#he is so smart and so so stupid I love him

[megamindsecretlair]

Sweet Escape, Part 3

Pairing: Bodyguard!Terry Richmond x Singer!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, trying out some angst, teasing, mentions of loneliness, mental health, power imbalance. Mentions of violence, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. Finally landing in LA, your boots hit the ground and you’re off in a whirlwind of getting prepared. During rehearsal, your agent shows up causing a ruckus. After you take a break, you wake up to the sound of desperate pounding on your door.

Word Count: 6,676k

AO3 Link | Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: WHEW. Sorry for my absence yall. My brain got hands. And I didn't mean to scare folks away! You can absolutely ask about my fics! Asking for an update just doesn't help. But sharing your love for it motivates me a lot faster! And you can thank @onherereading for gently bullying me to post sumn! LOL, love you. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Male dancers lifted you into the air and you continued singing the hook to your most popular song, “Eat It”. It stayed on the charts, week after week, remaining strong and steady. And it was the song that most got you in trouble for the explicit lyrics. 

You sang, testing the sound as well as the choreography on stage. Coming to LA had been a non-stop shit show of rehearsals and talk shows and radio interviews. God, you were tired. And you wanted to lay down and pig out in front of the TV. But nooooo.

Plus…well….you weren’t feeling particularly sexy at the moment. Terry rejecting you the other night shook you up more than you cared to admit. Why would he reject you? You were beautiful, smart, and funny on a great day. And yet, nothing.

There were just lingering glances and moments where it looked like he wanted to say something but never did. You didn’t like the cold front you suddenly found yourself in so you kept yourself busy, distracted, and left no room for you to be left alone with him for longer than a minute or two. 

But the hit to your confidence bruised. You didn’t feel normal. Like none of this was real. It was a cruel illusion that could be snatched away from one viral tweet, one public meltdown, or one scandal to torpedo your career. The stalker ate away at your life until you couldn’t even get a guy to fuck you stupid. 

It was embarrassing. It was stupid. He was stupid. 

“Stop! Stop! What the fuck is that?” A booming, obnoxious voice echoed in the empty stadium. 

“Down boys,” you said. The male dancers moved safely, bringing you back down to stand on your own two feet. One of their hands lingered a fraction too long, but you didn’t know if you were being paranoid or not. 

Jake, your stupid agent, came huffing down the front area aisle, a skinny tie swinging behind him. “What the fuck is that? What are you doing?” Jake demanded. He stomped onto the stage and approached you.

“Lower your fucking tone, I’m not a child,” you said. You sneered at him and then crossed the stage, taking the three steps down to the backstage area. You refused to be chewed out in front of your team.

Jake stomped angrily behind you. Terry leaned against the wall near the exit but when he saw you approach, he straightened up. You looked away from him quickly, not wanting him to see what must be written all over your face whenever you looked at him. 

“Who do you think you are?” You asked, pulling on that bitchy persona. 

“The man making sure that fat ass stays rolling in money. You are selling a fantasy up there. Every guy needs to feel like he’s fucking you and every woman needs to feel like they want to be you,” he said.

“Really, tell me more about the job I’ve been doing for years,” you said.

“Thanks to me, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking forget that,” Jake spat, pointing his finger in your face. Ugh. You smacked his finger away and crossed your arms. Jake was back on that shit. His neck and face was flushed cherry red, his eyes were glossy, and he sniffed every two seconds like he smelled something bad. 

“You can’t stay sober for two fucking seconds, Jake. Is that what happened at the club?” That would explain the bullshit he pulled.

“Hey. You’re fucking welcome. That free publicity gained you a million more followers and featured on Spotify. Who takes care of you?” Jake asked, spreading his arms wide. 

You were so disgusted, you didn’t know what to do with him. Ugh. You breathed through your nostrils, centering yourself on the feeling of it rather than wanting to wring Jake’s neck. 

You leveled him with a glare and leaned in. “I take care of you, you piece of shit. And if you pull something like that again, I’ll fire you. Stay off the drugs, Jake,” you said. The last thing you needed was to end up on TMZ, because your agent was out on another embarrassing bender. 

Jake pressed his lips together and threw up his hands. “Alright, alright. Look at me. I ain’t on no shit, okay. I heard you the last time. Clean my act up and I can stay, right? I got a suit on and everything,” he said. He spread his arms out and smiled but you weren’t in a smiling mood.

Jake pouted and wrapped his hands around your waist. A waft of cigarette smoke burned your nose and made your eyes tear up. Terry pushed away from the wall but you held up a hand to him. “Remove your hands before I break your fingers,” you said, as calmly as you could muster. 

