair of shorts to him. He cursed lowly and jogged over, grabbing you from Sam’s arms and holding you close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over, like a prayer.

He sent you down gently, still holding you close to his chest, enveloping you in his soft warmth as his arms wrapped around your shoulders. The world went quiet and all was right, until Jacob interrupted the two of you by shoving Paul.

“Get the fuck away from her, you piece of shit!” He yelled out, punching Paul hard in the nose and causing a spurt of blood to leak out. Paul cursed again and spat out a mouthful of blood, growling lowly. “You don’t get to say that, asshole! You broke her heart, you have no right to tell her what to do!” Paul returned, standing his ground as Embry and Jared tried frantically to stop the fight from continuing. 

“That doesn’t mean you can put her in danger!”

“I didn’t! She didn’t know until your little girlfriend came along and started shit!” Paul bellowed, gesturing at Bella, who was shrinking into herself behind Jake.

“Don’t bring her into this! This is about your shitty control, Paul! Don’t blame Bella for you not being able to handle a little pressure!”

“Stop!” Sam said, getting in between the two. “Jacob, you go blow off some steam. Don’t come back until you’re calm. And Paul…” Sam continued, trailing off as everyone looked at you. “Just… Just explain everything, okay?” He said, sighing and rubbing his forehead to fight away the growing headache.

Paul turned to you, opening his mouth to speak. 

And that was the day you learned about shifters.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

03 — MY COMPASS, MY TRANSPORT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It’s a truth. A deep, earnest one – and it’s the only option you have.

Without Graves, without your Shadows, you have nothing. No income, no family, no support. You're left with the clothes on your body and the shoes in which you stand, with no hope of finding your footing.

In the darkness, the only light shines from the headlights of the truck, and the red of the radio. It’s silenced, of course, but it serves as a beacon of something between you all.

“I don’t – I have no other choice,” you say, voice trembling. You would not break in front of them, but you could feel yourself cracking; porcelain underneath a harsh grip. Turning yourself so you’re completely facing the two, your expression turns desperate. “I want to help you both, and I want to save Phi– Graves.”

You correct yourself at the final moment, wary of your slip up.

“Save ‘im? From what? Feckin’ charges for war crimes? Getting his ass handed to ‘im?” Soap chokes out, incredulous, eyes wide where they meet yours. He winces when he moves forward too quick, straining his arm.

“He’s…” You look down at your hands, merely watching for a moment as they close into a fist and open again. Blood crusts underneath your fingernails. “He’s all I have. I’m sure he just needs a wake up call, someone to snap him out of it.”

“He tried to kill us,” Ghost speaks up, matter-of-fact, but quiet. As if at any moment, his words will wake up the entire city. If there were any civilians left in it, you supposed. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“...And I had to kill some of my men.”

It’s a confession of sin. Like poison on your tongue, yet at the same time, an anecdote to an evil in your veins. You’d killed your men. You’d… done that.

You still haven’t quite allowed yourself to realise it, not yet.

But if it’s enough to keep you alive right now, so be it. You hadn’t gotten this far just to give up over something as inconsequential as pride.

“Ye will tell us everything you know about ‘im. And’ll help us until we figure out what to do. We’re our own bosses now, Sweetheart,” Soap commands, that fucking nickname of his seeming to stick. You don’t dispute it – not right now, not when this is quite literally life or death.

“I promise,” you say, resolute and stern. There was no time for self-pity or wallowing, only time for action and conviction – something you had in spades. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

You hadn’t known how true those words would be – not then, and not for a good while. But they were a prophecy, if such a thing could at all be possible for a woman like you.

Soap and Ghost share a look; a brief, yet important one, before Ghost gives the Scot a short nod. Soap turns once more to you, his face betraying the answer of their silent agreement.

“...So?” You suggest, impatient considering the consequences of the next few moments. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke at his stubbled chin, Soap makes an act of pretending to ponder – and it succeeds in stoking the flames at your core, fury burning through you like a liquor-soaked rope.

“I dunno, lass,” he says on a sigh, his ocean eyes betraying a mischief in their depths. “Yer kinda mean to me.”

You might choke him.

Actually, check that, you will choke him. He’s impossible – an arsehole to the nth degree – somehow worse than Ghost in his… foolishness? Was that the right word? Or just straight frustrating-ness?

Seeming to sense your thinning patience, Soap’s hand falls from his jaw with a mirthful smirk, proud of himself. 

“If ye say pretty please, ye can join our lil’ duo.” He finishes the statement off with a wink, and you don’t realise that your hands have curled into fists until the sharp pain of nails digging into your palms force you to resort back to your senses.

