#finally back to drawing them. six months later

[orphetoon]

hey anybody know whats wrong with this copy of dungeon meshi

[benedictscanvas]

pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3

warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)

---

“Hi love.”

Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes. 

He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.

Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.

You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.

If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.

“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.

“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”

“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”

You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.

“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”

You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.

“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”

He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.

“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”

You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.

“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”

Jamie winces.

“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”

You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.

“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“

“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”

You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.

“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”

“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”

He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.

“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”

Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.

---

He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.

After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.

You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.

“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”

Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.

“Kit room.”

It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.

Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.

“Y/N? Love?”

“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”

Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.

“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”

He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.

“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”

Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.

Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.

“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.

“You’re alright, though?”

You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.

“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”

No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.

Tell her, you prick.

He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.

This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.

“What’s it say?”

You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.

“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”

You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.

“On the ceiling?”

He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.

It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.

“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”

“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.

“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.

“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”

You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.

“I spy with my little eye…”

---

It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.

No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.

He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.

“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.

He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.

Tell him, you silly shit.

It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.

“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”

“What?”

He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.

“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”

He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.

You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.

"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."

He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.

Maybe again.

"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."

He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.

"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."

You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.

"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.

(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)

[dreamdragonkadia]

In my mind, The Lost Hero happened way later—like, a couple years later. So in my brain, they’re all adults, and the timeline is a little less "let's throw traumatized teenagers into yet another world-ending catastrophe" and more "competent, still traumatized, but definitely more stable adults saving the world because no one else will." Anyways, this happened. p.jackons x hades!reader

Percy Jackson would die on this hill.

He’d argue the point until the end of time if necessary, Riptide in hand and the sea raging at his back. Jason and Leo? No shot. They’d roll their eyes every time he brought it up, Jason muttering something about lightning bolts and Leo snarking about how obviously he was the real MVP because of his fire and flying machines. Piper and Hazel? They’d smirk and shake their heads, still convinced that the title of “most powerful demigod” belonged to Jason or Percy himself. The entirety of Camp Jupiter seemed to agree, like they’d written it in stone tablets for history books or something.

But for the love of all the gods on Olympus, none of them had met you.

You—his girlfriend, his other half, his I-can’t-believe-she-tolerates-me girl—were something else entirely. It wasn’t just that you were strong. It was the way you carried it, like your power didn’t need an introduction.

Sure, everyone had met Nico. The whole camp had watched him command skeletons with a flick of his hand, the shadows curling around him like dark flames. He was strong—terrifying at times. Even Percy would admit it. But you? The daughter of Hades who didn’t seem like a daughter of Hades? That was another level of unfair.

If Nico was the silent shadow creeping up behind you, you were the entire storm. Quiet and cold when you needed to be, unrelenting when you wanted to be. Percy had seen you switch from soft smiles and playful teasing to a demigod weapon capable of crushing monsters under your boot—and gods, he loved it.

It wasn’t that you hid your power. You just didn’t feel the need to show it off. That, in Percy’s humble opinion, was what made you so terrifyingly powerful. Nico raised the dead like it was child’s play, but you? You commanded the shadows. They weren’t just weapons under your control—they were yours. Alive, fluid, shifting like they had minds of their own, all loyal to you despite not being a daughter of Nyx.

He remembered the exact moment he realized he was absolutely done for. Years ago, he watched you crush a monster into dust using nothing but its own shadow. One flick of your hand, one whispered command, and it unraveled like paper in a storm. He couldn’t look away. You turned to him afterward—grinning, grinning—and said something ridiculous like, “It wasn’t that bad. I just got lucky.”

And then, not ten minutes later, you were sitting with him on the beach, drawing little sea turtles in the sand with your toe like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were terrifying and kind, fierce and soft, all at once.

Then he went missing for six months because of course a certain goddess had to mess with his life.

Waking up at Camp Jupiter without his memory was rough, sure. Getting tackled by Roman kids in armor? Even rougher. But worse than that? It was waking up to an ache in his chest, the kind that didn’t make sense because he couldn’t remember you, but he felt you. He felt like he was forgetting something important—like the sea itself was telling him something was missing.

And when he finally got his memories back, when he stumbled into you again after what felt like a lifetime apart, Percy swore he’d never forget the look on your face when you saw him.

You were halfway through ripping apart a monster—shadows swirling around you like a living hurricane—when your eyes snapped to his. The storm stilled, and your lips parted, a breathless, shaky whisper escaping you.

“Percy?”

Before he could speak, before he could think, you were in front of him, throwing your arms around his neck. The storm had been yours, but now it was his—crashing through his chest, tightening his throat, overwhelming him with something he couldn’t put into words.

He didn’t care that monsters were still crawling out of the ground around you both. He didn’t care that you were technically mid-battle. Percy wrapped his arms around you, buried his face in your hair, and swore he wouldn’t let go.

“You found me,” you breathed, squeezing him tighter.

“Always,” he murmured back. “Always.”

Jason and Leo had arrived by then—Jason launching himself into the fight with lightning flying and Leo yelling something dramatic about “couple reunions during battle being so cliche.”

But Percy didn’t care.

Because when he pulled back to look at you, to see the way your smile broke through like sunlight cutting through a storm, Percy knew.

You were one of the strongest demigod he’d ever met.

And he’d die on that hill.

[yeeterthek33per]

Sparklers (Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader)

A/n Requested. Honestly this one isn't my best work but I just wanted it to be done, so it's not as substantial but I promise I did my best to save it from the clutches of undone WIPs.

Content/Warning(s): Fluff, Kyra being a pest.

-----------------------

When Kyra had first left for Sweden, she'd been adamant that she couldn't leave you behind.

But after many tears, hugs, kisses and persuasion in the form of future travel plans, she left for Hammarby IF, while you stayed with the Melbourne Victory.

Thus, nearly two years later, just a month before the World Cup and one week before the start of camp, a very tired and whiny girlfriend of yours sits on facetime with you, begging you to let her come over to Australia early to spend time with you.

"Babe, c'mon, I'd only be missing one match anyway."

And thus, you subsequently scolding the twenty-one year old.

"Kyra, no. No way. Seriously, play your last match, if I remember rightly, Hammarby haven't offered you a new contract right?"

She huffs, silently fidgeting with her fingers and not making eye contact with you through the camera.

"You need to play the last match, Ky. Be professional about it, please, if not for the club, for me? I want you to be able to get opportunities over there. Take it seriously and you can come see me the moment your last match is over."

She groans, letting her head hit the bed from where she'd been laying stomach down with her phone in front of her.

"Promise me, Ky. Play out the rest of the season. Even if you don't get the league, you've still got a trophy under your belt there, baby."

"Alright."

The look in her eyes as she turns her head away from the camera makes you sigh softly.

"Kyra, promise me you'll stay. I miss you more than anything, but your career comes first. Promise me."

She mumbles back, finally.

"I promise, baby, I promise I'll stay."

You nod in satisfaction, giving the girl a small smile and pressing a kiss to the tips of your fingers before holding them up to your phone as she does the same.

"Goodnight, baby."

"G'night, Ky."

-----------------------

So she does stay.

She plays her heart out in her last match, taking the draw with Piteå before finally getting on her flight to Australia.

She's exhausted from the match, and nearly forgoes showering and changing to switch tickets to an earlier flight.

Instead, she heeds your warnings of not kissing her should she decide to show up at the training centre without at least taking care of herself first.

She's already got her bags packed and ready in her rental to fly to Australia, and just about drags them to the match with her but forgoes it.

The poor aussie just needs to see her girlfriend. To collapse into a warm, fluffy pile of cuddles and-

"Flight 157 to Sydney, Australia, Now boarding."

She sighs and hopes the flight boards quickly, eager to see you.

-----------------------

Everyone was told similar times to be at the centre by, giving them a roughly six hour window to arrive in, given any delays in flights, although that doesn't seem enough knowing international boarding mid year can be dicey.

So you've taken the initiative to be in Brisbane early to avoid the traffic of the day.

It's ripe time at six-thirty in the morning, meaning you're far earlier than all of your teammates, even the one's closer to Brisbane than you are, and thus you have plenty of time to kill and nap in the lobby waiting for your teammates to start arriving at around ten.

Of course, you're startled awake by a slap to the stomach.

Taking a precursory glance at the clock on the wall above the receptionists desk, it's about three and a half hours later.

It's Steph and Caitlin, both of them sporting tired smirks at you.

"Well hello miss."

You just about jump into the arms of your vice-captain, having missed seeing the woman at the last camp due to injury, thus you haven't seen the woman since the games in April against Scotland and England.

"Steph!"

She chuckles, giving you a tight squeeze.

She had taken you under her wing the moment you'd stepped into your first national team camp just four years ago, not long after the World Cup but right before the Covid Pandemic.

She'd been the one to stick with you over facetime while you navigated the league in Australia, and of course, once a sense of normalcy returned and after the Olympic games in Tokyo.

You were often found in her room with her even though you'd all been given the privileges of single rooms.

Now, you tended to spend more time with Kyra, but, if your teammates needed you, it was always one of the two of them that you'd be found with.

"What, and I'm chopped liver, am I?"

You poke your tongue out at the striker, burying yourself back into Steph's arms.

"No, I'm just the favourite."

"Please, you and I both know you're no longer the favourite."

"Shhhh, let me have this, she isn't here yet."

Giggling, you nudge the defender and separate from her.

"I'm in love with the girl, but you're more tolerable, some days."

"Ayy, that's my girl."

She ruffles your sleep mussed hair.

"Hey! Hands off the goods, Catley."

You swat at the older woman, who dodges the tired attempt.

"Yeah, stop bullying my girlfriend, Catley."

Your head shoots up from it's laid back position on the back of the couch to look at the newly appeared brunette, standing across the lobby from you.

"Ky, get that cute butt over here, right now."

At your demand, she drops her stuff and runs over in two seconds flat, nearly tackling you back onto the seating, arms wrapped tightly around your form, nose buried in your neck.

Staying for a moment to just breathe each other in, your hands rub circles into the woman's back, your face buried in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, wincing at the smell of airplane on her.

She pouts when you pull away with a terribly hidden grimace.

"Baby, I love you, but you need a shower."

A soft whine from the midfielder makes you raise a brow at her.

"I just got in, can you blame me?"

There's a teasing smile on your lips as you wrap your arms around her waist.

"Obviously, you were supposed to shower before coming here."

Kyra huffs at that, crossing her arms.

"Love you."

She grumbles in response.

You nudge her, pouting.

"Love you."

Still no response.

You grab her face, turning her head back towards you with a small frown.

"I love you."

When she doesn't respond again, you start peppering her face with kisses and she gives in, grinning at you.

"Alright! Alright! Love you, too."

Satisfied, you give her a small peck, to which she chases you up for a second, a third and then someone clearing their throat beside you interrupts her from a fourth.

"Alright, you two, stop being gross."

It's a grunt from the striker on your left, which earns her a slap to the shoulder.

"Leave them be, Caitlin."

-----------------------

It's your final day off before the full commitment to the World Cup preparations takes precedence over your time in Australia, thus you want to do as much as you can with your girlfriend before your time together, alone, gets limited.

You'd had a few days off to explore the city, but nothing really concrete as you and Kyra had just wandered around the area where the hotel is.

This time, you wanted to plan something for the midfielder, something to last you both the couple weeks of the World Cup, hoping it would tide you both over, knowing it'd be torture not spending time together.

At least when she was in Sweden, you had space to yourselves over facetime.

World Cups are chaotic, and allow little to no time to yourselves, as you've so discovered and been told by the older girls on the team.

So, here you are, calling various different restaurants for reservations tonight, with, unfortunately, no luck.

Instead, managing to sneak away from the girl for an hour or so, you run down to the grocery store, pick up several of her favourite snacks, drinks, and a small surprise that you think she'll love and then rush back to the hotel, getting ready for a night out in one of the cities parks.

She looks at you suspicious when you drag her down, scraggily dressed in hoodies and sweats, to a taxi rather insistently, dragging a completely full duffle bag behind you.

Not that you blame her.

You would be sussed out, too, if she decided to randomly drag you out to a taxi at six on a Saturday night, carrying a nearly ripping at the seams, black duffle bag.

"Sooooo... Where are we goin', babe?"

"You'll see."

You let out a little laugh at the small pout she has on her face, pecking her sweetly on the lips in exchange for the small smile she relents at the sound of your giggle.

When you finally pull up at the park, you're all but dragging the woman across the green grass and to the edge of the waterline where you drop the blanket you'd been carrying down onto the somewhat flat grassed area.

It's lit well enough that when the sun starts to set, it's not ridiculously dark, so you take a little comfort knowing it's not entirely dangerous out, plus the added comfort of the occasional family or couple wandering by on the path just to the left of you by ten feet or so.

You nudge her to sit down next to you, hand settling in hers.

"I wanted us to have a nice little sit down together to just relax and talk and eat and just be stress free for a little while. Just to breathe for the night. Together. It's about to be even more hectic and I've missed you."

You pout softly, leaning into her a little.

She leans over, kissing you fully, hand on your face tugging you in closer.

You're both a little breathless when she let's your face go again.

"I love you, so fucking much."

Giggling, you kiss her once more.

"I love you, too."

Finally, you open up the bag and dump out the contents onto her lap, knowing you're about to have a very excited sugar hyped puppy on your hands after this.

Her eyes sparkle up at you, the grin on her face causing her eyes to crease at the corners.

"Just wait 'til you see what else is in there."

Eyes darting around the small pile, she digs through it to find a pair of packets of sparklers and a small lighter.

She feels giddy, and looks the part, too, her immediate giggle and hug crushing you making your heart just about melt through your body entirely.

It's adorable.

It's cute.

It's oh so Kyra and you feel your heart bursting at the thought that you get to call her yours.

You're dragged out of your train of thought by said woman dragging you to your feet, lighting a sparkler and handing it to you, running around you, both of your giggles and the small handheld fireworks lighting up the night sky and the river before you.

No matter where you are, how far apart they keep you, Kyra will always be your one, you realise.

It's a small, heartbeat skipping thought, but it makes you smile harder and enjoy the moment all the more while you can.

The sparkler she's holding blasts out tiny stars of combusting magnesium, being spread out harmlessly in the air and onto the grass as she runs circles around you.

It goes out within a minute or so, and she's looking over at you with puppy dog eyes.

"Babe, can you get another one out, pretty please? I wanna attack those cheezels soon."

You chuckle, obliging with her demands, a small kiss to your lips as thanks.

She may be a child at heart still, but she's yours.

-----------------------

[gtsdreamer2]

   You were deep in the Amazon rainforest. A recent graduate with your mycology doctorate, you were researching a special species of mushroom that only was said to grow deep in the jungle and only during the twenty four hours of the full moon during the autumn months. According to ancient texts found in the indigenous people's temples, the mushroom was used in fertility rituals and to signify a bountiful harvest during these months before the cold winter. You were curious about the cultural significance as well as the medicinal properties of this rare shroom. You didn't know what it looked like, only that it wasn't foraged for by the locals anymore and that it should look like a mushroom that you don't know.

   Hours of searching later, you begin to grow tired and wonder if you should give up and wait until the next full moon. The sun is starting to set when you finally spot something different. It's a mushroom you've never seen before, which is remarkable seeing as how you've seen them all. The cap is a pinky flesh color with an even pinker button on top. You giggle to yourself as you remark that it looks like a tit with a firm nipple poking out of it.