You didn’t have time for this fucking clown. And where the fuck was Joya or Mirage? They knew better than to let Jake near you while you were in work mode. 

Jake squeezed your hips once before he removed his hands and held them up like he was so innocent. He grinned and looked down his hooked nose at you. “Just remember what’s standing between you and popping your pussy for any producer that wants to sniff after you. Clean this shit up, we have money to make,” he said lowly for your benefit. 

You didn’t know how much Terry could hear but it stung either way. Jake loved throwing that shit in your face. Loved making you think that you were some gutter rat that no one wanted. Grammy Bean wanted you. You were somebody. And no agent was going to make you feel less than. 

“Make them think they’re fucking you while you’re up there. Jesus Christ,” Jake said, needing to have the final word. He took off, disappeared to go yell at somebody about something. 

You rubbed your head, fighting back tears. Got dammit. Once you let the dam fall, the whole thing came crashing down. You didn’t have time to cry right now. Now when everyone was expecting you to lead them. 

“You okay?” Terry asked. 

You tilted your head back and swiped at your eyelids, catching the tears before they had a chance to fall. The one blessing about rehearsals was that there was no make up or restrictive clothing. You sniffled once and then straightened your shoulders, rolling your neck to get the kinks out. 

“I’m fine, Mr. Terry, thank you,” you said.

“So we’re back to Mr. Terry?” He asked softly. 

You risked a glance at him. He squinted at you, his face tilted down. You held each other’s gazes for a second longer than what was polite. You went to open your mouth when Mirage tumbled down the stairs and stopped short of where you were standing.

“Jake’s ready to see it again,” she said quietly. 

You turned away from Terry’s intense eyes, and nodded. “Let’s give him a show then,” you said.

You went back on stage and talked to your dancers, letting them know that you were going full out. You signed to the sound engineer to start from the top. 

The choreography began with the dancers standing in front of you. Once the opening lyrics started, you moved around the stage singing and rapping about men catering to women’s needs for once. That if they can’t eat it right then there was no reason to let them hit. 

The male dancers lifted you during the hook, supporting your weight while you sang and rubbed your hand along your body. You were a master at pretending. At working off the energy in the room. 

You fed off of the song and the lyrics. Embodied what you were saying. Pulled on your inner sex goddess to coo to the invisible audience. Even though you wore your favorite blue joggers and a tank top, you felt like you were scantily clad in your performance outfit. You were selling a fantasy. A fantasy that everyone wanted a ride but no one met the height requirements.

The dancers put you down and then held your hand up while you dropped it low on one of them. From this angle, you faced the side of the stage where Terry stared at you. Stared as you rapped and sang about getting ate out and having a super soaker to make him drown.

He may have turned you down the other night, but the heat of his gaze made your belly flip. Made you move harder, rap faster, and sing better like you were a siren luring men to do your bidding. 

Your eyes almost never left his as you pretended to sing to him and make him think about what he turned down. Let him think on it. Because he couldn’t have you now. You were off the menu. 

He was too far away and you were moving too fast to get a good read on his expression. He stood stiffly, feet shoulder width apart, and his hands clasped in front of him. As the song drew to a close, you winked at him before tilting your head back and belting out the final notes.

When the song ended, you tore your eyes away from the intense static of his stormy eyes to the sound of clapping from somewhere.

“Yes! Yes! That’s what they’re coming to see. Do that! Exactly that!” Jake yelled out to you. 

“Take a thirty everyone,” you said, panting from going full out for rehearsal. You stood on stage with your hands behind your head, panting, trying to catch your breath and cool the desire low in your belly.

Fuck. Singing to Terry like that affected you way more than you realized. It maybe wasn’t the smartest move in hindsight. You just needed a good twenty minutes to get yourself off.

Joya climbed onto the stage to hand you a bottle of water and some orange slices. “I put some more fruit in your dressing room in case you wanted it,” she said. 

“I love you, seriously,” you told her with a smile. 

She clutched her calendar to her chest and beamed at you. “I love you too, miss lady. Though you’re probably going to hate me now. They need you back for another fitting. Francois changed his mind,” Joya said.

You emptied the bottle of water she handed you in one fell swoop and wiped your mouth. “This is bullshit. We made a whole schedule to make sure everyone, including me, was happy about this tour,” you said.

You hated to sound like a whiny brat but fuck. It seemed like more and more things were getting added onto your schedule, things you didn’t approve of. You weren’t a machine. Did they expect you to keep working until you collapsed on stage? 