You let out a slow, loud breath. 

Neither of them move a muscle, except for the twitch of Soap’s dimple. You hate that you recognise such a small movement, but you easily blame it on the fact that it’s a drilled-in mentality.

“...Please,” you acquiesce, however quiet. 

Ghost’s eyebrow raises. How you’re aware of that, considering his mask, is a props to him. 

“That’s not what he asked for.” His voice is a low, husky thing, and the title of guard dog suddenly doesn’t sound so incorrect.

With your teeth gritted and cheeks straining, you mutter out, “Pretty please.”

Soap’s responding smile is nothing short of beaming, and you almost immediately wish that you could take those words back. Was death really so bad? Would it even be a mercy, compared to deciding to share a threadbare camaraderie with these weirdos?

Too bad time control isn’t exactly a well-researched military weapon.

“Let’s go then,” Ghost slaps his gloved hand against the steering wheel, before looking one last time towards you with purpose, “Sweetheart.”

Soap laughs.

You get out and slam the door in his face.

“Och! You feckin’ bastard, lass,” you hear him screech, before the door opens once more and Soap hops out, fuming.

Turning away, you fall behind Ghost, and quickly take a look around at the vast, empty area that is barren suburbia. Not before responding, however.

“Next time you get shot, I’m not taking care of your ass,” you threaten. “And I’m giving the rest of my sweets to Mr. Melodramatic.”

Soap’s returning mock gasp is, in all fairness, pretty comedic. “You have more sweets? Gimme those and ye lovely bedside manners ‘nd I’ll get a cavity!”

Your returning glare could cut steel. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with bigger issues than a cavity.”

“I think ye are already the bigger issue,” Soap snaps back, but it’s not inherently malicious. It’s… borderline playful, and that sudden thought has you internally slapping yourself.

“Both of ya – quiet,” Ghost warns.

You both shut up immediately.

With wary steps, the three of you go to step up towards the front door, when Ghost swings out a hand, stopping the lot of you in your tracks. The night doesn’t allow for any of you to see well, but he must’ve picked up something that you hadn’t.

The thought is an immediately terrifying one.

“Pressure plates,” Soap murmurs under his breath, eyeing the square linoleum tile. “Nice catch, Lt.”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead motioning for you to follow him towards a glassless window. Gravel crunches underneath your light footfalls, easily heard in the deathly quiet, as you move to swing your leg over the access point and drop to the floor inside.

Landing with a soft thud, you go to unfurl from your crouching position, before a loud warning shout from Ghost has you freezing.

Flinching where you stand, your eyes dart to where Ghost has flung one of his daggers, the sharp metal splintering a wooden beam further into the dark room. Realising that Soap sits at your flank, you shift your gaze to spot a red light focused in on his forehead – between his eyes.

“¿Quien esta ahi?” An unfamiliar, accented voice calls out from behind the beam. You could slap yourself for being so careless, in not realising that someone else was in here before Ghost had saved your arses. 

“Rodolfo!” Soap calls out, relief flooding his tone as he rights his position, shoulders back.

A man peeks out from behind the wood, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before they soften at the sight of the two men behind you. “Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

Stepping out from around the beam, he reaches for Ghost’s dagger, pulling it away from where it had dug into the oak with undeniable ease. His appearance is striking, with a set jaw and gentle features – he’s quite pretty, but not at all in a way that you find yourself attracted to the man.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, accepting the knife back when the man – Rodolfo – hands it to him hilt-first.

“Good to see you, amigos,” Rodolfo smiles, before his appraisal sets on you, confusion sparking in his deep brown eyes. He looks to the two men at your side for an explanation, hesitant in the way he does so.

“This is…” Soap trails off, before coming to a realisation. “Feckin’ hell. I never even asked for yer name, Sweetheart.”

Rodolfo blinks. Once, twice, before his eyebrows furrow and his mouth settles into an uncomfortable grimace.

You shoot a glare Soap’s way, before gifting Rodolfo a polite, yet stilted, smile. Extending your hand, you give him your name, and then your official title.

“Colonel? Graves’ colonel?” Rodolfo repeats back, utterly taken aback by such an introduction. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, quickly hissing to Soap in unamused Spanish, “¿Has perdido la cabeza?”

“I saved his life,” you interrupt, before any verbal sparring begins. “And I’m on your team. I don’t agree with what Graves is doing – and I’m sorry for what he’s already done. But I want to help you. I swear.”