   Kneeling down, you take out your notebook and a pencil and begin to sketch it. 'I'm just drawing a boob.' You think to yourself. You stare in awe at this shroom as the sun continues to set. Taking your pencil, you poke the nipple-esque protrusion. Immediately this mushroom expells a giant cloud of spores right in your face. You gasp in surprise, sucking into your lungs an ample amount of the potent plume.

   You hack and cough, but its way too late for that, they're already lodged deep within you and entering your blood stream. Your eyes dialate and your body grows hot. You stand and lean against a tree, trying to catch your breath. You can feel your heatbeat in every nerve. Your cells are responding in a way they never have to the new foreign agent that has begun to take over you. Your heatbeat concentrates in your breasts as you feel your nipples grow almost painfully erect. Then you feel your breasts start to press against your soft white cotton top. You can feel the belts on your corset tighten to try and contain whatever is happening to you. Suddenly you shoot up four inches in height.

   Your sudden growth spurt elicits an a forced maon from your mouth. "Mmmph!" You cry out as a second wave hits you. The belts on your corset snap and suddenly you're six foot five with the seams of your jeans splitting. You feel your feet break free from your hiking boots as your toes sink into the damp rainforest earth.

   'This is starting to feel really good.' You think to yourself as you start to regain a semblance of your normal senses. Doing a body check, you can tell that you've grown. Your breasts have at least doubled in size and are now very hot and sensitive to the touch. You can feel a hunger deep in your womb as if ovulating on steroids.

   You attempt to sit down on the cool jungle floor, your now massive ass shredding the back of your jeans as you squat down. You pick up your pad and pen and continue to make notes about the shroom.

   'It is clear that this is how the Amazon women in the lore of this land gained their stature, and I can clearly feel why this particular fungus was revered for its fertility-inducing properties. I feel so full of life, yet I also feel the need to be bred full of babies.' Looking back at your notes, you are in shock that you actually wrote that down.

   You wonder to yourself how potent the flesh of the shroom might be, considering what just inhaling some of the spores had done to you. As the sun began to set, you walk back over to the shroom and delicately pluck it out of the ground before greedily shoving the whole thing into your mouth, quickly swallowing it without so much as trying to find out what it tastes like. Again the euphoria strikes your body. You feel its effects ten fold as you quickly gain four feet in height and explode out of your inadequate top. Sitting back down on the remainder of your ruined clothes, you bask in the feeling of your massive body and heightened strength and senses. You close your eyes and listen to the jungle around you, lamenting that you ate the only specimen that you had found on your journey, and now the only evidence was what it had done to you. When you open your eyes, the realize that the moon has peaked through the canopy. Your dialated eyes can see the jungle floor quite clearly now, and shimmering all across the damp dense expanse before you, you can see dozens more of the mushroom glowing against the moon, as if drinking in its power. 'It would have been so much easier to find at night.' You chastise yourself as you stand up again. You leave your ruined clothes behind as you pick up your foraging Satchel and start to delicately pick as many of the shrooms as you can carry, trying your best to put them in containers without them expelling more spores. 'This will be so great for my research.' You think to yourself. 'And it'll make a great snack for the walk back'. You giggle to yourself as you pop another three into your mouth.

[marleyybluu]

Oscar x pregnant!reader

Wc: 1.9k

warnings: daddy issues, use of OMB scenes so spoilers I guess, sad Spooky, shitty ending cus my attention span cut out

"No, no, no! You can not put down two draw fours!" Yn shouted at Cesar while the two dabbled in an intense game of UNO. Cesar chuckled waving his one card in her face. "You're just mad because you're losing." He bragged. Though it was confirmed she would never admit it, she quickly pouted and placed her hand on her stomach, he chuckled shaking his head knowing the card that she was about to play. "I'm gonna tell your niece or nephew you didn't let their mommy win."

Her boyfriend Spooky could be heard letting out a bellyful laugh from down the hall, he emerged from his room making his way toward them where they sat around the table not too far from the living room. "Mamita, you can't say that every time you don't get your way." She stuck out her tongue. "I can and I will for the remaining six months."

He rolled his eyes and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Fine," She reluctantly picked up eight more cards just for Cesar to dramatically slam his last one on the table. He stood up took the last swig of his beer and rested the empty bottle on the table, he was next to kiss her head before grabbing his things and heading out. "I'll see you guys later, I'm with Monse if you need me."

"Have fun." She called out. The door closed and the house was once again silent, Yn gathered the cards and packed them nicely back into the box they came in. She heard the sound of the front door opening and assumed it was Cesar, she said "What'd you forget knucklehead?" But frowned when she was met with their father, Ray. A few days ago the older gentleman had found himself across from the traphouse, Cesar panicked about a stranger just stalking outside so Spooky went to investigate, and with Yn's nosey ass at the window, she noticed Spooky's body language and he was not happy.

Spooky never spoke about his dad, maybe once, but that was it. She could tell he had resentment in his heart for that man, he was a stranger and for him to pop back up after all these years wasn't ideal for anyone in this situation. YN had to admit it was nice seeing Cesar happy and hearing him talk about all the things they were going to do and how much they had to catch up on but judging by the look on Ray's face right in front of her... those plans would never set in motion.

She pitied him a half-smile before dodging into the kitchen. Spooky sat in the background on the couch observing the cold interaction, internally smiling that she would be on his side no matter the minor details that she knew. Ray disappeared into one of the rooms, Spooky was curious as to what he was there for but was brought out of it when he was called to the kitchen. He got up and followed her voice, she was desperately trying to reach the third shelf and was failing miserably, usually, she'd grab a chair but with a baby inside she was more cautious of what she did.

"Can you grab a plate for me papito?"

"Of course, baby."

She squealed and applauded the small gesture as he handed the plate over to her. "Thank you." She blew him a kiss but he wanted a real one, his hand snaking around her waist he pulled her in tightly. Her hands ran up his neck and landed under his jawline. Their lips touched, fitting like pieces of a puzzle, melting together like it was the first time. She could feel his hands slide a little further down, she gasped at the hard squeeze he delivered she pulled back smacking his chest. "Why can't I have one little innocent kiss?"

"That question is what got you pregnant in the first place." He joked gently pressing his hand on her little belly. Yn shooed him off. Oscar laughed and left her alone only to return to the main area and see Ray with his duffle bag on top of the table packing his clothes up. "Finally cleaning up your mess?" He asked. Ever since he arrived it'd practically become a pigsty, his girl often complaining that she wasn't some maid for a grown-ass man, especially one she had no relation to. Ray avoided eye contact as he answered. "I'm leaving, think I've caused enough drama."

Leaving. All he did was leave, run away from his problems, and scram when things got serious. It wasn't the first time Oscar experienced it but there was no doubt that it still hurt, he felt himself shrink into that little kid again, watching the man who was supposed to be there for him vanish, the man who was supposed to teach him how to become one disappear without a trace leaving him and Cesar alone to fend for themselves.

"Good," He responded. "You tell Cesar your plan?"

There was a moment of silence, Ray had stopped packing and sighed making eye contact with his oldest. "I'll tell him when I get to Bakersfield, there's a guy up there who can help me out... help you out too-"

Spooky had turned cold, that scowl plastered on his face, the boiling hate flashing in his eyes. "I don't need help, I got everything I need."

Ray let out an amused chuckle. "The Santos? That girl?" Oscar took a step forward, fists balled up, father or not he would put down anyone that disrespected his girl. She was his home, his family, she was everything that he needed. "Her name is Yn, and she let you stay with us, not me... if it were up to me you'd be out on the street with the rest of the stray dogs."

Little did they know they had an audience for this performance, not too far off Yn had poked her head from the kitchen she had stopped what she was doing the minute she heard their voices. "I hope they don't sell you out, I hope she's good to you because one day all that love you think you're getting from them is gonna be gone."

"Ray." He warned. "This street shit isn't the life man, you don't have to stay here, go and make something of yourself."

Oscar's eyes softened, and he began to nod in agreement. "Thanks, Papa, you're right. I could be president or a fucking astronaut, maybe even a movie star right? Because I had such a great fucking role model!"

"I had a shitty dad too, mijo," Ray's tone was so nonchalant when he said it and something about it was making Yn's skin crawl it just sounded like he didn't care. "But you gotta let that rage go."

It took everything for her not toa put in her two cents. How do you let the rage from constant and consistent disappointment go? She could tell Spooky had this overbearing feeling that he was a failure, that he failed Cesar, failed the Santos and even failed her-- so how was he just supposed to let that go?

Yn had thought the fire between them had died down, that Ray had left and Spooky was just standing there disassociating at the fact that he was in his twenties and still being abandoned. But when she brought herself into frame the two of them had gone, their muffled argument had moved outdoors. Her feet carried her to the front door, where she stood behind the screen watching it go down from a distance.

"Everything bad that's ever happened in my life is because of you! You're gonna crush Cesar the same way you crushed me!" His voice weakened, almost cracking like he was fighting to keep that little boy inside. Ray was already at the end of the path, one foot almost on the black tarmac road, he dropped his bag and turned around to face Spooky. "You never wrote to me... you didn't call, you didn't even visit not once! Did you even think about me?"

YN placed her hand over her heart, she wanted nothing more than to drag him inside and coddle him for all he's been through but he needed to let this out he'd been holding it in for far too long. She looked as Ray walked back toward Spooky.

"Oscar-" He began but Spooky shut it down. "You wanna know the worst part about not having a father? I had to be a father to my brother without having been a son first!" He sniffled. "I have a girl in there who loves me, who taught me how to love since I didn't have you or mama as examples... she's having my baby and I'm scared that I'm gonna end up like you!"

Oscar broke, completely shattered. Yn didn't think there'd be a day when she heard her partner weeping from the deep sadness that he felt, the sadness that was cloaked in anger. Ray didn't say anything, he pulled Oscar in for a hug and he resisted at first but once again his inner child betrayed him and he loosened a bit returning the embrace and they stayed like that for a while. Oscar buried his head in his father's shoulder, nothing was said, it was a bittersweet and brief moment before that rage entered his system again. That wall reappeared in seconds.

He wasn't little Oscar Diaz anymore he was back to Spooky who aggressively shoved his father off of him. "Take your shit and go, make sure I don't see you here again."

And just like that, he was gone again. Spooky turned around with a pout on his face, he stopped at the front door seeing Yn through the screen. "Did you eat?" Funny that even in his obvious time of need he was still worried about her. She shook her head, stretched out her hand to his and gently pulled him inside. Once the door closed the tears that he had just soaked back up were released once again. Yn pulled him over to the couch, sat him down and then took her place beside him.

He fell apart in her arms. "I fucking hate him." She rubbed his back. "All he does is fucking leave me... what did I do?"

"Ay! You didn't do anything papito, he's just an asshole."

"Am I not good enough?"

She frowned. "You are more than enough my love, I promise you. You are more than enough for me, for Cesar and for the baby. You did a great job raising him and you will do an even better one raising ours."

He lifted his head from where it rested on her shoulder, she swiped her thumb across his cheeks to wipe his tears. "How are you so sure?"

"You already do enough for the baby and they're not even here. You make sure I'm eating enough, you make sure I'm relaxed. I wish you could've seen your face when I told you." Now she was tearing up. "I couldn't have picked a better person to make a family with."

He softly smiled. "I love you."

"Duh." She sarcastically answered which received a decent chuckle. "I love you too, we're good okay? I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." He mumbled. She smiled and pulled him in for a kiss. "Let's eat, yeah?"

"Yeah."

I just felt like writing something kind of sad. idk why.

for the Pedro girlies im working on Truth or Drink3

for the Rio girlies, working on The Nanny 3

trying not to burn tf out lol just put me down at this point.

if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

peace and love.

[ghcstao3]

more mi6 ghost and sas soap i beg!!! it itches something in my brain so hard!!!! i love ur writing sm ur sosososo talented <333

(original post since it’s been so long i am so so sorry. also apologies if it's paced weirdly i never had much of an idea where to take the original prompt. thank you though, for supporting my writing :) <3)

-

Soap would never be so naive as to expect a warm welcome from a team of elite agents, but the cold shoulder he's thus far received from one of said agents hardly seems necessary in its place.

He's barely even said a word.

The haughty bastard keeps staring at Soap, too, like Soap can't tell there are eyes on him behind sunglasses, and a frown behind a medical mask. He refused to shake Soap's hand, hadn't even been introduced by name like the others—Ghost, is all that was offered—and now he was scrutinizing Soap in some indecipherable way that Soap would put up to a cause of him being military, if it weren't for the fact that no one else of similar status was getting the same treatment.

It's bizarre. It couldn't even be the mohawk, for once, because he'd actually grown that out in anticipation of this high-honour, high-stakes mission.

Of course, the treatment doesn't ebb as days, weeks stretch on. But Soap learns to live with it, throws himself into the mission like he has something to prove, acquaints himself with everyone else.

Ghost becomes a background nuisance. He and his perfectly tailored suits hardly hold any weight to Soap by the time they're forced together and everything becomes a whole lot clearer.

Two months into the operation is when the team finally encounters the kind of action Soap is used to; bouts of gunfire, ducking for cover, barking out commands, incapacitating enemies with force before stealth. Begrudgingly, Soap and Ghost are left to cover one another's sixes.

Admittedly, Ghost is a damn good shot and has a rather keen eye for enemies. Soap would never utter this statement aloud, but they work terribly well as a team.

When everything goes silent for several minutes and they've received confirmation that the area's been cleared, that they're free to proceed with the mission, Ghost and Soap cautiously move from where they'd been taking cover.

Then Ghost is shot in the chest.

Another few gunshots ring out following, as Soap drags the agent back into their hiding place. Thankfully his bulletproof vest had taken the brunt of the blow, but it's obvious the wind had been knocked out of Ghost, evidenced by the sharp, wheezing gasps that try to pull air into his lungs.

Soap offers nothing more than a clipped sorry before ripping off the mask that's clearly hindering Ghost's ability to draw a proper breath.

His heart drops. Soap knows that face.

For good measure, he removes Ghost's sunglasses as well, and—fuck. Yes, Soap knows that face. Intimately.

"Simon? You bastard, what the hell?"

Simon winces. He's still breathless when he replies, "Johnny, don't—later. Fuck."

Later. Soap huffs. He only agrees because there are more pressing things, of course, but also because he's not happy to imagine the nasty bruise that was surely going to blossom across his partner's chest in the coming days.

They're not as useful the second time around, but they get what they need done. Soap operates purely on confusion and a mild frustration until later finally arrives, because he'd just like to know... anything, really.

Unfortunately, later doesn't even come when the mission is completed. Later doesn't even come until about a month following Soap's discovery. Suspense nearly kills him.

They're both home again. The operation had been of enough importance that it had, thankfully, warranted everyone at least a short break. Simon is only home because of the bruise that has yet to fade.

Things are tense, initially. Words are terse yet not unkind; they give each other space yet they go to sleep in the same bed each night. Their mutual stubbornness keeps them both from acknowledging the elephant in the room.

Until Soap grows too impatient, nearing the end of his own leave.

Over an otherwise silent dinner, Soap finally asks, "Will I ever get to know what was going on during that mission, then? Why you were being such a prick?"