Joya smiled and rubbed your shoulder. “I’m gonna check with Mirage and see what we can do about sneaking you some off time. We have a week before the LA leg starts. Surely we can move something,” she promised.

You sighed. “I don’t want you to do all that extra work. I need to yell at Jake some more. He can’t keep adding in stuff last minute. I’m so fucking tired, bro,” you told her.

“It’s our job to make sure you’re good. Let us,” she said. She took your empty water bottle and scurried off to tend to her duties. 

The dancers were all standing around talking and laughing. Stage hands moved around the stage, talking into their microphones, and moved prop elements as they did so. As much as you wanted to join the dancers or speak to the choreographer, you also wanted two minutes of peace. 

But that meant…stepping past Terry. You rolled your shoulders. You were a big girl. You could handle rejection. It wasn’t the end of the world. 

You turned and headed off stage, taking three steps down to the main floor. There were boxes and studio equipment spread out back here, each tagged with different colored tape. Terry eyed you as you approached.

“I’m just heading to the dressing room for a few,” you told him. 

He nodded and fell in step behind you as you walked through a set of double doors, then into a plain hallway backstage. Stage hands moved around but they all moved with focus and purpose. Your sneakers squeaked on the shiny floor. Terry was so quiet behind you, you were tempted to look back to make sure he was still there. But you also got the funny sense that if you did, he’d disappear.

When you approached your dressing room, you hesitated one step from it. Logically, you knew that there was nothing in there. Terry had his team triple the security around you and you hadn’t heard from your stalker since that incident.

It’d be so much easier if you knew what they were after. Did they want to be with you? An obsessed fan you could deal with. You just ignored those wackadoodles until they made themselves known somehow. 

Did they want to kill you? Clearly he had a way to get in and out unseen. Was he someone on your team? You didn’t want to turn into a paranoid loon, looking at everyone with suspicion and further isolate yourself. But fuck.

“Would you like me to check?” Terry asked.

You stared at your navy blue door and bit your lip. Yes….no….you wanted to be brave. Wanted to handle this yourself. But you didn’t know if there would be some other disgusting rendition of your dead face staring right back at you. 

You took a deep breath and prepared to tell him no. Terry stepped forward. “There’s no reward for being a martyr,” he said.

You deflated with a sigh. “Can you check please?” You asked.

Terry moved around you and then unsheathed his weapon. He held it down and away from him and then opened your door. He went in first, moving around the space, holding the gun up. You stayed outside of the door, watching him flit through the crack of the door jam. 

The air turned colder now that he wasn’t beside you. The hallway seemed to close in on you, getting smaller and smaller. Your breathing turned choppy, looking down one way and then the other. 

When you simply couldn’t take another second, Terry emerged from your dressing room and holstered his gun. “All clear,” he said.

You nodded and refused to look at him. “Thank you. I just need some alone time,” you said.

You shuffled past him and he held onto your wrist to stop you. You didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to face him. 

“You don’t have to be formal around me. If I crossed the line the other day, I can transfer…”

“No!” You practically screeched and turned to him finally. You licked your lips and smiled. “I mean, no, no. If anything, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made it uncomfortable –”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

“I’m the boss, you’re in my employ. Please, don’t think nothing else about it. Okay?” You asked.

Terry’s jaw flexed but he nodded. You snatched your wrist away and entered your dressing room, rubbing the spot where his fingers had been. It was as if he seared you with his light grip and the burn lingered.

You damn near slammed the door in his face, locking it behind you. You just needed a second. A moment to breathe and not have to be “on” for people. 

You crossed the small room to the black leather couch and sat down. The coolness of the leather did precious little to calm you down. You weren’t in danger. You weren’t immediately in danger. 

Terry checked the room, he came highly recommended by the firm, and so far, he had been nothing but the consummate professional, taking your safety seriously. 

As you sat there, however, it just drudged up all the horrible shit from your past. Breaking away from your user family. On your knees begging producers to give you a chance, only for them to use their position and power to solicit sex. One talk with Jake shook you up so bad that it reminded you that every day you breathed was a gift, thanks to what you had to do to survive. 

But it had been a long, long time since you had to be this on edge. This hyper aware of your safety and mortality. Someone out there wanted to cause you harm. They wanted you mentally, emotionally, and physically cowering.

Even as you knew that, even as the logic of it settled in your bones, the only thing you could think was that someone wanted you dead. Someone deemed your life less than theirs. Someone felt angry enough about your existence to make your life a living hell and ultimately, remove you from this plane of existence. 