Rodolfo regards you for a moment, his internal walls still heavily locked in place. But he seems… softer, now, in a way. More understanding, maybe, less hesitant as he slowly appraises you, inspecting you under his critical analysis.

The silence stretches, before the soldier raises his hands placatingly, the left side of his mouth twitching into a smooth smirk. “No accusations from me, Corazón,” he reassures, the pet name sliding from his full lips like butter over warm toast.

“Aye, none of tha’,” Soap warns, and Rodolfo’s amusement deepens. Whatever the Scot is about to say next is abruptly stopped by Ghost’s booming demand from behind you both.

“Anyone outside of these walls is now considered a hostile – we’re a team now. This happened under my watch, and I’d bloody well do good to fix it.” His posture is stiff, hand unconsciously flexing around the blade strapped to his belt as he delivers the order. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one shot.

You figure he’s stopped speaking, when suddenly his heavy gaze is on you, any ounce of solidarity snuffed out like a match’s flame. “You fuck up once, Sweetheart, and I won’t hesitate when I shoot ya dead.”

It’s as good of a compromise as you’re going to get from the hulking Lieutenant, but you weren’t made Colonel for your talents in stepping down.

“You forget that I outrank you,” you challenge, chin raised and eyes flinty. “And that I saved your mutt.”

“We don’t have a feckin’ dog,” Soap starts, but when he sees the way Ghost side eyes him, and how you give him an unimpressed look, his jaw drops. “Ye bastard! Shoulda killed ya –”

Rodolfo’s hand wraps around Soap’s forearm, the grumbling man twisting in his hold, but not putting up anything close to a fight. “She’s just stirring you up, hermano,” Rodolfo placates, his large eyes meeting yours with a hint of respect in them. It has you straightening your spine, and your resolve.

“We sort this out as equals,” you state, folding your arms over your chest and bucking your hip. Ghost doesn’t, for a single second, shift your mutual eye contact. “And you will all tell me what the fuck’s going on – and what we’re doing.”

“Alejandro,” Ghost quips, sharp and to the point. Finally, you think, his near-black eyes drift to Rodolfo. “We need him back.”

“He’s the only other lad we can trust out there,” Soap adds, his pout easing slightly. Rodolfo finally drops his hand, clapping it hard against the petulant man’s shoulder with a firm nod.

“Already got a head start, hermanos,” he gestures for the three of you to follow him further into the room, before his calculating eyes glance back at you, “y hermana.”

It’s an unknown, entirely different feeling that erupts inside of your chest at the inclusion. Rodolfo was clearly the most soft spoken man of the three, but he had an intelligence to him that you couldn’t wait to unpack. And he trusted you. Or so you had gathered, anyway.

However.

First things first.

“...Where’s Alejandro? I thought he was Mexican Special Forces?” It was, admittedly, a unique kind of embarrassing – how out of the loop you felt, considering you were a colonel under Graves’ command. You’d heard the man’s name before, but it was usually just paired with barracks gossip and warnings to steer clear. Some joke about how the only one who could kill Alejandro, was the soldier himself.

Moving along with Rodolfo, you’re surprised when it’s Soap who supplies you the answer.

“Your fuckwit of a Commander’s got ‘im,” he curses, the words grating and harsh. Deserved, of course it was deserved, yet it was still odd hearing such disrespect for the man of whom you’d idolised for so long.

Of whom you’d given everything.

Switching a light on, Rodolfo stops in front of a large table, a map laid out across the top of it. Your eyes go wide at the intricacies – focusing as the man leans over and presses a finger towards a highlighted spot, watching the three of you where you stand on the other side. Dust floats near the source of the lamp, and the scent of grime hits you a moment later, a familiar thing.

“Graves is holding him here,” Rodolfo explains, his previously mischievous expression settling into a firm, military-grade frown.

“His own personal black site prison,” Soap scoffs, subconsciously flexing his fingers around the straps of his vest. His focus is utterly devoted to the map in front of him, but his anxiety shows itself through the tiniest of movements.

Rubbing his spare hand down his face, Rodolfo lets out a long, strewn-out sigh. “My men are locked in there, too.”

“Then let’s get them back,” you supply with a small shrug when all eyes shoot your direction.

“That’s obvious, lass,” Soap says, lacking any hint of his previous vitriol when he looks around the room. “How we get ‘em back is the question.”

“By breaking in,” Ghost answers, the retort as simple as breathing.

If you weren’t so receptive to body movements, to the smallest of expressions, you’d’ve missed it. Even then, you doubted that anyone could miss how Soap’s eyes soften when he looks to his Lieutenant, how his breath softly hitches in his throat.