Simon pauses, setting his fork down with a sigh. His shoulders slump as he sits back in his chair and drags a tired hand over his face, and Soap almost scoffs. Like the issue hasn't been bothering Soap as well.

"I didn't want you to worry about me over the course of everything. In case something happened," Simon confesses.

Soap snorts. "What, like you wouldn't be worried about me? Like you aren't worried about me, already knowing what I do for work?"

"No, Johnny, that's not what—" Simon sighs again. Soap catches the way he almost moves his hand to rub his chest in habit, before rethinking the choice in remembering the bruise. "Of course I worry about you. I just... didn't want to create any unnecessary risks. I trust you, more than anyone, but I've also been in this line of work for a while. I know my own limits."

Soap hangs his head. He... understands. He does. His own career requires the same kinds of limitations, but he's still upset that Simon felt he couldn't manage.

"I'm sorry," Simon eventually murmurs. He reaches a hand across the table and covers Soap's balled fist with a warm, callused hand. "I was wrong. You're a good soldier. Should've known that seein' you were chosen for the task force."

A blush burns at the tips of Soap's ears, and gradually he unclenches his hand. "I forgive you," he says. Soap doesn't think he could fault Simon forever, anyway. "But you'd better make it up to me."

"Of course." A smile tugs at Simon's lips, something almost mischievous. "Anything you like."

(This, of course, meant that Soap would be taking great pleasure in beating Simon's records at the gun range. And perhaps a few other things as well.)

[pleaselmhau]

Another thought of Accidental-boyfriend-and-stepdad-Ghost (pt. 2)

It’s been a six months since he came into your lives. Things have been going good, far too good. Ghost never thought he’d end up with a single parent, hell he thought he wasn’t the settling down type at all before all this. The relationship is easy, comfortable. Though he can’t help feeling like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. What ends up being the shoe is certainly not what he was expecting though.

You had mentioned some leaky pipes in the kitchen. He didn’t know what came over him, this domestic feeling that made him scoff at the idea of another man coming and taking care of that for you. That’s his job, to take care of you both. He knows it’s a bit ridiculous, a the repair person could be anyone, it doesn’t mean anything. But something deep settled inside him, a deep wanting to take care of these things as if to make up for the years you had to do it all alone. So not even a hour later he’s at your house with a box of tools, price tag still tied around the handle, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s doing.

He nearly has it, he thinks, wrench heavy in his hand. You offered your help, but he insisted he knew what he was doing. But then he hears the pitter patter of small feet on the tile and then a small form crashing right into him. He lets out a grunt, shifting to duck his head out from under the sink to look down at Lily. She’s all smiles, stumbling back from her hug to look eye level with him sitting on the floor. “Look, we made pictures today at school.” She beams, holding out a small stack of three drawings. He accepts them, large and calloused hand closing around the papers. His eyes survey the first one, an orange and white cat. “Very good,” he says instinctively. He doesn’t know when he became this, so domestic. Though it certainly has something to do with the little girl standing in front of him watching his face for approval.

He flips to the next one, a self portrait of her. He can feel his eyes crinkle in the corners as he takes in the wild colors of the outfit she drew herself in. Somewhere between a princess and walking rainbow. Then he flips to the last one and his breath hitches. Three figures standing hand in hand. One that clearly depicts you standing to the left. One that clearly depicts her standing in the middle. Then the last one standing to the right, tall with short blonde blonde hair. Big blocky letters under the bottom, spelling out ‘mom/dad’ under your picture, ‘me’ under hers, and ‘dad Simon’ under his. Lily had always called him just Simon until now. Fuck he doesn’t know what to do, if he should encourage this or explain he’s not biologically her father. But when he looks up and sees that almost nervous look in her eyes as she waits for his reaction he really realizes how deep he’s in. Because fuck does he want this. Wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted before. So he reaches out, pulling her back into a hug. “These are beautiful,” he finally says, earning excited noises as she squeezes her little arms around his shoulders.

You’re a bit confused when you walk into the kitchen to see Ghost sitting on the floor, hugging Lily with watery eyes, but all it takes is one look at the papers he’s clutching in his hand as if it’s his lifeline to realize.

[throatofdelusionincarnate]

Honeybee

Horror! Sans x Reader Oneshot

Here’s a little self indulgent crap from me to you because I cannot get my mind off of Horror Sans lately :)

Might be posted to AO3 later under the same username throatofdelusionincarnate

Word Count - 2,478

—

The soft grumble of thunder draws you from your sleep. You turn, glancing at the clock on the bedside table and blink a few times. Six thirty. On a Saturday. You rub your eyes and sigh. Soft rain patters against the window of your apartment and beside you Sans slumbers on.

You watch his large chest rise and fall for a moment. When you first got together, you thought it was a choice he consciously made. Something to make him seem more human. Though, after months together, you had realized it was just something he did. Perhaps it serves a purpose, pumping magic through his body as yours does blood. Or maybe it’s just a subconscious habit that he’s picked up. Either way, his large breaths comfort you.

Gently, you place a hand on his skull, just directly under the large wound that decorates the top of his head, and stroke his cheek with your thumb.

You won’t be able to go back to sleep, not with the growing thunderstorm outside. Still, there’s no reason to wake him up. You know how difficult it is for him to sleep, and you’d prefer that he gets the rest he needs. You can entertain yourself for a couple of hours.

You lean forward and place a chaste kiss on his brow bone. He stirs for a moment, then returns to his rest, a stifled snore escaping. A small laugh leaves you and after one final peck on his nasal cavity you swing your legs over the bed.

The apartment is cold, per usual, and goosebumps climb up your legs before spreading to your arms, then tips of your fingers. You shuffle towards the closet, each step feeling like ice beneath your feet.

You disappear inside the small walk-in, shutting the door before turning on the light. The sudden brightness causes you to squint, and for a moment you only stand there, adjusting to the feeling of being awake.

Once you can finally see, you rummage through your clothing for pants and some socks. You slip on a pair of very loved sweatpants, tying them at the waist so they don’t fall down. Then, you perform your best balancing act as you put on your socks. Regrettably, you roll the sweatpants over them, hiding the bacon decal and the phrase “make today sizzle!”

After your legs and feet are successfully bundled up, you turn to Sans’s stash of clothing and grab out a comically large grey sweatshirt with red lettering that says “BAD TO THE BONE” on it. You slip it over your pj shirt, allowing the hem to hang just above your knees. You swim through the sleeves for a moment before your hands emerge and you can push the cuffs to sit at your wrist.

You shut off the closet light then stumble out of the dark bedroom as Sans continues to softly snore.

The world is quiet save for the interspersed roll of thunder. So long as you’re up, you might as well make some breakfast. By the time you finish Sans will most likely be awake. His rest comes in short bursts.

If you remember correctly he crawled into bed at two last night. Four hours is longer than he normally sleeps, but the rain does tend to make him more tired than usual.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and click on the music app and press shuffle. A soft song radiates from the speaker and you leave the phone propped up on the counter to play as you cook.

Slowly, you collect your ingredients, settling for pancakes and bacon. You hum along to the song, whisking pancake mix together with milk, extra vanilla, and a dash of orange juice.

The rain grows heavier outside, pounding against the kitchen window. The occasional streak of lighting brightens the room before thunder overtakes it.

You pry open the package of bacon and set a few slices in the pan, watching them curl and sizzle against the heat.

Thunder booms and you jump as a large set of arms are folded around your waist.

“m’ sorry. didn't mean to scare you.” You settle into the grip, looking up to see Sans standing over you.

A small laugh spills from you. “The thunder startled me, though I still can’t get over how quiet you walk.” He leans his head down and you press a quick kiss to his teeth. “Did I wake you?”

He straightens back up and shakes his head. “nah, storm got loud. slept for too long anyways.”

Gently, the two of you begin to sway. He rests his skull on top of your head. You pull an arm free to grab a fork then flip the bacon over to let the other side darken. “Ah yes, because five hours is such a crazy amount of time to sleep.”

Sans just hums in response. The two of you will probably end up on the couch today, so you’re almost certain that Sans will get another couple hours of sleep. You might sneak in a little nap yourself. The rain is definitely making you drowsy despite just having woken up.

“Chocolate chips in your pancakes?” You ask, pulling out the bacon and setting it on a paper towel-lined plate.

“you know me so well,” he rumbles above you.

“I should hope so,” you grab a small measuring cup and dip it into the batter, then pour it onto the pan to cool. “We’ve been dating for almost a year now. I’d be a poor partner if I didn’t know how you liked your pancakes,” You pour more batter into the pan.

“You’re gonna have to let me go if you want chocolate chips.”

“or we could awkwardly shuffle over to the cabinet together.” Sans offers.

You roll your eyes and tap on his arm, “C’mon big guy, let go.”

A small gasp escapes you as you're lifted off your feet. Sans cradles you, a large grin on his face. “hmm… don’t think I will.”

You squirm a bit in his grasp, giving him a playful glare. “Sans the pancakes are going to burn.”

“i like mine a little crispy anyways.” He says.

“Well i don't!”

He shrugs, red eyes tracing over your features. “i ‘spose i can be persuaded… if ya got something good to offer in exchange for your freedom.”

“How about a not-charred breakfast?” You answer.

“tempting, but i might need a bit more. inflation is crazy right now.”

You sputter under his gaze. “You’re unbelievable!”

Though despite your protests, you stretch upwards, pressing your lips to his teeth. Sans returns the gesture, melting into you before pulling away. “There, now can I flip the pancakes?”

“m’ afraid you forgot tax.”

“Oh my god,” you deadpan. “How do you stay open with these business practices?” This time, you reach your hands up and pull his skull to you. Your nose presses against his cheek and you nuzzle him.

“what can i say,” Sans beams, red eye blown out and a light blush on his face. “my customers are very loyal.”

Finally he sets you down, though one hand still holds yours. “No accounting for taste,” you say, giving his fingers a quick squeeze before letting go.

Sans lingers, turning to lean against the counter as you grab chocolate chips. You scurry back to the pan and open up the bag before sprinkling the chocolate all over the pancakes. Then, you grab a spatula and flip them.

The tops are a very dark brown, verging on black. “These are yours,” you declare, nudging Sans with your hip.

He shrugs, “m’ not picky.”

You smile, “Yea I know. You’re my big cuddly garbage disposal.”

“who else is gonna eat the tomatoes off your burgs?” Sans’s hand sneaks forward, slipping into the bag of chocolate chips. He pulls out a small handful and tosses them into his mouth.

Playfully, you swat at him. “We’re not gonna have enough for the pancakes if you eat all of them.”

He ignores you, and grabs a single chip out. Sans makes eye contact with you, and you silently return it, daring him to. He does. With a self-satisfied grin he pops it into his mouth.

“You little shit!” You exclaim, snatching the bag up and setting it on the opposite side of you, away from his reach.

“awhhh c’mon hun,” he attempts to reach over you but you place your full weight against him to keep him back. You know he can easily move you if he wants to, but this is just play. Plus, he enjoys letting you win. “it’s just a few chocolate chips, i ain’t hurtin’ anyone.”

“I would like some in my pancakes,” you huff. “Once I’m done with them you can have as many as you wang.” You let up on the pressure and grab the spatula, putting the two slightly burnt pancakes on a plate. Gently, you push it into Sans’s hands. “Go butter these, hm?”

He sighs, “making me do manual labor this early in the morning? butter be grateful you’re cute.”

You snort, “Awh, you’re making me melt.”

“heh, good one. this is why you’re my butter half.”

Sans moves past you, plate in hand. As he crosses, you can see a skeletal hand try to reach into the bag. You gasp, and slam your hand down on the opening just before Sans can steal anymore chocolate.

“my genius plan, thwarted.”

“Butter luck next time,” you grin, hand still over the bag.

He chuckles, “you might’ve won for now, but I’m gonna get that chocolate eventually.”

He walks to the table, stopping quickly to grab a knife from the silverware drawer, then sets to work on doctoring up his pancakes.

With him gone you whip up a couple more batches, saving a generous handful of chocolate chips for Sans. The lull of rain and music settles you after your playful banter and you find yourself lightly humming along as you gather various accouterments for your meal.

You set the plate of pancakes in front of Sans and he gets to work on buttering those while you travel back and forth from the kitchen. You bring out the bacon, whip cream, syrup, and then two glasses with a couple juice options.

Finally, you settle in your seat across from Sans. He offers you the plate of pancakes first, knowing that you’ll take whatever you want and then he can have the rest.

You take two of the six and stack them on your plate before handing it back to Sans. Then you grab a couple of slices of bacon before sliding that over too. He eyes food and grabs the syrup, dousing his plate with it.

“Oh!” You exclaim, standing up. He lifts his gaze curiously as you dart back into the kitchen, grabbing the remaining chocolate chips. You set the bag in front of him. “For you!”

Sans smiles, pouring out a couple, “thanks hun.” He reaches across the table and gingerly arranges them in a small smiley on your pancakes.

You grin down at the happy looking face, “I hate to destroy such a cute gesture.”

“here lemme help,” Sans plucks one of the eyes off and eats it.

“Hey!” You protest playfully, reaching over to nab one of his chocolate chips. “There. We’re even.”

“‘spose we are,” He beams. “eat your food before it gets cold.”

You don’t have to be told twice. The two of you tuck into breakfast, a comfortable silence overtaking the room as you both enjoy the meal before you.

The constant rumble of thunder keeps you company as you finish up. Sans stands first, having finished his large plate of food, and grabs the serving dishes to take them to the sink. You stay behind, a bit slower at eating, and finish your food. Once done, you stand and bring your dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“you can just leave ‘em in the sink.’ He offers.

You nod, setting the dishes in the sink, then reach around to grab the washcloth. Gently, you nudge him to the side so you can wet the fabric down. You squeeze out any excess water and move back out of Sans’s way.

Quickly, you start the music back up and begin to wipe down the counters. A smooth voice comes out of the speakers as “Honeybee” by The Steam Powered Giraffes begins to play.

As you clean off the counters, removing any specks of flour and grease, you sing along. Behind you, Sans also begins to hum. You smile to yourself, enjoying the rasp of his deep baritone.

Everything is a peaceful, perfectly curated mix of noises that comforts you.

The sink shuts off and the clatter of dishes stops. Large arms squeeze your waist then spin you around to face them.

You look up at Sans, washcloth still in hand, and arch a brow. He removes the cloth from your grasp and replaces it with his hand, his smooth bony fingers enveloping yours.

His other hand stays at your waist and the two of you begin to sway. You get the hint and place your free hand on his chest, not quite tall enough to comfortably reach his shoulder.

Sans’s wide eye doesn’t leave you, and his usual expression melts into something akin to fondness.

“You didn’t have to smile at me, your grin’s the sweetest that I’ve ever seen. But you did. Yes, you did.” You sing softly as the two of you hold each other.

He brings your hand up to his teeth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You practically become a puddle. Your head rests on his chest, cheek pressing firmly into his shirt. His smell envelops you. It’s chalky and tinged with blood, but you don’t mind.

The two of you had made peace with his gory past long ago. Survival isn’t pretty, but in the face of starvation one does what must be done. Now, all you can do is keep him full and offer comfort and affection when he has a difficult day.

“you didn’t have to offer your hand. ‘cause since i’ve kissed it, i’m at your command. but you did.”