It chilled you to the bone. To your absolute core. One wrong move and then this would have all been for nothing. All of the struggles, all of the navigating, all of the ways you had to scrimp and scrape to be somebody. 

In the end, you were the same, lonely teenager who didn’t want to be invisible anymore. 

The sweet scent of fruit reminded you of Joya’s thoughtfulness but you were too sick to eat anymore. Maybe you just needed to lay down. You scooted along the couch until you could recline. 

You shoved a throw pillow behind your head and closed your eyes. You just needed to breathe. Just needed to focus on that and nothing else. Nothing else. Just that.

You breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth. You felt your body sink further into the couch and before long, you were out like a light.

Loud banging disturbed you from your sleep. You woke up in a pool of cold sweat running down your neck and into your tank top. You groaned and blinked into the harsh overhead lighting. 

Your eyes cracked open, heavy with sleep and eye crusties, as your eyes swept through the room. There was a director’s chair in front of the vanity, lit up by giant light bulbs all around the mirror. The countertop was littered with makeup, tissues, and hair products. 

Dressing room. “Fuck,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. 

The banging continued, sounding louder than normal. “I’m up, I’m up, I’m sorry!” You groaned. Fuck, you felt like you had been drugged.

Your rapid heart beats only sped up as you thought about what you had earlier in the day. Had you been drugged? Was it Joya?

The banging increased and the door shook with the force. It disrupted your thoughts enough to know that Joya would never, ever do something like that to you. Besides, she’s had years to take you out. 

You still made a mental note to give her a pay bump. Mirage too. You keep them happy and they’d keep you happy. 

Three succinct booms hit the door and you jumped up. “Okay, I said I was sorry! Damn! It couldn't have been more than…” You stood up and crossed the room, unlocking the door to discover no one on the other side. “Ten minutes.” 

You stepped out of the room and looked both ways down the empty hallway. Terry was nowhere to be found. 

“Terry?” You stepped further into the hallway but it was as quiet as a tomb. The space felt empty and that freaked you out more than anything else. 

How long had you been sleep? Why did no one wake you? Where was everyone? 

A tremor made your hands shake and your fingers turned numb. Did…no one care? If they couldn’t find you, did they all just pack up and leave? 

“This isn’t funny,” you called out but there was no answer. Not even an echo. Your throat turned dry as you made your way back to the stage. Maybe everyone was having a team meeting. Maybe Joya and Mirage found a way to give you some breathing room.

You pushed open the door to the stage and walked up onto it, only to discover no one in sight. The main stage lights were off, leaving the stage bathed in a swirl of blues, purples, and reds. 

You shielded your eyes. “Hello? What the hell!” You yelled. This was beyond fucking uncool. And your phone was either in your room or with Joya, so you had no clue what time it was.

Panic clawed its way from your belly to your chest, scratching your insides with thick, angry nails. Did everyone just…forget about you? 

You brought your hand to your chest as if that would do anything. All it did was call attention to your thumping heart, beating incessantly. Everyone forgot you. No one needed you. 

“Okay, okay, okay, that’s okay,” you murmured to yourself as you paced around the stage. There had to be a reasonable explanation for all of this. 

If everyone left, that was okay. You were paying them to care, but it didn’t mean that their lives ended just to serve your overinflated ego. You would just…go find your purse in your room. You would grab your phone. Order a car to take you home. Easy. Simple. You had this. 

You told yourself that as you left the empty stage, back down the stairs, and away from backstage. You headed down the hallway, rubbing your sweaty hands on your joggers. You were just stressed, that was it.

You approached your dressing room, it had been left open from when you left it. There didn’t seem to be anyone in there. But…still.

You approached cautiously, wondering what the fuck was going on. How did everyone just leave like that? No matter their personal lives, this was unprofessional as fuck. If they called it early, they should have had the decency to let you know. And why would Terry abandon his post? It was quite literally his job to guard your body.

Highly recommended, yeah right. 

You made it to your dressing room and peered inside, stepping inward to check behind the door. Good. No one there. You stepped further into the room before it dawned on you that if no one was there, if no one was around…who the fuck banged on the door? 

You turned slowly just as a bat came swinging towards your head. You leapt out of the way with a scream, throwing yourself against the vanity. 

A figure dressed head to toe in black lifted the baseball bat to his shoulders. The figure was on the small side, but broad. Had to be a man. 

“What do you want from me?” You yelled. You moved the director’s chair in front of you, to deter the figure. He only kept advancing, holding the bat like you were the game winning ball and he needed a home run. 