You want to claw out your eyes with a rusty spoon.

By the look on Rodolfo’s face, he feels much the same – until he catches you staring, and then his face twists into something much more cryptic. Like a man trying to solve a puzzle without all of the pieces, being forced to jam spares into spots that just won’t fit.

“We need weapons,” you startle out, the words surprising even yourself. You don’t go back on them, don’t even think to. “If we want to stand a fighting chance – we need firepower.”

“Who said you’re with us?” Ghost questions snarkily, but when you go to reply, you find that Rodolfo’s moved to the corner of the room, switching on even more lights, displaying a wrought iron door.

Sliding it open, you feel like a kid on Christmas morning as you take note of the supplies within.

Rodolfo shrugs, but the small, smug grin on his face doesn’t dispel. “It’s well-stocked. This is Ale we’re talking about.”

The affectionate nickname is something you store away for later. ‘Well-stocked’ is certainly an understatement – guns of all types line the walls within the room, all types of bombs and grenades along with it.

“Alright,” Ghost huffs out, the closest to appreciative that a man like him can get.

Soap is much more upfront about his joy. “My man!” He laughs, his dimples etched into his features like the light spattering of freckles over his upper cheeks and nose bridge. “We’re gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armoured.”

Digging into his pocket, Rodolfo pulls out a set of keys, tossing them over to Ghost with relaxed shoulders. Turning, shock must be evident on all of you, because Rodolfo lets out a low chuckle. “Your wish is my command, hermanos y hermana.”

To the far end of the room, within the adjoined stables, is a fully-armoured forward drive of some sort – sleek and black and fucking perfect.

“Alejandro thought of everything,” Ghost admires, and when you look to him, you swear that you can see a hint of hope shining in his darkened eyes. Your heart skips a beat on its own accord, and you’re absorbed by the all-consuming want to pull it out of your chest with your bare hands, just so it never does such a thing again.

“Yeah, he did,” Soap whistles, before turning back around to face your small band of misfits. With a determined grin, he says as if it’s an afterthought, “Let’s go get ‘im.”

With a stern resolve and an even sterner disposition, you walk alongside your newfound teammates, and get ready for the most difficult mission of your military career.

*

When you’d, stupidly, recklessly, decided to play good guy and helps out the 141 and Los Vaqueros, you hadn’t taken into account how you’d be at the bottom of the totem pole.

While the three men you were working alongside were all considerably close, you were an outsider. At that, an outsider who had, only a few hours ago, decided to swap sides from enemy to ally.

Being paired with Ghost is, arguably, the most gut-wrenching job in your life. By the time that Rodolfo finds Alejandro through the CCTV system, you’re nearly entirely covered in dried blood, and your head thumps with a headache.

Not a headache from war – a headache from the fucking twat with a shitty DIY job for a military get-up.

“You’re seriously the worst,” you grit out, wiping off a bit of Shadow blood that’s been sprayed on your cheek. “I seriously can’t fucking believe that any one of your mates can tolerate you.”

“Who needs ‘mates’ when I have my boys?” Ghost quips back, wiping off his bloody dagger onto his vest, before slotting it back into its rightful position on his belt. His ability to blend into the night, even with the prison lights on, is uncanny – the only tell the white of his stitched-in skull.

You mock a disgusted sound, sticking out your tongue. “You sound like a fuckboy.”

“A what?” And, although it sounds nothing like a choke, you’re sure that it’s an instinctual question.

The sound of a helicopter up ahead has the two of you pausing in your tracks, feud coming to a quick halt. Looking up, you struggle to see the vehicle in the black of night, but you manage to spot the slowly circling heli above the prison.

“Ghost, Sweetheart, what’s yer status?” Soap’s voice trickles in through your comms. Ghost glances at you, before he answers on your behalf, ever the control-freak.

“Comin’ your way.”

Falling into step side-by-side, you focus on the wet gravel underneath your feet, avoiding making any communication with the man to your right.

“Copy. We’re on the move,” Soap replies, before Rodolfo cuts in.

“Heads up on the helo,” he warns. You find that you much prefer him over the other two – in fact, under any other circumstance, you could see the two of you becoming good friends. Maybe, if everything goes well, that could be a possibility – a positive in your world of negatives.

“Don’t think we’re in his line of sight,” you respond, double-checking your route and the helicopter's position in the sky. Rodolfo had warned you all, debriefing in the drive here, that helicopters would likely show up at some point.

Minutes pass, with small comms between the lot of you, when you finally spot the familiar figures belonging to the other half of your precarious team. 