The world around you seems to disappear, and you cling to him, savoring the rumble that reverberates through his soul when he sings.

“set me free, my honeybee.”

As the storm rages outside, you and Sans remain. You know that neither of your lives have been perfect. His, less so than most. But in this moment, you’re grateful for everything that brought you together. You’re grateful for burnt pancakes and stolen chocolate chips; for thunderstorms and way too early mornings. You’re grateful that you get to call Sans yours.

Hello goodbye, I’m rather crazy, and I never thought I was crazy.

But what do I know?

I let myself go.

[chippedshake]

Marcia shouldn't be out on the East Side alone. She's heard more than enough horror stories from her classmates about girls who go too far out alone to know that it's a stupid decision. But every decision she's made since that Friday back in September has been stupid, so what's one more?

She's not entirely sure why she's going over to his house. He's made it clear that he isn't interested and this just makes her seem like a stalker who can't let go of some stupid flirting that happened nearly six months ago.

When she'd first asked Evie for his address, she'd thought she could surprise him a couple days later by showing up and taking him out. She wanted to wait until he called, though, so she could be sure he'd be home when she passed by. Then the son of a bitch hadn’t called her and months had gone by and she'd gotten pissed.

He'd made it abundantly clear he was into her back at the drive-in. If he wasn’t, why didn't he just reject her? Why make her go through the humiliation of months of waiting?

Now, as she draws her jacket closer around herself to feel a bit safer under all the gazes that follow her trail, she just wants an explanation. No one ever liked her before Two-Bit, not even Randy. They dated out of convenience and he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye when he skipped town.

Marcia's always been everyone’s second choice, just Cherry's best friend, the other one. Until Two-Bit came along. He saw her with Cherry and seemed to really see her. Not a best friend or comic relief or a way to get into someone else's pants. And she let herself get her hopes up like an idiot, thinking that maybe someone who got her would finally like her too.

And then he didn't call her back.

Is there something wrong with her – something so fundamentally wrong that no one could ever really like her?

Oh, God, and now she's knocking on his door and has absolutely no game plan and he's standing in front of her – has he been always that cute? – and his eyes are wide with shock, and she really seems like a stalker, doesn't she?

"I– uh... hi." Marcia looks up at him sheepishly. The anger that’s been boiling in her chest for weeks now seems to have completely disappeared, crumbling into motes of dust that sweep away with the wind.

All she really wants to do now is hug him and bury her face in his chest and tell him all of the remarks she's suppressed during the past few months because once she got a taste of someone clicking with them, it wasn’t the same when they fell flat.

But he doesn't want to have anything to do with her. He couldn’t even bother to call. And this is stupid. This is really, very stupid. Why is she even here?

"Sorry, I– I shouldn’t be here, this is stupid, I'm stupid, I'll go now–" She can't meet his eyes as she turns back around, cheeks burning.

This is why no one likes you. It's not enough that you're weird and awkward and rough and just pretty, not beautiful. You don’t think things through and you're scatterbrained and you're so fucking stupid, it's a wonder Randy even put up with you for so long–

"Wait, Marcia!" Marcia's head jerks up to find Two-Bit jogging towards her. "I don't..." His hand comes up – to run through his hair, to touch her face – but stops midway "I don't think it was stupid. You comin' here. I also don't think you're stupid."

He's close to her. Close enough to see unshed tears she hasn't been able to suppress. Close enough to the see the bags under her eyes from worrying about what to do. Close enough for her to count his freckles, if she wanted to. Close enough for anyone walking by to easily misinterpret the scene they're seeing.

Neither of them step back.

"That’s just 'cause o' the aliens controllin' your mind. You ain't worn your aluminum hat today, right?" Her delivery's off and it doesn't land how she wants it to. It's hard for a joke to sound funny when you're holding back tears.

"I think the one thing me an' the aliens can agree on is that you're better'n most of this town gives you credit for."

It isn't the first time Two-Bit's complimented her, – he used far too many stupid pick-up lines that night they'd met, and about the first thing he'd said to her was that she was sharp – but it is the first time he's said it in earnest, not a hint of wit in his tone. She's almost too surprised to remember why she's there.

"The aliens tell ya not to call me, then?" The dust motes of anger are swept up by a gust of wind and concentrated again, building up to their former glory and crashing down in a final show of power. "Or was that all you?"

Two-Bit raises an eyebrow, trying to seem nonchalant. It's strange that she can read him well enough to notice the subtle surprise as easily as if it were written in bold across his forehead.

"That– that was your real number?"

Marcia makes a sound that's something between a bark of laughter and a scoff. "Of course it was my real number. What, you think I'd give you a phony?"

"Oh, like it was stupid to think you wouldn't give a grease like me your number."

"I wouldn't give my number to a grease like Da– that Shepard boy, but I'd say so to his face," Marcia snaps, and Two-Bit winces at her slip-up. "And I most certainly would give a 'grease like you' my number, because I liked you and I said I would, an' for all the stupid rumours you can hear 'bout me, there ain't a single one 'bout me not keepin' my word."

His smile is crooked and he's raised an eyebrow and Marcia knows she's in trouble in more ways than one before he even opens his mouth.

"Liked me? Not anymore, then. I guess you just came all the way 'round here to tell me how much you don’t care about me."

She cracks a grin of her own because maybe she should still be mad at him but how is she supposed to, when there's that gap between his teeth and that sparkle in his eyes and that tilt to his grin? "Yeah. Can't stand ya, actually."

"I reckon I could change that."

Marcia raises an eyebrow. "You do, do you?"

"How's seven this Saturday?"

"You gonna pick me up or am I gonna hafta walk all the way over here again?"

"You gonna give me your real number or am I gonna hafta go to school just to see you again?"

They're smiling so wide they must look insane to anyone passing by, but neither of them minds as Marcia scribbles her number down onto a piece of paper and gives it over to him.

"Don’t lose it this time."

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

The Strawberry, The Sheriff, and the Cartel Sheriff Beau Arlen (Big Sky) x PI!Reader

Chapter One: Welcome to Big Sky, Mt!

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~Before we Begin~

A/N: this is part one of an ongoing series. If you like the story and would like to be part of a tag list: please let me know, either through dm or comments. Still looking for a beta reader, dm if interested! :) Icons are by me! As always, any and all interaction is appreciated!

I really love Big Sky, even for all its faults. And to be honest, I was genuinely hoping for a season four. Since we aren’t getting that, I’m writing this. I’m no expert on PI/Detective work, but I’m doing my best. This is a work of fiction after all.

Anyway, I don’t want to spoil anything, so I’m not going to give any background and let the story speaks for itself. :)

Content/Content Warning: Nothing too crazy yet, but I’d rather a 16+ audience on this series for what might happen later. References to drugs and kidnapping. Cursing. Canon typical violence will occur.

~Without further ado, Welcome to Big Sky, Mt!~

****************************************************

Who commits real crimes in Montana, anyway? I guess I’d always figured that there wasn’t enough of us to do so in the first place. But, as it turns out, no place is too small for shitty people. Go figure.

Part of me has always hoped for a big case. Something high stakes, something that might actually make me think. I had always been resigned to the throes of missing pets and cheating partners. Maybe a B&E or a purse-snatching here and there to spice things up. Sure, those are still crimes, but a kidnapping tied to a cartel?

Now we’re talking.

Wait. That sounds bad. Of course I feel bad for the victims, I’m not a jackass. It’s just that this is where things in my career finally get interesting. Where if I solve the case, I’m solving something bigger than Whitefish. Which would really make me feel better about myself, if I’m being honest. I don’t really feel like I’ve made a difference with any the cases I’ve solved. Sure, it’s good to see Mary-Jane get her cat back or tell Kathy-Lee that James was in fact cheating on her and seeing her so liberated after breaking up with him. But none of that is bigger than Whitefish, where I’ve been since I was born. I needed something important, something big.

And this certainly is that something big.

Something big enough that I’ve had to travel almost seven hours from my hometown to Big Sky. Bertha, my truck, needed to get out of the house anyway. But seven hours… damn. Especially considering Whitefish could be renamed ‘Small Town’- I don’t think I’d had driven more than two hours till then.

Something big enough that literal drug cartels were involved.

No one would expect Montana to have so many ties to cartels. It’s so random, right? I mean, who even thinks about Montana in the first place aside from hikers and outdoorsy people? I know I wouldn’t if I didn’t live here. But I guess that’s the draw for these weird mob families. There’s not much of a radar to be on up here.

Big Sky had barely cleared out the Bhullar family maybe six months ago. A friend of mine, a fellow PI named Cassie Dewell, had told me all about it. She had been involved; her friend Undersheriff Jenny Hoyt had been one of the major players in taking them down. But in the end, as I understood it, the family had more or less taken themselves down. Serves them right.

But when one pot empties you’ve got to fill it with something new, I guess. That’s where I come in.

See, I’m a PI because I couldn’t be bothered with the how rule-abiding proper detectives have to be. Rules don’t get things done in the justice system, in my opinion. I’ve seen too many people either go down or get off when they shouldn’t because of it.

Rules are good guidelines, but just that- guidelines. Something to guide you, but not something that’s always right. If you want to get things done, you need a little more independence.

But with that independence comes cases that folks in the Sheriff’s Department wouldn’t even have come across their desks. Like the cheating, or the missing pets. So be it: I get paid more; and anyway, sometimes the “dumb” stuff is what’s best to get you ready for the “good” stuff.

María Almería had been the one to reach out to me. Her and Felix, her husband; as well as her three kids, Anna, Josue and Carolina; are neighbors of mine. They’re good people, and I’m pretty close with the family. I like them a lot, from the parents to the kids.

Usually I get hunches about people- its why I’m good at my job. When Kathy-Lee asked me to investigate her husband, I could’ve told her off the bat that he was cheating. Not because I’d explicitly seen him, but for whatever reason I could read it on him. It’s like a sixth sense.

That sense must’ve been dormant every time I went to the Almerías’, though, because I had never once gotten a bad vibe about Felix. María’s husband was always kind, a good father- his kids would attest to that, a good husband- María never once had anything bad to say about him, and he actually carried his weight around the house. Cleaned dishes, did laundry… yes, the bar is low, but he is certainly better than most of the fish in the world’s hellhole of a sea. Not to mention that he was always genuine: never a bad word about anyone or anything, not even about cockroaches (those damned things are my mortal enemy). And you could see that genuineness his eyes, which are usually what gives someone’s story away if you know how to look at them.

Honestly, he was the last person I was expecting to go missing. I couldn’t even fathom the thought of him having enemies. With most people in cases like these, there’s at least one aspect about them that makes their disappearance make sense. Maybe it’s in how they act, or maybe it’s in the people they were most often around. I could rule out the first one: Felix has never had any senility issues, nor would be one to be prone to just run away from his family with no explanation. But that leaves the second option, the harder one.

When you know your client and the person that’s gone missing, things are immediately both easier and harder. Easier in that you know the client, and they know and trust you. Sure, that’s not every case, but in this case I was 99% sure that María nor her young children had anything to do with his disappearance. You’ve always got to have that slight doubt though, even if it’s just one percent. That’s detective work rule #1.

But in the same breath, it also makes it harder- the expectations and the stakes are higher. And also, you realize just how much you don’t know about people.

I had exhausted my every resource in Whitefish for a week, but there was absolutely no trace of Felix. María had even called him in missing to me before she could to the police- damn the wait 48 hours rule- and yet I still couldn’t get the jump on the blues.

The story was that María had taken her daughters clothes shopping while Josue was staying over at a friend’s for a sleepover. When they came home, Felix was gone. However, his phone was sitting on the table and his wallet and keys still on their kitchen counter, and the idea of him not taking any of those things was preposterous. He was one to always have them on him. That was why she called him in as missing after he didn’t return for a few hours. Her and her kids’ alibis checked out with both me and eventually the Whitefish Sheriff’s Department.

While researching Felix I had come across the name Bobby Ramirez. They had been in a news article together, set in Big Sky. And something about this Bobby, even from the pictures, didn’t seem right. His smile was just a little too crooked, his eyes betraying something stronger than mischief.

When I had asked María about his next of kin, she had said there was no one. But this Bobby looked so similar to Felix, to the point that I just had to ask. Apparently Bobby Ramirez’s real name is Roberto Almería, and he’s Felix’s estranged brother who lives in Big Sky. Never would’ve guessed.

Apparently the brothers had had a terrible relationship because, in María’s words, Bobby is “a nightmare.” I didn’t really get much more information than that, but the look in her eyes told me more than enough, along with the fact that she was visibly trembling. And the last time she saw him, before she even had kids, he had talked about going into a lucrative business (presumably drugs- fentanyl, maybe?) and promptly dropped off the grid. He’d asked Felix to join him and he had given a hard no, and I guess the falling out was so bad that the kids didn’t even know they had an uncle on their dad’s side. Once she had even gotten the feeling that Bobby could be involved in this, she begged me to back off. Even though her beloved husband was at risk, she begged me to back off. But I couldn’t: this family had shown so me far too much kindness in the past for me to just give up on Felix.

Bobby Ramirez apparently owns a repair shop in Big Sky. Bob’s Motors. Super creative, I know. It’s been open for about ten years- probably since around the time of the falling out. But from the shitty reviews online I have a good feeling it’s a front, since it’s still open, and the best lead I’ve got. María had mentioned that Bobby was in with a weird crowd, and that he was friends with Kory Jefferson. That’s where the presumed drug involvement comes in.

Kory, or KJ as he’s known on the streets, was and is bad news. He’s managed to weasel his way out of at least five arrests despite being a part of multiple drug cases. You know how? By being a CI for the police against his own employers in exchange for full immunity. It’s honestly impressive how many times he’s gotten away with the stunt, but I guess people wrongly figured him to be unimportant. Bobby being tied to him and Felix going missing just as KJ was buying mass property in Big Sky… it’s too much of a coincidence not to investigate.

Hence, the seven hour drive in the truck I’ve had fifteen years. Got it at the end of high school, a gift from my dad. But she was only supposed to last ten years. Emphasis on supposed to, cause my intention is to run her until she drops dead.

Thankfully my dad was a mechanic and he taught me how to fix just about any problem with the engine and the car in general. So, just like a truck that’s actually within its warranty, the only thing I usually have to worry about is me being a dumbass.

And a dumbass I am.

I had wisely decided to test the limits of the infamous last bar of gas- look, I only had to stop once so I was thinking maybe I could make it.

I thought wrong.

“Whoops,” is what I most definitely did not say when my car actually stopped just a few miles beyond the “Welcome to Big Sky, Mt!” sign. What I really said was a string of profanities so colorful and vulgar that I genuinely would rather not repeat them. I had smacked the hazards button, and then stepped outside and kicked the tire with enough force to almost break my toe, because one dumb decision wasn’t enough for me that day.

So yeah, that’s about where we are right now. I’m standing outside of my car with one hand on my hip and the other holding my phone, weighing my options. The nearest gas station is naturally twenty miles away, and one thing’s for sure is that I’m no marathoner. It would probably take me until tomorrow to get there. On the other hand, I could do the normal thing and call a tow truck. But if there’s anything my frugal mother taught me, it’s that you shouldn’t pay for anything unless you absolutely have to. I don’t necessarily agree with that, but it’s sort of ingrained in me, and in this instance, I don’t really want to call a skeevy tow trucker.