You lifted the chair and threw it at him, running from the room. Facing three possible directions, you forgot where the exit was. You also forgot how to read, because there were signs but it didn’t make any sense at the moment.

The figure groaned and it spurned you to run, to flee, to find the exit however you were able to. Thundering footsteps boomed behind you as you ran away. Your lungs felt like they were going to go flying out of your mouth. They burned and ached as you ran and ran.

All of the exercise and training you kept up with did fuck all when faced with an actual attacker. Your brain was mush, operating on some basic instinct to survive. You were supposed to be smarter than this, right? 

You risked a glance behind you just in time to see the bat swinging for your head. You fell to the floor to miss it, landing hard on your thigh, and then scrambled across the floor to avoid another swing for your head.

You pulled nearby crates towards you, dollies, and anything else you could pull. One of the crates managed to trip up your attacker. You rushed to your feet, running through the nearest door.

The door banged open against the wall, echoing in the larger chamber. You made it back to the stage and those same lights blinded you as you ran across the stage. Your body felt stiff, achy, as it wanted nothing more than to stop and evaluate.

Stopping meant death. Stopping meant that your attacker had another chance to get you. 

Stopping meant – you were pushed forward and you fell, sliding across the stage. Your chin bounced against the hard floor and you groaned as your teeth clacked painfully. Pain shot through your jaw and you groaned.

A strong hand gripped you by your ponytail and yanked. You screamed as your head was pulled backwards. This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be what took you out. This couldn’t, this couldn’t–

You kicked and flailed until your shoe connected with something. There was a harsh, low growl as the grip around your hair lessened enough for you to break free. 

You got to your feet, thigh screaming in pain as you limped back to your dressing room. If nothing else, you could lock the door and call for help. It was your final hope. You weren’t going out like this. You didn’t need anyone.

You limped past the door to the hallway, stopping long enough to bar it momentarily with a cart. It wouldn’t hold the attacker for long, but it’d buy you some time. Fuck. Everything fucking hurt. 

Liquid dripped down your chin. You swiped at it and it came away red. You groaned as you stared at your own blood. Literally at your life leaking from your body. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you huffed as you limped to your dressing room. 

Metal double doors slammed up against the crate you pushed against the door. You looked back to see an arm flailing through trying to push the crate. Fuck, fuck. Your vision turned blurry as you limped.

It seemed like every step you took only made the dressing room seem further and further back. It looked so far away, like you were never going to find salvation. 

“Someone! Please,” you called out.

You tripped over your shoes and went tumbling forward, landing awkwardly on the same thigh that already cried out with pain. You sniffled as tears ran down your face. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to fucking do.

The crate crashed against the wall as it finally rolled free. “No!” You yelled out, finding enough strength to get back to your feet. So close, so close, so close, so close –

Your name echoed down the hallway as a thunder of boots ran closer to you. You turned around, expecting to see your attacker and that damn bat, but there was no one behind you. Nothing.

You shook violently and swayed to your right, nearly colliding with the wall. You held out your hand to stop your entire body from crashing against it and then used the wall to hold yourself up. 

The storm of boots turned the corner. Terry lead the charge and checked your room first and then swiveled. He called your name. Fuck, you’d never been more happy to see someone. 

“Terry!” You yelled. 

His head snapped in your direction and he crossed the hallway in long, determined strides. You swiped at your tears and leaned on your good leg, trying to make yourself look less pathetic.

Terry slowed as he approached you, holding up his hands. He stopped short when he got a good look at you. 

“Who the fuck did this?” He asked, his chest heaving with harsh breaths. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” you said, your voice pitching higher and higher. You began to slide down the wall, all fight leaving you completely. He was here. He was here. He didn’t forget about you.

Terry caught you around your middle, shouldering most of your weight. He reached out and gently cupped your face, moving it from one side to the next. His jaw flexed as his eyes scanned over you, taking in all of your injuries. 

He was joined a second later by members of his team and the studio security. Questions were lobbed at you in rapid succession but your brain had turned cloudy. 

“You’re in shock. She’s in shock, back up!” Terry yelled. The mass of bodies dispersed as Terry half-carried, half-walked with you to your dressing room. 

“I woke up and there was no one–”

“Shh, shh, not yet,” he said. 

Just this once…this one brief moment, you let yourself lean on someone else. Terry handled everyone with all the command of a general, parting the sea of looky-loo’s, likely taking photos of you at your most vulnerable. 

Fuck, this was going to end up on TMZ. You groaned at the thought. Terry helped you into your dressing room and then sat you down on the couch. He produced a jacket from somewhere and draped it across your shoulders.