Soap and Rodolfo stand at the entrance, before the two turn at the sound of your and Ghost’s footsteps. They both seem to visibly loosen their stiff shoulders, seeing you both uninjured – and if you do the same, you pray that no one notices.

“The door’s locked,” Soap informs you all, gesturing to the steel entrance5.

With a small hum, Rodolfo reaches for the pack on his vest. “We’ll need to breach it,” he explains, but before he can grab a charger, Ghost raises a hand to stop him.

“No, Rudy –” And that is a nickname that you’ll be using later, “Knock.”

Rodolfo seems apprehensive, but he agrees anyway, giving all three of you separate glances. “On me…”

All of you getting into readying positions, Rodolfo knocks on the door, the sound echoing loud enough to have your blood pounding in your ears.

A moment later, a Shadow – one you don’t recall having met – pushes open the door and moves to step outside. However, Rodolfo and Ghost are quick to neutralise him, softly dropping his body to the floor.

Pushing through the entrance, everyone except for you shoot a Shadow dead – clearing the room in less than twenty seconds. It’s impressive, how smoothly run the operation is, considering the lack of proper authority or guidance.

You’re the first to spot some more Shadows moving your way, down the stairs – calling it out. “More Shadows from the second floor – watch out!”

This time, you find yourself the cause of two men falling to the ground, blood pooling underneath their lifeless bodies. Your team doesn't give you time to second guess, to mourn, before they’re encouraging you to follow them up the stairs.

“Ale’s up here, let’s go!” Rodolfo urges, his voice bordering on a kind of desperation reminiscent of a boy enlisting for the first time.

Like expected, Alejandro’s cell is down the hall, sat to the far right. Two Shadows guard the steel door, but Soap and Rodolfo are quick to light them up, successfully clearing the entire two floors. You’re ashamed of how relieved you feel, being gifted the small mercies of not having to kill your previous subordinates, unless necessary.

You feel, more than see, Ghost’s heavy gaze on you. When you look back up from the gun in your hands, however, he’s turned completely away – and if you were a less accurate person, you’d have thought you were imagining things.

“There’s Alejandro’s cell.” Stopping at the steel door, Rodolfo adjusts his grip on the gun, before giving you an encouraging jerk of his head. “Open it up, me and Soap will cover you.”

Another small mercy, you think, as Ghost reaches into his backpack and pulls out a set of bolt cutters, regarding you stiffly. “When I pop this lock, you push in,” he directs you curtly, and you bite back a retort. You knew the process like the back of your hand – you had no need for an explanation.

The ‘especially from him’ goes unsaid.

With precise, practised movements, Ghost positions the bolt cutters, and pushes open the door.

As soon as you take one step into the cell, a large hand wraps around the back of your neck, slamming your face into the concrete wall, a blinding pain shooting through your retinas. Letting out a small yelp, your chest rattles as your hands wildly raise in an imitation of surrender.

“Alejandro! Let go of ‘er! It’s us!” Soap calls out, and you swallow unhealthy amounts of air. That hit had taken more out of you than you’d expected – and your harsh breaths were making that incredibly apparent.

The grip on the scruff of your neck slackens when Rodolfo shoots off in quickfire Spanish, “Coronel, relájate, cabron, somos nosotros.”

Your cheek aches and your head pounds as the hand removes itself entirely, allowing for you to take in lungfuls of oxygen.

“Soap, Ghost!” Alejandro bursts out, and as you rise to your feet unsteadily, you watch as he thumps both of them on the back of their shoulders, before turning to Rodolfo with an expression that could only be described as longing. “...Rudy.”

“Didn’t think we’d leave ya, did ye?” Soap chuckles, oblivious to the thread of tension between the two men. 

Whatever silent conversation had occured between the two enforcers is quickly cut as Alejandro accepts the shake of Soap’s hand, a feral grin wide on his features. “What took you so long, pendejos?”

“A traitor with an attitude is what,” Ghost inputs, and really, how much self control can a Lieutenant lack? Wiping at your cheek, you let your hand fall once more to your side as you meet Alejandro’s inquisitive gaze head-on.

“I’m Graves’ previous colonel,” you extend your hand, “And I’m your best bet at getting your base back.”

You expect suspicion, uproar, maybe – or at least questioning, similar to that of Rodolfo’s.

Instead, all you’re met with is Alejandro’s manic smile sharpening, and a slap on the back of your own. Ruffling your hair, he uses his free hand to accept the gun Rodolfo’s extending towards him, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Sounds good, hermana. Welcome to how real men fight.”

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