Of course; there’s always the third, very rational option: I turn into the Hulk and push the truck. Obviously that’s the most plausible of the three.

Just as I’m getting ready to be a normal person and figure out a towing service to call does a sign of life appear. Up until now, somehow, literally nobody had passed through this road. It’s another truck, burgundy and bulky.

I wave, my face still stuck in a scowl as the driver approaches. It rolls to a halt near me on the opposite side of the road, before the hazards flash and the driver steps out.

“Car troubles, I’m assuming?” a strong Texan drawl greets me.

“You’re assuming correctly,” I smile sarcastically, taking in the stranger. He’s handsome, classically so, and he sure does fill out those Wranglers. Looks straight out of a Clint Eastwood movie, sans the cowboy hat.

“What seems to be the issue?” he cocks his head cordially, taking a step closer. Normally I’d be one to back away, but I don’t have a bad feeling about this guy. He’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t read his eyes, but something tells me I don’t have to.

“Ran out of gas,” I mumble, more than a little embarrassed to be admitting it out loud.

“Hey, we’ve all been there,” he assures me. “Do you want me to take you to get gas?”

“I don’t usually step into stranger’s trucks,” I tell him warily. As kind as he seems I can never be too sure. Ever.

“Well if it helps any, I’m the Sheriff around these parts.” He pulls his jacket to reveal more of his belt, showing off his Sheriff’s badge pinned to it. He taps it once, for emphasis. Oh, wait, this must be… “Beau Arlen,” he introduces, interrupting my thoughts. He outstretches a hand and I shake it. His hand is huge compared to mine, callused but still soft somehow.

“Your reputation precedes you, Sheriff Arlen,” I tell him, letting go of his hand.

“That so?” It’s endearing how he perks up at that.

“I’m friends with Cassie Dewell,” I explain.

“Oh! Cass is the best! How do you know her?”

“I’m a PI- we all know each other.”

“Huh, y’don’t say.”

“What, you sheriffs aren’t like that?”

“Can’t say we are.”

“Shame,” I say melodramatically. He chuckles.

“Can’t all be PI’s, now can we?”

“True that.”

“Soo, that ride?” he tilts his head towards his truck.

“Yes, thank you,” I say sincerely.

“Anytime.” I follow him back over the middle line of the road to his truck, where he opens the door for me and offers an arm to help me step up. Huh, chivalry. Refreshing.

He stars his truck and drives a little down the road to make a u-turn before presumably heading towards the nearest gas station

“So what brings you to Big Sky?” he asks, making small talk.

“A case, actually… it’ll probably be on your radar soon enough. I’m thinking cartel, not a hundred percent sure yet.” I decide to keep the details to myself; there’s just too much at stake here.

“Another cartel? In this county? Y’know the last one ended with the boy killing his pops. And the pops had left the kid for dead too. Not to mention that the daughter was a pain in our ass, moonlighting as a real estate agent… but don’t get Hoyt started on that Tonya ‘cause she still can’t stand the sight of her… sorry, I’m ramblin,’” there’s a faint blush on the apples of his cheeks, and it’s adorable. But frankly I don’t mind his chatter, he’s nice to listen to. I like how he gets lost in his own stories.

“No worries, I like listening,” I shrug. My dad always said ‘listening lets you hear the things you wouldn’t’a heard if you weren’t.’ It’s sort of a ‘no shit’ phrase, but it’s true.

“There’s a first- Cass and Jenny like to get on me for talking too much,” he muses, no offense in his voice.

“That’s ’cause they don’t know ‘too much.’ I once had a client who told me his entire life story from birth to present day,” I reminisce, not even hyperbolizing. “I learned all about the std he got from a prostitute back in the 60s at Woodstock, and about his five wives: Maryanne, Georgia, Gina, Kevin, and Sade.”

“Kevin?” he laughs incredulously, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look at me.

“Yep. That was during the eighties though, so apparently it doesn’t make him gay,” I laugh, knowing how ridiculous it sounds.

“Wait, what was the STD?”

“Chlamydia,” I answer, without missing a beat.

“Wow, you have a good memory, huh?”

“Just for cases.” Which is true: in my daily life I would probably forget my head if it wasn’t attached to the rest of my body. I genuinely couldn’t tell you what I ate yesterday, but I do know that at 11:25 am I booked the motel I’ll be staying at. You know why I know that? Because I had just made the KJ break. See?

“That’s damn useful in your line of work,” he compliments.

“Yeah.” We ride in silence for a little bit because my dumb ass can’t hold a conversation. It’s not my fault that my only friends are my mom. Well, and Cassie Dewell, I guess, but I don’t see her all that often.

“Okay, so the accent- Texas?” I ask. Trying to bring back the conversation.

“Born and raised,” he confirms, emphasizing his drawl. I smile at the effort. I like his drawl, it compliments the deep and roughness of his voice.

“Cowboy country, nice,” I say.

“Hey, not all of us are cowboys!” he defends playfully.

“The first thing I thought when I saw you was ‘cowboy,’” I tell him matter-of-factly.

“Touché,” he laughs. “Truth be told I was literally raised on a ranch, so I can’t really be talking. Y’know, I had a really nice dog named Juniper. She herded the cattle, while I would pretend to “help.” By “help” I mean stand towards the side, scared of getting stomped on cause I weighed little more than a plastic bag from the grocery store.” More stories- I have a feeling he could write a book.

“Puberty must’ve hit you like a truck,” I mused, referring to the last part of his story.

“That or the gym,” he laughs.

“You a gym rat, Sheriff?”

“More or less,” he takes one hand off the steering wheel to flex his jacket-covered bicep. I wolf whistle, and he laughs. He’s a very large man, from his stature to his statuesque physique.

“Is there even a gym around here? I feel like I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I’m from fucking Whitefish,” I joke, referring to the fact that the only signs of life we’ve encountered are the gorgeous trees bordering the open road.

“Preaching to the choir,” he smiles.

“So, why’d you stick around, then? I heard you were just an acting sheriff,” I inquire, wondering why the cowboy-or anyone, for that matter- would want to stay here.

“I’ve got my ghosts in Houston,” his voice turns subtly melancholic, telling me not to pry. So I don’t, knowing the feeling. “But back to your question, there is a gym,” his tone returns back to its lightheartedness.

“It’s abandoned, isn’t it.”

“Well, there’s me. And uh, me. And sometimes Denise, who I think just wants an excuse to see my ass,” he laughs.

“Denise Brisbane? From Dewell and Hoyt?” I only know the name, nothing more.

“Yeah, she’s sweet- she cooks for me too, even though I’m a grown ass man.”

“Someone’s got a fan club,” I tease.

“Population one,” he retorts.

“Well maybe I’ll see you or you and Denise there at some point.”

“I’d like that… hey, you’re not joining the fan club are you?” he raises a brow from behind his sunglasses.

“In your dreams, Sheriff,” we both smile, and sit back for a second, the silence less awkward this time, at least for me.

“Y’can call me Beau, y’know. If you want to, anyway,” he tells me, breaking the half a second of quiet.

“Mk, Beau it is.” I like the way his name feels coming out of my mouth. And what a fitting name it is… he is objectively gorgeous.

“Hey, I just realized I never got yours,” he says suddenly.

“Huh? My what?” I say confused. Look, the road trip’s got me exhausted.

“Your name,” he clarifies.

“Oh. It’s Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

“Y/N- that’s a really nice name,” he compliments.

“Thanks,” I can’t help but be flattered.

“Where’s it from?”

“My dad- it was the name of some book character.”

“Cool! That’s a lot more creative than how my kid got named,” he laughs.

“You have a kid?” I ask, mildly surprised. Not that I think he’d be a bad dad after the half hour of knowing him, but just because since I don’t have kids I don’t usually expect people my age to either.

“Mhm. Emily- she takes after her mom, though.”

“You’re married?” I don’t see a ring, that’s the only reason I’m asking.

“I was.” There’s that melancholy tone again… something tells me there’s more to this cordial cowboy than meets the eye.

“Well in any case, Emily’s a pretty name for what I’m sure is a beautiful daughter,” I say, changing the subject.

“You callin’ me handsome?” he teases.

“All I’m going to say is that your mama was real on the nose with the name… Beauregard.” I decide to mix the compliment a little bit.

“You really think that’s my name?”

“No,” I confess, giggling.

“Good, I was hopin’ I didn’t come across as a”-he shudders comedically-“Beauregard.”

“Cmon, it’s not the worst name,” I chide.

“Well it’s certainly far from the best,” he retorts, and I shake my head with a smile. “Alright, we’re coming up on it now.”

I look up ahead, taking in the sight of this gas station that’s literally the only building in sight. It’s a bit on the dinghy side, half of the letters in the neon sign don’t work, so it says “De Ass Ton” instead of Del’s Gas Station. Go figure for this town.

But wait…

“What the fuck?” we both say in unison, taking in the sight before us.

****************************************************

Until Part Two, dear reader! <3

[graysnetwork]

Imagining Wesker have a crush on you 😽

SECRET ADMIRER

Notes— I saw a story where Wesker leaves a bouquet of flowers on readers desk so this is inspired by that fic (I cannot find it which sucks) (also I’m working on requests rn)

Warnings: mention of almost dying(if you squint), reader is depicted as a women, nickname/pet name; good girl, and sweetheart.

Summary: it’s your birthday and a few gifts have been left on your desk, but there’s no name signed off in the card left for you. It seems like you have a secret admirer.

You entered the building, you were a few minutes late since you drank a bit last night, you had some drinks when it turned to 12am because it was finally your birthday, you were 24 and hopefully Jill and Chris would stop teasing you.

You knew they only teased you cause you were the rookie but it still got annoying sometimes.

Jill and Chris were smirking, and whispering to each other, you ignored them because they always talked but kept their voices quiet as to not draw attention, perhaps they were talking about an assignment?

You reached your desk and saw a bouquet of flowers, a teddy bear, and your favorite candy. You turned to Jill and Chris again and they were already staring back at you; still smirking, so you assumed that they gave you the gifts. Jill walked up to you as you were about to say thank you to the both of them “you got a boyfriend rookie?” Jill asked, your brow’s furrowed, and you were more confused than ever.

“W-what? No! I thought you guys got me these?” You told her, Jill’s smirk dropped and now she was the confused one, Chris got up from his seat, and was already chuckling “so you got a secret admirer?” Chris said. And you looked back at the gifts.

You noticed the card, you picked it up and began to read it, Jill and Chris read it as well over your shoulder and it said

“happy birthday Y/n, I hope you enjoy the gifts I got you, please don’t get too drunk today”

Chris chuckled again at the ending of the note, but you were still not laughing, you were confused and wanted an answer, who gifted you all of this?

Meanwhile Wesker was watching from afar, you had always been his favorite member, it only took him a few more months to realize that he just had a crush on you, but he denied it himself, Albert Wesker; with a crush? Nope! Not possible.

Plus you were too young for him, and it would probably be breaking rules to ask a coworker on a date, and you were probably uninterested in him.

He watched you ask Chris and Jill “are you guys serious? Like you guys didn’t get me these?” and watched them shake their heads no.

He wanted to go up to you and tell you it was from him, but that was definitely gonna end weirdly, for both you and him. So he stood there, still watching.

“Y’know what! I’ll just figure it out later! I have to finish my reports, I don’t have time to figure out who these are from” you told the two and sat down in your chair as they left to their own desks, to work on their own files.

—

Still the thought was in the back of your mind, the flowers were lovely, and the bear was cute, and the candy was nice, but you still wanted to know who this was from. you couldn’t get it out of your head the whole time you were finishing your papers.

You finished a while before six twenty and you were checking through all your reports making sure that you didn’t have anything left, Jill came up from behind and put her hands on your shoulders, “y/n, we’re going out to the bar, come with us!” She told you, you obliged and got up, “don’t forget your gifts rookie” Chris told you and walked out the door, you went back to grab your things off your desk and Jill continued to walk out.

“I’ll wait for you outside” she said before leaving, you picked up your gifts and suddenly felt a pair of eyes on you, you turned around and caught your captain walking by you, “oh, sorry you scared me sir” you apologized. He didn’t say anything and his eyes fell on your hand which we’re grabbing the flowers.

“You enjoying your gifts?” He spoke suddenly, “uhm, yeah, I wish the person had signed their name though” you said looking at the card remembering what it’s said inside.

“I was, planning on writing my name but, I thought Chris would peek and read it, so i didn’t” he said, your eyes widened, and you could feel the heat rising on your cheeks, your superior gave you these?

“It was you?” You asked, as if he hadn’t already said so. He nodded, “oh” you said, swallowing your saliva for your throat that had turned dry. “Do you like the flowers? I didn’t know what kind you’d like” he asked, “mhm” you nodded as well, this was a bit awkward for you.

“Thank you sir” you said, you wanted to try and keep this as professional as possible but it was getting incredibly hard. Seeing as you had crushing on him for quite some time now.

“Happy birthday” he told you as he wrapped his arms around and gave you a hug, a hug, was this some kind of joke? Or was this a dream? What was going on, your stone cold captain was giving you a hug, the only other time he ever gave you a “hug” was when he saved your ass from getting killed and he had to carry you.

What the fuck was going on?

“U-uhm, thank you” you repeated and hugged him back, it felt perfect, the temperature, cause you were warm and he was cold and it was the perfect balance, and you felt the heat from your cheeks start to disappear when his cold grasp was on you.

He pulled away but his arms were still around you, or, more correct, they were around your waist. And the blush came back, “i-” you barely managed to get it out before you were cut off by his lips on yours, you didn’t even know who leaned in. Let’s just say it was mutual and the two of you both wanted to go in for the kiss!

His lips on yours were amazing, felt so euphoric, and he could taste the cherry chapstick that you used. His hands let go of on another other and he placed them on either side of your hips with a firm grip. And you placed your hands on his shoulders.

You pulled away first to catch your breath, and now that you weren’t entranced by him, you thought to yourself. This had to be a dream.

There’s no way you were actually making out with your captain and he was kissing you back, were your gonna wake up in your bed and have to face him at work later? You hoped not but you were afraid this was too good to be true.

He chuckled and you were knocked you of your thoughts by his voice “you alright there sweetheart? You look a bit red there” he teased you. And you looked down to hide your face but he quickly reacted and took your face and lifted your head up to look at him. “So adorable” he said, he sounded like he was telling himself that. And your face got even more flushed and heated.

“Maybe I should get going… I don’t want Jill to ask anything” you told him, and he chuckled. He knew you just didn’t want anybody to suspect anything. Especially since you two were the only ones left inside the building.

“How about I take you to dinner? Wouldn’t want you to go to the same shitty bar again? I’ll take you somewhere nice” he asked. You were so stunned right now, you were still waiting to wake up.

“I- I don’t know Wesker-” you said, and his brows went in such a way that made him look like he was begging you to say yes.

“Yeah, I’ll go out with you” you said, your mouth moved faster than your brain, “great, now go tell Jill and the others, you have something very important to do” he ordered. “okay, I’ll go do that” you said nodding as your hands traveled down to his forearms to get out of his grip.