You shook so badly. You were freezing, sore, and achy. You wanted to crawl up like a little baby and never see the light of day again. 

What was the reason? What was the fucking reason? Who the fuck went through the trouble of all of this? What the living fuck? 

All you ever wanted to do was sing and now…you didn’t even have that. The last thing you wanted to do was quit. The very last thing. Singing was your passion, your very being. It was the reason you woke up day in and day out. Because for three hours or so on stage, for hours in the studio, for every interview and fan interaction, you never felt more alive than when you were singing. 

And someone hated you enough to take it away from you. Your mind spun with crazy scenarios. This had to be a deranged fan. This had to be one of those crazy moms who blamed you for corrupting their youth. This had to be someone.  

Someone tangible. This was the work of one person. A smart, deranged person, but just a person. Someone who bled. Someone you managed to fight off. 

Distantly, Terry’s deep timbre barked orders but you weren’t paying attention. You wanted to sleep. 

“Let them through!” Terry’s voice boomed. You jumped from the sudden explosion, before Mirage and Joya squeezed past Terry.

He stood as a stop gap to the onslaught of activity outside the dressing room. No one was getting through him if he had anything to say about it. But then why did he abandon you earlier? 

Mirage and Joya hugged you gently, careful of your injuries. They treated you with kid gloves and that pissed you off more than anything else. You weren’t a fragile flower. You fucking survived. 

Joya cried, swiping at her tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We were told to leave and then we couldn’t find you and then I remembered that I had your phone and we couldn’t even call you–”

You hummed. Even if you made it to your dressing room, there was no phone in here to help you. If Terry hadn’t come when he did, would you be dead right now? 

You hated that you had to rely on others for your safety. You hated that you were a second away from being permanently removed from this earth and it was only by a stroke of dumb luck that the idiot was scared off. 

Joya and Mirage filled you in on their side of things. They were waiting for you to return when one of the guards told everyone to clear out. There was a bomb threat that had been called in and they needed to sweep the building to get everyone out. 

But why didn’t Terry take you with him? 

Your eyes kept glancing over to him as he coordinated with the police and with his team to secure everything back down. His menacing scowl intimidated those around him as he barked orders and commanded everyone. 

Terry glanced at you from time to time. He would give one nod of his head and you returned it. But his whereabouts were more concerning to you. Over the past year, he had been your constant shadow. Nothing fazed him. Nothing tore him up. So where the fuck did he go? 

Terry re-entered the room and stopped short of you. He dropped down into a squat so that he could look you in the eye. “Feel up to talking?” 

You took a deep breath. “Not really. But I know I need to,” you said. The question you most wanted to ask stuck in your throat. You were to afraid of the answer. 

“You don’t have to. We can tell them to meet you somewhere else,” he said. 

You shook your head. “I’m a big girl. I want to get it over with,” you said.

His chin dipped once as his eyes roamed over you. You must look absolutely horrendous. To his credit, he didn’t say anything as he stood and went to the door. He waved to someone and then two men followed behind Terry into your dressing room.

The room grew stuffier, filled with too many bodies. Crowding your space. You dug your nails into the palms of your hands to ground yourself. You were safe. You survived. 

One of the men introduced himself as Henry Bell, a detective with LAPD who was coordinating with the detective in charge of your stalker case. Because you were hopping through multiple cities, it was hard for any one detective to handle it. 

The other man was Patrick Rollins, head of security for the venue. The men asked you to run through what you remembered and what happened. 

You pulled the coat around your shoulders and Mirage and Joya scooted closer to you but you still felt alone. Abandoned. Cold. Like the heat of their bodies couldn’t penetrate the dense fog around you.

You pushed that from your mind as you told them what happened, starting from when you woke up to when Terry found you. You glanced at him as you spoke, wanting to see his reaction yet still afraid of what his excuse was.

He didn’t owe you a damn thing. But you still needed to know why you weren’t important enough to take with. 

They asked more questions, pushed to see if you recognized anything about your attacker. You kept telling them no, getting more agitated the more they asked. How many other ways could you say that you didn’t recognize the loser? 

“Alright, you should have enough,” Terry said. 

“We still have questions–” Rollins started.

“You have enough for now,” Terry reiterated. Rollins sized up Terry but Terry didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He merely kept his open stance and faced the detective and head of security. 

Rollins pushed boyish blond hair out of his face and then nodded. Detective Bill rocked back on his heels and then shoved his notebook into his coat and clicked a pen. “If you think of anything else, let us know, please,” he said. “And I’m sorry this happened to you.” 