“Good girl” he said, and you realized right then and there, that you wanted to be praised so much by your captain.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty-One

You finally have to make good on your promise to Silco.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,300

Warnings: Shifting morality, mentions of drugs, spit as lube, unprotected piv sex, double penetration (both kinds), anal fingering, creampie.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

The first meeting of the Undercity Innovation Committee took place a little later than expected. 

The original meeting had been canceled, and the explanation Jazper had given you was that everyone wanted to wait until the other businesses were completed. The second meeting had been canceled as well. That time, it had been because the businesses that had opened were training their staff and focusing on the early days of their businesses. 

You had started to suspect that the Committee was nothing more than a dream, a hypothetical idea that would be pushed further and further off until it eventually faded. It wasn’t ideal, but the Committee itself wasn’t what mattered. You were overjoyed to see commercial businesses and properties move into the Lanes, and you didn’t care whether you got to be a part of their growth beyond watching it happen. 

The Undercity was changing; that much was undeniable. It had been well over a year since Silco had pulled Shimmer from the streets around the Haven, and there were noticeable changes. One of the biggest was the steady flow of recovered addicts flowing from the Haven to Stonesea and beyond. You rarely saw patients who relapsed - most of them seemed vehemently anti-Shimmer as soon as they were free of its grip. 

It typically took around six weeks for people to fully recover from the effects of Shimmer and examine the forces that had driven them toward the drug in the first place. When caught early enough, the physical effects of a Shimmer addiction were minimal. The psychological effects lasted far longer - feelings of powerlessness and frustrations at the limitations of a human body were common. But with help from the therapists and psychiatrists you kept on retainer, you often saw the average stay end after two months. 

The HexTech donations had been put to good use. You received a new check at the start of every month and you sent back summaries of the work you had done with the previous month’s money. 

One of the larger changes was that you were able to find a surgeon for the Haven. They didn’t perform surgeries in-house or take funding from the Haven, but they consulted with patients whose Shimmer addictions had left unwanted physical scars. The reminder that their permanent marks could be removed helped your patients’ mental state tremendously. 

Silco hadn’t mentioned joining the Undercity Innovation Committee since you had agreed to his terms. Your meetings with him had continued and neither of you brought up the HexTech donations. Silco hadn’t pushed any more donations on you, either. 

The slow and steady pattern of improvement had been interrupted when you received a note from Jazper. The first official meeting of the Undercity Innovation Committee was to happen a week from that day, barring any outstanding events. To your surprise, the meeting was not canceled as the previous two had been, and you soon found yourself in a room with the other five members of the Committee. 

Ronid was the one responsible for building a second apartment complex. They were building it from the ground up, drawing heavily from Jazper’s plans both for structure and intended operations. Ronid was the only member of the Committee whose business had yet to open, but they were eager to get started. They split their time between observing operations at Stonesea and training their own recently hired staff. 

Micah and Nimi were the couple who owned the grocery store. Micah - a round-faced, perpetually smiling man - was an expert cook who delighted in trying new recipes with local ingredients. The grocery store had been a small vacant building before the couple had started the renovations. They had an apartment on the top floor while the second story was taken up by a commercial kitchen. Micah offered cooking lessons for anyone who bought an unfamiliar food item and wanted to learn how to prepare it. He was filled with stories of strange and adventurous foods he had tried, and children delighted in listening to him. 

Nimi - a tall but muscular woman - was in charge of ordering new shipments of stock for the store. She had spent much of her early life working with different shipping companies, loading and delivering stock in Upper Piltover, and she had retained those connections. “A lot of them don’t recognize me anymore,” Nimi had explained with a laugh, “but they know I know where to get the best deals!” 

Cipanni was the last of the new business owners. She was short and stocky, but her small hands were incredibly skilled with repairs. She owned and operated the newly opened mechanic’s shop. Though the store had been open a relatively short time, she had started hiring employees and training them before the renovations had even started. Her mechanics were hired throughout Upper Piltover and the Undercity, performing the repairs they could and reporting any challenges back to her. Cipanni could often diagnose the problem without seeing it in person, then give advice on how to make the necessary repairs. 

They were a delightful group, and you were grateful to Jazper for letting you join the Committee, even though the Haven wasn’t a business. Other than the section about profit margins, you were able to follow along with or participate in the other parts of the meeting. 

“Well, that’s everything on the agenda,” Jazper summarized, glancing down at the paper he had been making notes on. “We should have more to discuss when the Rise opens.” 

“If the Rise opens,” Nimi muttered, tossing a teasing grin at Ronid. 

Ronid gaped theatrically, clasping a hand to their chest. “Well if the electrician would work a little faster…”

Cipanni splayed her hands helplessly. “Hey, I convinced Crow to wire the building and take on a few apprentices. I’m not going to ask him to work faster as well.” 

You beamed at that. Crow was a Piltover electrician, one whose work was highly in demand. Cipanni had convinced him to take on three of her shop’s employees who were interested in learning to do electrical work. Electricity was not Cipanni’s specialty, and she had insisted that they would be better off with Crow. For his part, Crow had been so impressed with the apprentices that he had agreed to two of their requests to come back to Upper Piltover to continue their apprenticeships. 

The third apprentice hadn’t asked yet, but there were good odds she would. Crow had already told Cipanni that he would accept her as well. 

“I’m surprised you’re not worried about anyone leaving your shop to start their own,” Micah said to Cipanni, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

Cipanni shrugged. “I wrote a clause into their employment contracts. If they leave my shop, they can’t start another shop in direct competition within a five block radius.”

“I thought we agreed on no non-compete clauses?” Jazper asked with a frown. 

“I know,” the mechanic admitted, rubbing guiltily at the space between her brows. “But, if it helps, I didn’t make one just to keep my business running. I did it because I want them to spread what they’ve learned, just not right next door. My hope is that they’ll start their own shops in other parts of the Undercity. Preferably with the same anti-Shimmer rules we all have in place.”

You watched Jazper closely. He had been on-edge lately - he was spending most of his time working on another apartment building in the Undercity. The construction site was near the Haven, but on the opposite side of the rest of the businesses. You loved the idea, and wanted to watch development spread, but it was clearly wearing on Jazper. He had his businesses in Upper Piltover along with Stonesea, and he was trying to help Rovid with the Rise whenever possible. He was spread thin, and it made him a little erratic. 

“That makes sense,” you decided, cutting through the tension in the room. Cipanni’s shoulders relaxed. “After all, we’re all here because we want to see the Undercity continue to change for the better. We want those changes to happen in other places than just the Lanes.” 

At last, Jazper nodded. “That brings me to our last topic of this meeting: we’ve had a request to join the Committee. It concerns all of us, so I want everyone to have a say. However, there is one person who gets to make the final decision.” 

Everyone glanced around curiously, but your stomach sank. You already knew exactly who wanted to join the Committee and why it could be a problem. 

“Silco has submitted an official request to join the Undercity Innovation Committee.” You had already known what was coming, but it still sent a pang through your chest. Jazper glanced at you before he continued. “He made the case that he runs a small business in the Undercity, contributes to the local economy, and employs two dozen people. He would be joining based on his ownership of The Last Drop, not because of any rumored ties to Shimmer.”

Loaded glances and murmured conversations filled the room, but Jazper’s gaze stayed firmly fixed on you. “If there are any objections, we will not allow him to join us.”

“If there isn’t any concrete evidence linking him to Shimmer production or distribution…” Micah mused, “it doesn’t seem like we have a choice.” 

“It might legitimize us to have a business owner who’s actually from the Undercity,” Ronid interjected. 

“And he’s a well-known name down here,” Cipanni agreed, folding her arms. 

“I don’t love the things I’ve heard about his business practices,” Nimi said with a foreboding frown. “But maybe we could influence him to treat his employees better if we let him join the Committee. I vote we let him in.” 

“And you?” Jazper asked softly. “We hear what we hear and know what we know, having worked in the Lanes as long as we have. And you’ve been here longer than me. What do you think about Silco’s request?”

You sighed, letting the sound dangle in the room for a moment. You had already made a deal with Silco about this very issue, but you longed to refuse, if for no other reason than that these people didn’t know what they were getting into with Silco. They all seemed like practical people - they might listen if you warned them about him.

But you didn’t. 

“He has brought jobs to the Undercity. Many jobs,” you added in a sulky mutter. “He probably does have a right to a seat on the Committee.”

Jazper continued to watch you for a long moment. When you didn’t add anything else, he gave a decisive nod. “Then it’s decided: we will allow Silco to join us at next quarter’s meeting.” 

It was strange, you reflected as you watched the room. The Undercity had a way of taking a toll on its residents, even when nothing had seemed to change. You and Jazper were the only ones who seemed to understand the momentousness of what had just happened - you held eye contact even as the other began to gather their belongings and leave Stonesea. 

Eventually, Ronid caught his attention with something else and Jazper looked away. The spell had been broken, but the implications echoed through your mind. Did Jazper know about you and Silco? Did Silco have some kind of leverage over Jazper? There was no way to know for certain on either count, but you were filled with an inexplicable sense that something had been lost when you failed to argue Silco’s entry into the Committee. 

But there was nothing for it. 

You rose, leaving Jazper and Ronid to their private chat in the near-empty room. You could feel Jazper watching as you left, but there was nothing to say. Nothing to do. Certainly nothing that could be said or done with Ronid in the room. 

The tangle of your thoughts kept you occupied on the short trip back to the Haven, but an odd tension reigned on the street in front of the building. That was enough to pull you back to yourself - the streets of the Lanes were never quiet. Children played and laughed, vendors hawked their wares, and there was usually at least one fight happening at any given time.

A single upward glance told you exactly what was going on: Silco was standing on the street in front of the Haven.

With his calf-length coat on and his hands clasped behind his back, Silco cut a lean and menacing figure. He looked mysterious and sharp, deadly as any blade. His Shimmer eye glowed in the gathering dusk, the orange pinpoint of its light visible from halfway down the block. 

There was a swath cut through the crowd, a half-moon of space that was almost comically wide. At least, it would have been comical if you felt the least bit like laughing. 

You walked up to the Haven’s doors, watching as Silco straightened at your approach. You didn’t have any way of knowing how he reacted when you moved past him without an acknowledgement. 

He called your name, referring to you by your title and last name, as if you were strangers. You would have appreciated the attempt at distancing himself if he hadn’t come to your outreach at the busiest time of day in full view of the entirety of the Lanes. 

“What do you need, Mr. Silco?” you responded, turning to face him at last. 

Silco’s mouth was set in a displeased line. “I need to speak with you. Privately.” 

“Now is not a good time.” You hauled the door open and tried to dart inside, but Silco’s arm barred the entrance at the last possible moment. 

“You may find endless trips across the entirety of Zaun to be ceaselessly entertaining,” Silco said loftily, “but I do not. Now may not be particularly convenient for either of us, but we will meet regardless.” 

He dropped his arm, you stepped inside, and he followed you in. 

“What is all of this-?” 

“Your office,” Silco interrupted. That seemed to be all of the explanation he was willing to offer, so you clenched your jaw and started for the privacy of your office. 

You rounded on him as soon as you finished closing the door behind you both. There was an ugly admonishment bubbling on the very tip of your tongue, but it disappeared in a cloud of confusion as Silco seized you by the shoulders. 

Instinctively, your muscles went taut as you braced for an attack of some kind. The proud smile on Silco’s lips was your first hint that things were not going quite as you had expected. 

“You did it, my clever little darling,” Silco congratulated warmly. “I received word that I am to join the Undercity Innovation Committee, and no one is the wiser about any connection between the two of us. You could not have accomplished the task in a more effective manner.”

“How-?” 

“And your manner outside of the Haven?” Silco continued, the lavish praise sounding simultaneously natural and utterly alien coming from him. “Perfection itself. The protesting philanthropist dreading a meeting from the chem baron she cannot stand, but agreeing anyway for sake of keeping the peace.” 

“What are-?” 

“I must confess that I am impressed,” Silco interrupted again. “And because of that, I have a special offer for you.”

You watched him sharply. Not just because of his newfound generosity, but to see if he was going to interrupt you a third time. He seemed to be waiting impatiently for your response, but you decided to keep things short just in case he was determined to drive you up the wall. “An offer.” 

“Yes, pet,” he confirmed. “We can have our meeting today. I know you enjoy being together in your office when possible, and I enjoy the confidence it gives you.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “Your offer is to let me have sex with you now that you’ve pushed your way into my office?”

“Precisely.” 

The scoff you gave held more laughter than you wanted it to, but it was only because of his daring. “And if I decide to pass?” 

Silco shrugged. “Then we will postpone our meeting until the original date. And, of course, you will have to come to the Last Drop and risk being seen.” 

You fought back a snarl. The Committee meeting had been a wonderful breath of fresh air until the reminder that you were connected with Silco. And now he was here, pushing for you to fulfill your payment early. Perhaps worst of all, his arguments made sense. 

“What do you get out of this?” you demanded. “Why move up the date?” 

Silco watched you steadily. “I believe in rewarding good behavior as soon as it happens. And your increased comfort here was a factor I considered.” 

Before you could answer, his brows furrowed and he took a slow step toward you. “If I didn't know better, pet, I would believe you don’t want to see me.” 

Was there actual hurt in his eyes? Surely not… You shook your head slowly, letting yourself look somewhere other than Silco. “It’s been a long day. It’s not that I don’t want to see you. It’s just… a surprise.”

“I understand that much,” Silco told you. “But I would think moving up our meeting could provide an excellent distraction.” 

“Sometimes, sex can’t distract you,” you countered with a shrug. 

Instantly, you knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Silco’s face took on a relishing sort of expression, like you had offered him an irresistible dare. And you may as well have. You were fully expecting the motion when he moved closer, especially since it left your bodies brushing each other’s. 

“Is that so, pet?” he murmured, close enough that you could feel the slight rumble of his velvety voice. 

“Silco,” you warned. At least, you had meant it to be a warning. It came out breathy, more an anticipatory exhalation than a stern reminder that he needed to behave. 

He leaned closer, delight filling his expression. “My original aim was to reward you, but perhaps you would be best rewarded by urging your thoughts away from your difficult day. Does that sound like a fair reward?” 

You nodded, mouth dry. Yes, you were still discomfited by the way Silco had managed to worm his way onto the Undercity Innovation Committee - not to mention the role you had played in his place on the Committee - but your body was crying out for a distraction. In your own defense, you rarely had him so close to you unless you were making a payment. It made sense that you had conditioned your libido to be ready for him. 

“Apologies, darling,” Silco said, sounding utterly unapologetic. “I couldn’t hear you.” 

When you tried to speak, a rasping croak was the only thing you could force out. 

Silco managed to force his expression into one of regretful confusion, but you could see the amusement glittering in his mismatched eyes. “I don’t understand.” 

You scowled, but Silco ducked and pressed his mouth to yours in a deep, searing kiss. When he pulled back, he was smirking openly. “I believe I now understand your opinion on my proposal. If you-” 

You interrupted him, grabbing fistfuls of his elegant jacket and towing him back down until you could kiss him again. Silco’s noise of surprise was muffled against your lips, but he responded eagerly. 

As desperate as your kiss got, Silco never walked you anywhere specific. You were just standing in the middle of your office, lost in each other’s kiss. It was an enjoyable way to pass the time, but you were confused when you finally pulled away and found him watching you expectantly. 

“Do you want to move this somewhere more… horizontal?” you asked. 

“Wherever you want, pet,” Silco agreed, eyes darkening. “So long as I get to decide what we do when we get there.” 

The prospect - along with the lethal promise in his voice - made you shiver and you led the way to the chaise lounge you kept in one corner.

You would die rather than admit it to him, but you had been influenced by Silco’s couch when you had chosen the chair. Not necessarily because you expected to spend time with him on it, but because it was convenient to have a comfortable place to sit or catch a quick nap if you were working long hours. 

And you especially wouldn’t tell Silco how the sturdiness of the chair’s frame had played a large part in your decision to purchase it. 

There was no point in subtlety, not when you had been ready for him for so long. You undressed quickly, spreading a dark throw blanket over the material. It was soft and plush, and you only hoped it would protect the lounge as well it kept you warm during your occasional office naps. In any case, a blanket was infinitely more washable than a chaise lounge, so you were willing to take the risk. 

By the time you tucked the ends of the blanket around the cushion of the lounge, Silco had undressed as well. He was fully bare, something that had been happening more and more often as your deal stretched on. The sight of his lean body was still enough to take your breath away, and you bit your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. 

“Lovely blanket,” Silco complimented. “Perhaps you should take a seat on it.” 

You did as he suggested, lowering yourself down until your hips and ass were cradled against the softness of the blanket. From that newly intensified angle, Silco looked even more imposing… all of him did. 

When you managed to pry your eyes from his hardening cock, Silco was smirking openly. You made a face at him, but you couldn’t be too irritated. He was just as stunned by your body and you knew how great that admiration was for your ego. How could you fault him for feeling the same way about your reaction?

Silco joined you on the lounge, crawling onto the seat with a dangerous grace that made your body tighten. Your reaction didn’t have a chance to ebb before he leaned up to capture your lips again. 

At the same time, he let his lower body drape across yours. Silco’s slender form was still heavy, certainly heavy enough to push your knees apart. In an instant, the hard length of him was pressed between your legs and you were lifting your hips to grind up against that pressure.

“Distracted enough already?” Silco asked, releasing your lips with a savoring lick across the full curve of your bottom lip. 

You pretended to think about that. “Not yet. Maybe with a little more…”

“Your wish is my command,” Silco assured you. When he leaned down again, he ducked toward your neck, fastening his lips against a particularly tender place. His hand crept between your hips, fingers finding their way unerringly toward your clit. 

In only a moment of that combination, your hips had jumped toward Silco so violently that he had to use his free hand to hold you against the chaise lounge. He stroked everything not currently pressed against his cock, and you were writhing as much as you could manage while being pinned down in so many places. 

“Silco,” you gasped at last, hands locking around his wrists. 

“Close, darling?” he asked, fingers slowing minutely. 

“Need you,” you panted, trying not to let out a desperate sob. “Inside.” 

Silco’s expression softened for a moment before he gave a determined nod. “Very well.” 

You weren’t entirely sure of the mechanics of what happened next. One moment, you were on your back with Silco on top of you. The next, he had wrapped both hands around your thighs, holding you against him. A moment later, you were on top of him, staring down with wild eyes as he held you poised on your knees. The very tip of him was pressed against your entrance, but he wasn’t letting you sink down yet. 

The whine that was ripped out of you didn’t hold a single word, but your point came across clearly enough. 

Silco’s hands loosened, releasing you instead of forcing you down onto him, but you seized the opportunity. The moment you could move, you sank onto his length, letting him fill you almost to the root in one decisive stroke. 

He arched beneath you, shoulders lifting from the surface of the bed in a combination of shock and pleasure. Your head fell back, leaving you staring at the ceiling of your office with a sense of overwhelming fullness wreaking havoc on your muscle control. It was only by happy accident that the twitching of your leg muscles left you sinking down more firmly onto Silco. 

When you managed to look down at him, Silco’s lips were parted, revealing flashes of chipped teeth behind them. His natural eye was heavy-lidded and his chest rose and fell quickly with the speed of his breathing. The expression on his face held too much to be easily deciphered, especially when you were distracted by other things, but it seemed to be made of mingled pride, possession, and adoration. 

If you had been thinking more clearly, that combination would have worried you. But with your focus on how good he felt inside of you, all you could think about was how good that expression looked on him. Instead of concern, you felt only need.  

It was enough to spur you onto your trembling muscles. You planted your knees more firmly to either side of Silco’s hips and lifted yourself slowly up from your seat. Your hands were splayed on his chest, helping you balance your weight as you experimented with finding the right angle. 

Silco shuddered with the feeling of his body leaving yours. You could relate, but your focus was firmly set on controlling your movements. 

You surged up and forward, lifting yourself almost free of him before slamming your hips back down. The drive of him up into you was breathtaking, and the impact left your fingers trembling against Silco’s chest. 

He clutched at your hips, a garbled word bursting from his parted lips, but the motion was its own reward. You started a steady, driving rhythm, thrusting Silco’s length into and out of you as quickly as you could manage without losing your balance. 

Silco’s hands were steadying your hips, but you noticed that one was creeping steadily around the back of you. The stroke against the top of one buttock could be normal, but when he started to work his way toward your rear entrance, you gave him a look. 

“If you’re going to do anything ass-related, you’ll have to figure out lubrication yourself,” you warned him. If you weren’t so distracted, you would have been embarrassed by your matter-of-fact tone when discussing such delicate matters. “I don’t keep lube in my office.” 

“You have quite a store nearby,” Silco wheedled, thrusting his hips upward slightly so you would be sure to know what he meant. “I only need you to pause for a moment.” 

You slammed yourself down, gasping even as you watched the way Silco’s lashes fluttered. “Do you really want me to stop? Because I don’t want to. Figure it out.” 

Silco’s natural eye narrowed. As you kept moving on top of him, he brought his hand to his mouth, sucking one finger between his lips. You watched his jaw muscles work, and the sight made your own mouth go dry.

When his hand disappeared around your body once more, you tensed with the expectation of being pierced with a finger that was only slick with spit, but Silco’s finger didn’t press against your rear. Instead, he waited until you were at the top of your stroke, then placed it alongside his own shaft. 

You didn’t realize what was happening until you had sank halfway down his length. The extra stretch provided by his finger made you cry out as the muscles in your body frantically worked to figure out whether the intrusion was a punishment or a reward. 

Pulling up and off of him was a longer process than usual. The way your core muscles were squeezing around him, you were almost shocked that you had managed to lift off of Silco at all. 

The man himself was smirking at you, clearly proud of himself. “Thank you, pet.” 

Then with a slight sense of pressure and a twist, his finger speared into you just as you lowered back down onto him. 

The stretch of being impaled in two places at once was intense. When you were finally fully settled on Silco’s lap, you squirmed as you tried to get used to the feeling. 

Silco gave a half-muffled groan. “The way you feel around me, darling… I could live here forever.” 

You couldn’t think clearly enough to do anything as ambitious as speak, but you were surprised at just how strongly you agreed with that. Whether you were determined to show him what you were feeling through ways other than speech or because your body demanded not to balance on that precipice any longer, you started to move. 

You worked up and down on Silco’s length, your inner muscles working over him as you went. Silco’s hand - minus a single finger - gripped your ass as you rose and fell, feeling the muscle bunch and release with your movements. His finger stayed buried inside of you as you went, an ever-present reminder that you had been fully claimed by him. 

With everything going on, you couldn’t be surprised when you felt your orgasm approaching quickly. Your hands clenched against Silco’s chest and your rhythm started to falter. In only moments, you had slowed to the point that you were hardly moving. 

“Up, pet,” Silco ordered, hissing the command through bared teeth. 

You stared blearily down at him and his free hand anchored on your hip, pushing you up to full extension on your knees. The tip of him was barely inside of you, but your orgasm was so close that it was nearly inevitable.

Silco started thrusting up from under you. His cock drove in and out of you, your breath stuttering with every harsh punctuation of his hips. Your head tipped back again, but your view of the ceiling was interrupted when Silco grabbed your chin, pulling your gaze down to meet his. 

With your eyes locked, you both came. 

Simultaneous orgasms were rare, so much so that you had largely considered them to be a myth, or used to show the perfection of a couple in a romance novel. But this one felt almost like a death knell. Coming at the same time with your eyes staring into each other’s soul? It felt like you were binding yourself to Silco, in a way somehow more permanent than your deal or your slow softening toward him had done. 

The pulsing of him matched the throbbing of you… or perhaps vice versa. By the time your orgasm drew to a close, you weren’t entirely sure where you ended and he began. Your elbows trembled and Silco welcomed your gentle collapse onto his chest with a pleased hum. 

The slide of his finger from your ass made you squirm, as did the pull of his cock from the depths of your core. His cum followed in a thick rush, but neither of you moved. 

There would be time enough to face reality later. Just then, you wanted to live in that moment a little longer.

---

Author's Note - I'm so excited! I'm working a few chapters ahead and things are really starting to wrap up. I think this story will end up around 30 chapters long and I love how things are turning out. I hope you'll feel the same way.

Thanks for reading and I'll see you next month!

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (28) Empty

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 28)

Summary: Will Rosie be able to keep her secret from her parents until the big day?

Twenty-Eight Years Old

Seen in hindsight, the trip to Greece was a catalyst of what came later. On our last evening, Timothy and I had dinner at an almost empty restaurant on the cliffs of Fira. The sun was about to set, and the sea was bathed in colours of gold. When Timothy took my hands in his and asked me to marry him, it really was the perfect ending. Cliché, perhaps, but who cares? Luckily, he hadn’t bought the rings at one of the ridiculous jewellers on the island but brought them with him from London. (I said yes, by the way.)

***

As if faith wanted me to keep my secret from my parents, they were away on a three-week trip to New Zealand when we arrived back in London. I called Dee before I went to Baker Street to collect mail and check the fridge for outdated milk and decayed body parts. She had closed for the day, but when I called with my inquiry, she was instantly intrigued and asked me to pop into 221A before I left.

It was strange to see someone else living at Nana’s. Her old furniture had been donated to second-hand shops, new wallpaper, art, and futuristically designed chairs, tables and shelves made 221A look like something taken out of Star Trek or whatever. The kitchen and bathroom were recognisable with bits and bobs I remembered. Nana’s oven mittens, the kitchen utensils and the wallpaper. Over the kitchen table was a big photo of Nana.

“I’ve made some sketches for you,” Dee said after she’d inquired about the trip. “One on each shoulder, yes?”

She showed me her drawings and after some discussion, she made the adjustments I wanted. 

“See you tomorrow at six,” Dee said when I left. 

“Can’t wait!” I retorted excitedly.

***

Dee’s Den was everything you don’t expect a tattoo-studio to be. (At least if you’ve never set foot in one.) Airy, spacious and clean in the extreme. The first time I entered, I felt I needed to take my shoes off.

“No customer of mine will suffer from an infection. I’ve seen enough of that shit,” Dee said gravely.

Her improved sketches had been coloured when I arrived the next day, and they looked even better than I’d dreamt of. The tattoos would adorn each shoulder. One red poppy on the left, and a bee on the right. A t-shirt would cover them, and by the time Dad and Papa were back, they would’ve healed properly so I didn’t need to wrap them in plastic, and the soreness would be gone. I hoped to keep them a secret until the wedding day. My dress would be sleeveless and make sure to show off the tribute to my beloved parents.

***

We decided on a May wedding, and it was Dee’s idea to check if the venue from Nana’s funeral was available.

“She would’ve been so pleased that you all had some good memories from that place. Dancing and laughing, celebrating love.”

Both me and Timothy loved the idea, and we were in luck. Normally, the place needed to be booked at least a year and a half in advance, when it came to weddings, but they’d had a cancellation due to a broken engagement. Nine months to prepare.

***

I chose Liwia as my maid of honour. We had stayed in touch over the years, and she adored my parents, after they’d given her shelter when she needed it in the middle of her teens. Bella had been switched for Iris. They’d been together almost eight years, and Iris was six months pregnant with their first child. An unknown donor was the father.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you were traumatised when you stayed with us,” I said on the final fitting of our dresses.

“What do you mean?” Liwia asked, clearly puzzled.

“Board games,” I explained dryly.

She laughed wholeheartedly and admitted that she’d never played Scrabble, Cluedo, orMonopoly, but stuck to chess and card games.

“Wise choice,” I retorted with a grin. “Though I have experienced knights, queens and bishops being thrown across 221B.”

***

My uncles picked me up at the salon where I’d been styled and dressed. Uncle Myc cocked an eyebrow when he saw my tattoos, but he was unable to hide how moved he was by this permanent gesture. Uncle Greg…well, he wasn’t that subtle, and needed a stern talking to from his husband to avoid ruining my dress and hair when he teared up and embraced me.

“You’re going to destroy them with this, love,” uncle Greg murmured.

I hadn’t been nervous before, but when the familiar place came into sight, my palms started to sweat, and my heart pounded in my chest. Inside, Timothy and my parents waited. The most important people in the world, apart from the men helping me out of the car. I kissed them and let them go in first to find their seats. One of the staff stood waiting for me to open the door once I’d decided to enter.

For a while I just stood there, my head blessfully empty. And then out of nowhere a wave of emotions washed over me. The memories of all the preparations and anxiety of the last week, regarding the flowers, the last seat arrangements we had to change the day prior, one of my shoes that disappeared without a trace… 

“Come on, Watson. You can do this,” I interrupted myself, using Papa’s former name on me to get me out of the unending loop of trifles and keep me focused.

I nodded to the man by the door who opened it for me, and I slowly made my way down the corridor to where Dad and Papa waited. They stood hand in hand outside the door to the ceremony room and turned abruptly when they heard my heels on the wooden floor.

“You look…”

“Oh, Bee…”

They were both teary-eyed, which didn’t bode well. I hoped they’d piled up with tissues, because this well would not be emptied any time soon.

With my heels on, I was the height of Dad. I seldom wore high-heeled shoes, so it was an alien feeling to stand face to face with him, literally speaking.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear when he hugged me.

“Thank you,” I said and turned to Papa.

He’d frozen and he blinked profusely. Dad looked worried at him. He still hadn’t seen the tattoos. Papa’s eyes darted between them, clearly shocked to the core. I took his hand and squeezed it.

“Do you like them?” I asked quietly.

“Like what?” Dad inquired; his eyes hadn’t left Papa’s face during all of this.

“Look at me, Dad,” I said and finally he saw what Papa had seen minutes ago.

“Oh, my god,” he said and covered his mouth with his hand. “Rosie.”

“They are…” Papa clearly knew but was too shaken to believe what he’d deduced.

“Yes, Papa. They are. My tribute, homage, or whatever you want to call it. To you and Dad. To show you and everyone how much you mean to me. Dee made them while you were away. You have no idea how proud I am that I’ve managed to keep it a secret until now.”

Finally, out of his daze, Papa cupped my face and kissed my forehead and cheeks, careful not to disturb my hair or makeup.

“My precious girl,” he murmured. “I love you.”

“Stop! You’re making me cry,” I protested and tried my best to stay composed.

Dad sniffled and batted his eyes with a handkerchief.

“I’m never going to survive this day,” he muttered.

“John!” Papa exclaimed. “Don’t you dare.”

I knew I had to take the lead, or we would be stranded outside that door forever.

“Come on. The game is afoot,” I teased.