You nodded to them and mumbled your thanks. They left with lingering, heated glances with Terry. He saw them out and then he half closed the door. 

“There’s a few things I need to handle and then we can get out of here.” 

You nodded, staring towards your shoes. Everything fucking hurt. You just wanted to turn into a giant baby. But people like you didn’t get to be coddled. You didn’t get to be human. It shattered the illusion and the fantasy.

You picked at the dry blood on your chin. Angie was going to kill you for messing up your face. You sighed and leaned forward.

“Do you have a headache, babe?” Mirage asked. 

You nodded. “I’ll check with a paramedic. They should be here by now.” Mirage stood up and grabbed Joya by the elbow. She protested for half a minute but you didn’t see what Mirage did to make Joya grow quiet. They left the room, leaving you and Terry alone. The last time you had been left alone together didn’t exactly go as planned. 

“Hey,” Terry said. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and then reluctantly looked at him. “How are you really doing?” 

You took a deep breath. “I’m fine,” you said. 

He crossed the room and then dropped into a squat. “There’s no reward for being a martyr,” he said.

You rolled your eyes but you smirked, refusing to smile at his words. “Everything hurts. But I’ll be okay,” you said. 

He nodded. You held each other’s gazes for a moment, just taking him in. His eyes scanned over you, jaw flexing. You didn’t know what he saw. Probably a terrified mess.

“I should apologize–” he started.

“Where were–” you said at the same time. 

He shook his head. “The bomb threat smelled like bullshit so I left a guard to watch you while I checked it out. I was locked in a closet and by the time I burst free, everyone was gone. I went looking, but the guard left his post. Fresh out the military, the bomb was triggering,” he said. His jaw flexed after he said that. 

“You couldn’t know it was triggering,” you said. Well, that explained that. You weren’t sure what you were looking for. An undying apology while he was on his knees? For him to acknowledge that he never would’ve left you voluntarily? He didn’t owe you anything. No one did. 

“He left his post. He’s fired,” Terry said with venom behind his words. 

You smiled ruefully. “That’s a bit harsh,” you said.

Terry blinked at you and you decided to drop it. Apparently, it was important to him and you didn’t know enough about the nuances about this stuff to comment. 

“We’re going to find this motherfucker,” Terry promised.

“Thank you. For coming when you did,” you said quietly. 

“I’m not leaving your side again,” he said. 

Your teeth clicked shut, drawing attention to your bruised chin. You didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t supposed to leave your side earlier. But he did. You settled on a nod. 

Terry lifted from his squat and then returned to his duties, ordering people around, coordinating with others. 

Everything else moved along in a blur. First, you were checked out by a paramedic while Terry watched him like a hawk. You were treated for the scrape on your chin and your thigh was merely bruised. No sprains, no injuries. The paramedic called you lucky. Yeah, right. 

Terry managed to escort you to a truck that had been brought round back and off to the hotel room. The city nightlife went on without you. Though you did pass by a restaurant in downtown LA that played your latest song with Lord A.K. That sort of made you smile. 

You didn’t remember much about the ride to your hotel room besides one minute you were at the venue and the next you stood inside your hotel doorway while Terry checked around. 

“We’ll switch hotels tomorrow. For now, you can rest.” 

You nodded and went to your room without a word. Though you did stop just outside your bedroom. 

“Terry?” You asked.

“Yes, princess?” He asked.

You huffed with a smirk and then turned to him. “I want to learn how to defend myself. Will you teach me?” You asked. 

It wasn’t enough to survive anymore. It no longer suited you to just wait around for this lunatic to kill you. Clearly, your security wasn’t up to snuff. Clearly, this person could get to you at any point and at any time. The only person who could save you was you.

“If that’s what you want,” Terry said.

“That’s what I want.” 

Thank you, my loves. The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 2

Taglist:

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu @playgurlxoxo

@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

@steampunkprincess147 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @theblacklewinsky @soft-persephone @notapradagurl7

@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[nhlclover]

3, 2, 1! LUKE HUGHES

— event masterlist !

pairing: bratt!sister!reader x luke hughes

summary: amidst the glittering chaos of a new year's eve party, you attempt to find closure with the boy you've been crushing on since you came to new jersey.

warnings: bratt!sister, jespers younger sister, brief mentions of drinking, a big ol' kiss

wc: 1.31k

notes: 11 of 12 in my xmas celebration! not technically christmas but i love new years first kiss plots!!