Also available on AO3

YES, there will be a continuation tomorrow.

This is also my entry for this month's Sherlock Challenge and the prompt ink.

@calaisreno @sherlockchallenge @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at

More tags in the replies

[lina-okazaki-art]

Revalink family: Christmas edition

This is suitable for all ages. So, let's go!

<It was a particularly cold night. Despite being a knight trained to survive even the most extreme climates, the cold of Tabantha was always particularly difficult. 

However, there was nothing that orni feathers couldn't keep him warm from, especially when they were attached to a real one. 

“Can you let me go now?” said orni complained, though he made no pretense of moving away either. 

Link in response only buried his face further, taking advantage of the fact that he had removed his armor, giving him easy access to his feathered chest. 

The orni snorted, “For the chosen goddess and wielder of the sword that seals the darkness, you're worse than a newborn chick when it's cold”

Link let out a choked noise against his feathers that he interpreted as a mischievous giggle, so he took his fringe between his beak and pulled it, drawing a whimper from him. 

“You're the worst” scolded. “But it's also my fault for spoiling you.”

Link frowned at him, but his expression relaxed and then he twisted a small smile, causing a warmth to rise in his chest. He would never get used to seeing that cold, serious face turn warm and sweet. 

“Vali”

He should feel pathetic for fluffing up at that nickname, for hearing it come out of those lips almost always pressed together in a thin line, for calling it with that raspy, ungentle tone. But it was Link, his Link, using his voice, the one that almost never let itself be heard other than whimpers during training or in little whispers with the princess.

 Link, who had chosen him. Link, whom he could now call him ‘mine’.

Before he could respond a few hiccups let themselves be heard. And soon they turned into a loud cry, demanding attention. 

It was there that Link finally pulled away and, with impressive speed, went to the crib a few feet away from them, pulling the six-month-old baby out of it.

“Shhh, don't cry, Gale” whispered. And Revali could only fall more in love hearing him talk to his son with such tenderness “Are you hungry already?”

“Of course he is. He's a big eater like you” complained Revali, but he was already stoking the flame of the cauldron and pouring clean water while he took a bottle out of the small cupboard he had made to keep the baby's things “I only hope he doesn't eat rocks when he grows up”

Link looked at him a little scowling at that, but his gaze softened as he watched him prepare the bottle. Revali pretended not to notice, but the raised feathers on the back of his neck said it all. 

Minutes passed between the Hylian trying to soothe the baby and Revali preparing the milk. Sooner rather than later, he handed him the bottle and without waiting, little Gale began to drink it.

Revali stood behind and tucked them both in his wings, resting his beak on the blond hair, admiring his son's eating. 

That moment on the eve of the winter holidays, watching his son being carried by Link, who had removed his gloves to better maneuver, revealing a simple golden wedding ring on his finger, matching the one he wore as a necklace around his neck, Revali thought that this was all he wanted once they defeated Ganon and the calamity. 

And he would fight to protect them>

“This is for me?”

His son's voice snapped him out of his reverie. Looking up from his steaming cup of tea, Revali saw for a second the little baby of his memories, chubby and pink, with just a fuzz of blue hair on his head and his big green eyes sparkling. And as he blinked he was gone but instead there was a young man in his twenties, much more mature in features but still youthful, the fuzz now a long braided blue hair reaching to his hip. However the big green eyes hadn't changed, they were still sparkling, perhaps a little sharp with age, but they still had that spark of sweetness that only someone like Link could have inherited from him. 

“Who else?” he teased. “Of course, if you want to give me the bow, I'll gladly take it”

“In your dreams!” he squealed, hugging the exotic red bow and rubbing his cheek against the wood as if it were some kind of stuffed animal “This beauty will go into my collection”

“Just don't go upholstering the house with bows," Link's voice, more mature and tired, echoed in the home “Or we'll run out of space”

“Says the one who had special racks in his house to put his weapons on the wall?” scoffed Revali. 

He proudly watched the face almost the same as his memories of 100 years ago turn pink with embarrassment, trapped. 

Gale laughed and Revali looked at his husband with his trademark smug smile. In response Link averted his face, frowning, yet he did not pull away from the orni's embrace, which kept a wing around him, providing warmth on that particularly cold night. 

“You had to be father and son” he claimed. 

“Don't compare me to that smug” Gale pointed out. 

Revali gave him a bad look, "What did you say, you little brat?

Link twisted his mouth into a smirk as the two began to argue, taking a sip of his still warm tea. 

And even between the argument, his husband not supporting him and his son being a little insolent, Revali could only think of one thing. 

That despite his defeat, he had gotten his family back. And as spiteful as he was, he should thank the goddess Hylia for that. 

He had a second chance and he wasn't going to waste it.

*-*-*-*-*

Well probably this is a little confusing, but I really wanna post this beautiful commission and my little Revalink history with it!

The boy from the left is Gale, my revalink fanchild. I'm still working in his story btw, this is one of the three finals I have for him, the happier one!

The art was a commission from Bluetokii in Twitter/X! Please check her commission sheet! They're one of my favorite artist ✨

Also this is my little contribution for @revalinkweek so hope you like it!

[bidisaster-peanut-romano]

soo hi everyone!! i'm back on my bully essay/meta/something writing!! sort of. i did this.

anyways anyone who's been on this page for some time know how from time to time i have insistently mentioned the parallels between lola and peanut, right?

welp! that was a joke but the time has finally come!! a super-pretentious essay just for the fun of it!! (and also bc i haven't been writing actually argumentative texts in like months perhaps a year, so. yikes, i really need to practice again)

word count: 2.2k WOAH. IM SORRY

i, in my corner, with my monstrous needs. — susan sontag, as consciousness is harnessed to flesh

take this quote both as a title and an anticipation of what is to come. the essay will be distributed analyzing first the dependence of each of them on johnny, to then draw comparisons. i'll make sure to steer as away from headcanons as possible, sticking closely to the source text. obviously, some things' interpretation might be ambiguous, but, you know. your usual occupation hazard.

also, a disclaimer before we start: while they are psychologically complex and there is always a mimetic intention in developing them, these are fictional characters, and, as such, their primary function is to be vessels for different themes, questions and so forth. therefore, i will prioritize meaning and themes over moral implications and similar elements.

i. peanut

for how much i can adore talking about him, the way peanut depends on johnny is very much on the nose; worn on his sleeve, even. in 11:11 minutes of voice lines, he mentions johnny 30 times.

many interpret this as the caricature of a boy crush, but i have reasons to believe it is much less cute than that.

the problem is that, really, more than trying to identify specific situations... peanut seems to rely on johnny for a significant part of what he does. when he does good at dodgeball:

Look at me, Johnny, look at me!

almost like a child calling for his parent's attention to be praised. he calls johnny's name when he's going through hardships, when he's scared or when he's sad.

more than someone he just loves, johnny is a point of reference. whenever there's something going on, whenever he does or has to do something, his first thought goes to johnny; vice versa, what johnny asks of him is his priority.

I gotta tell Johnny! No time. I gotta see Johnny now. Gotta help Johnny. What can I do next to please Johnny? I mean Lola! I mean…

(this also goes in a "negative" direction, envy being the other side of the medal to adoration. especially because, in some way, this reliance on johnny might be felt by him as emasculating, and, being johnny his model of masculinity, adding it to the napoleon complex thing, it's not hard to guess why it can be so unpleasant. we can see this manifest through some of the things he expresses in regards to lola- not as much an interest he has towards her, but the interest he wishes to have from her- which are a bit more different than it might seem at a first glance. but this is a mouseketool we'll need later. still:

Last time I saw her, Lola made eyes at me, not Johnny!

do we really need this part? heh. i'm not sure, but it's always good to point out)

(also, just because, for the purpose of this analysis, it might be useful to specify: while these sentiments are very much implied in peanut's canon quotes, we have no evidence in canon in what measure they are reciprocated by johnny. the fandom has universally agreed that johnny also views peanut as his Best Friend In The World; while in some measure, they must be at least a bit close, i think it is even safe to say, given the caricaturist nature of bully's characterizations, that johnny holds peanut in less consideration that peanut deludes himself into believing. quoting another post of mine, the kids who show some level of obsession towards their leader mention him on average ten or less times (gord mentions derby eight times, parker six times, kirby mentions ted five times). the leaders don't usually make names at all, that much is true; however, peanut mentions johnny 30 times, and, even in front of this proportion, johnny mentions peanut 0 times. just to make that clear)

overall, what undeniably shines through his voice lines is a feeling of general inadequacy, whether about his height, or his strength in front of a bigger adversary. the audios in which he tries to show off range from being disingenuous, to straight up improbable.

crossing what we have until now said, it is not hard to come to the conclusion that he really tries to make up, to fill this empty feeling of inadequacy by taking pride in his role as johnny's second in command.

while i am a big fan of bully's characteristic of having left much content out of the main game, leaving the gamers to dig it up for themselves, i do believe that scrapping some of the stuff that was prepared for peanut is a loss. we have a number of voice lines coming from chapter 3, in which it was heavily implied how important peanut's role as johnny's right hand man was.

for example, much like... all other seconds in command, really, he was to be followed and then fought in the rumble, before you could get to johnny, with the specific duty to cover his back. even his very first scene, the opening cutscene of chapter 3, i believe, is not to be underestimated. most of the other people, as far as i recall, call you when they need it in person; johnny, however, sends peanut. making him, de facto, an extension of himself, almost.

again, you choose the motivation. what is important, from a narrative point of view, is that peanut clings to johnny through these acts of service, almost making it the foundation of his personhood.

basically, he makes it so that, if he can't be of help to johnny, his whole self is fundamentally annihilated, giving himself completely to johnny.

ii. lola

with lola, reading between the lines gets a bit more difficult; first of all, because lola is much less transparent than peanut, her insincerity being a supporting beam of the whole chapter 3. secondly, whether she was done dirty by the creators or not, it is undoubted that being the perspective that of a teenage boy (namely, jimmy, but we certainly, as viewers, are brought to sympathize more with johnny than with lola) with all the prejudices it can bring with itself.

however, it doesn't mean that there isn't anything to work with- quite the contrary, actually. the issue with lola is that there is a certain amount of layers to get through before gaining a satisfying perception of her as a character. still, we're here to try our best, aren't we!

even behind the muddiness of her intentions and the manipulation she shows herself a master at, it is clear from the second we first meet her that what she does is in function of johnny.

to get through this mess with order, we'll start from an easy, measurable numeric information: lola mentions johnny in her audio files 19 times. which, we're assessed, IS a considerable amount.

we have extensively talked about the way her cheating patterns are a strategy not to succumb to the passive role of the girl in the heteronormative, patriarchal prototypical couple (there's a post here breaking down a lot of this stuff, if any of you is interested!!), so, instead of this, i want to focus on what lies beneath that behavior.

ultimately, the whole point is that lola expects and wants johnny to fight for her. whether is it because she feels taken for granted, or just because he can't perceive it if not through grandiose gestures like the rumble- your interpretation will work; she wants to see johnny fighting nail and teeth not to lose her, she wants him to show her that he wants her.

she's all about that attention, and she knows exactly what and how to do to get it. and i think this is especially clear when you compare the moments in which she knows there's no advantage she could go for; when she has understood that jimmy won't fall for her manipulation, when algie and chad leave her unsatisfied, when norton openly accuses her and antagonizes her - she loses her temper, lets go of that sweetened and/or flirtatious voice tone, abandons that specific kind of gesturing. she doesn't care anymore about obtaining something. she was actually angry, and she was actually upset that johnny had disappeared.

in some of her audios, she references johnny with some amount of fondness, as well:

Johnny and I were on the best date ever.

(there is also a voice line in which she says "He told me he likes me because of my personality. Isn't that sweet?"; due to it being a general chatter and not exclusive to one chapter, i assume it is relatively safe to assume she is quoting johnny. however, as i said at the beginning, we're trying to stay as close to canon material as possible, so, do your thing- and i'm open to arguments!!)

a considerable amount of audio files, however (which will lead us to our final point) is about her... calling for help for johnny, or stating, confidently, that he will come save her, or avenge her later.

Someone get Johnny! Johnny's gonna get you for this. Johnny is gonna kill you!

but wait... i have some sense of déjà vu...

You're gonna be sorry when Johnny finds out!

iii. two faces of the same medal

if i had to pick an effective image for a metaphor, i'd say that the thing about lola and peanut is that they are both dogs looking for someone to take their leash; we’re talking here about an exclusive relationship with someone they can rely totally on, someone we’ll call the Other (with a capital o, distinguished from just other. yes it is unnecessarily complicated i’m sorry).

for what my professor would call accidents of history, it happened that both of them found that Other in johnny.

each of them attempts at creating an exclusive relationship with the Other, one foolproof and fundamentally… perfect. perfect in the way that everything works like oiled gears, in the way that every next move is predictable, in the way that any accident will not break the created equilibrium. (even if, in the general sense of the term, lola and johnny's relationship is everything but perfect, it is in the connotation that we have established here. lola is aware that, no matter what she does, johnny will come back around. hell, the very thing that she does is aimed at keeping that balance; specifically, keeping him a bit on the edge, pushing him into a corner where he has to actively make an effort to keep her close.)

they both hide something they are ashamed of, regulating not only their actions and reactions but their very way of existing in the world, in order to keep that gear working, in order to remain in johnny's hand. lola hides that craving for a genuine and stable affection, dissimulating it with the cheating and the fatuous physical demonstrations of closeness; peanut hides his sense of inadequacy and complex of inferiority, by being the tough and reliable second in command.

basically, what they mean to achieve is a sense of security, the safety of not really being the one to lead but, at the same time, finding a purpose, other than a shield from the outside world that they are not willing to concede themselves to. like a... symbiotic relationship?? i was going to say parasitic, but, yknow. the Other does get some advantages, which are, respectively, peanut's acts of service and lola's capacity to boost johnny's pride.

now, of course, johnny is not aware of either of their play. which makes it even better, since, as we already said, both of their approach to the relationship needs some degree of insincerity.

like, i don't deny that johnny might be a good friend, or a loyal one. but he is an oblivious, prideful fuck who can't see past his own nose; he's got a tendency to make it all about himself - which of course goes perfectly with what we said about both peanut and lola making the Other their center, taking up, in a certain way, a passive role in the relationship.

this way, both of them aim at creating with johnny a relationship that is, in a way, codependant and conditional, in which the do ut des (their respective "service" ↔ johnny's guarantee of stability) creates the foundation of the very relationship.

this, of course, brings up the problem of exclusivity; on which, however, i prefer not to delve into too much, as this would bring us to the topic of their antagonism which... isn't really what i wanted to go for, at least not here. (it would risk bringing us a bit too close to my subjective interpretation and too far away from the canon, which i PROMISED i wouldn't do. however, someday i might elaborate on that??? idk , please do lmk if someone's interested around here)

i will, however, show you a diagram (it looks like a triangle- i guess it is, but it is VERY important that it is a pyramid, with a top and a larger foundation) and a quote, to wrap this up bc i think it is already WAY too long and ramble-y lmao. let me know what you think anyway, my ask box is always open <3

it almost feels like a joke to play out a part when you are not the starring role in someone else's heart you know i'd rather walk alone (i'd rather walk alone) than play a supporting role if i can't get the starring role -- starring role, marina and the diamonds