The evening begins in a blur of anticipation, a mingling of nerves and excitement that coils in your stomach like a restless storm. New Jersey isn’t where you thought you’d find yourself spending the holidays, but with Jesper’s insistence and the comfort of your brother’s familiar presence, you had stayed. And now, you’re en route to the Devils’ New Year’s party, clad in a deep navy sequined mini dress that glitters like the night sky, trying to pretend your heart isn’t racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the party.

Jesper’s hands rest casually on the steering wheel, but his eyes flick towards you every so often, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re nervous,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Am not,” you reply too quickly, fiddling with the rings that adorn your fingers.

Jesper huffs a laugh. “Right. So, who’s the lucky guy you’re hoping to kiss at midnight?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your neck. “No one. I’m just going to celebrate and have fun, okay?”

He hums thoughtfully. “Not even Luke?”

The name hits you like a slap, your head snapping towards him. “Why would you bring up Luke?”

Jesper grins now, openly amused. “Oh, come on. Just because I didn’t go to fancy, smart people school like you doesn’t mean I’m stupid. You should see the way you two look at each other. It’s… gross.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you cross your arms, leaning back into the car seat as you glare at Jesper. Moving to New Jersey for hockey, and heading to Princeton to play D1, had been a whirlwind in itself. You hadn’t anticipated the move would also bring a perfectly sweet and charming boy into your life as well.

Every interaction with Luke had an undercurrent of something that felt almost electric. His teasing remarks always carried a hint of sincerity, and his soft smiles lingered just a second too long. You weren’t blind to the way his gaze would find you across a room, or the way your pulse quickened whenever he was near. But neither of you had crossed the invisible line between harmless flirtation and something more, leaving you in this frustrating limbo of uncertainty.

Your throat tightens as you fumble for a rebuttal, but nothing comes. He notices.

“Exactly,” Jesper says, his voice laced with triumph. You open your mouth to retort, but Jesper cuts you off. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’ve got an opportunity tonight. New Year’s Eve, champagne, fireworks—literally the most romantic setup possible. If you like him, just… do something about it. It’s not that hard.”

You bite your lip, Jesper’s words rattling around in your brain. Could you? Could you really make the first move? Or, more terrifyingly, what if you were wrong? What if Luke didn’t feel the same way, and you ruined everything?

As the car pulls up to the party, Jesper glances at you, his usual grin softened into something gentler. “Trust me,” he says as if he could read the little thoughts of uncertainty running through your mind. “He likes you.”

The party is already in full swing when you walk in, the hum of music and the buzz of conversation creating an atmosphere thick with celebration. The room is a wash of twinkling lights, champagne flutes, and laughter. You smooth your hands over your dress, the sequins catching the light with every movement, and try to swallow the lump in your throat.

Jesper winks at you before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you to navigate the throng of people on your own. And then, almost as if drawn by some magnetic force, your eyes find him.

He’s leaning casually against the bar, dressed in dark jeans and a Ralph Lauren sweater that fits just right—effortlessly polished yet entirely approachable. His brown curls are longer than when you last saw them, sitting in a boyish heap on top of his head, and his expression is easygoing as he laughs at something one of his teammates says. But the moment he catches sight of you, his face changes. His posture straightens, and a flicker of something — relief? Awe? — crosses his face. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering a beat too long on your dress, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks.

But before either of you can act, someone claps a hand on Luke’s shoulder, pulling his attention away, and a cluster of teammates intercepts you. The moment is gone.

The night becomes a frustrating dance, a game of cat and mouse where you’re always just out of reach. You catch glimpses of Luke across the room, his head turning as if searching for you, but something — or someone — always gets in the way. One time, you enter the lounge area and spot him on the other side, his eyes lighting up when they meet yours. But just as you step forward, someone grabs your arm, pulling you into a conversation about your studies at Princeton. By the time you politely excuse yourself, Luke is gone. Again.

You find yourself checking the clock more often than you care to admit. Time feels like sand slipping through your fingers. The minutes tick closer to midnight, the air buzzing with anticipation as people gather their champagne flutes and prepare for the countdown. Your heart sinks with every passing second you don’t see him. You resign yourself to the fact that this night might end like so many others — with a lingering sense of what could have been.

The final countdown begins at thirty seconds. The room erupts in excitement, voices growing louder with each passing number. You lean against a high-top table, frustration seeping into your bones as you watch couples and friends gather in anticipation. Your chest feels tight, disappointment creeping in as the seconds tick closer to the new year.

10… 9… 8…

You scan the room one last time, half-hoping, half-defeated—until you see him. Luke bursts into the room, his expression frantic as his eyes search the crowd. When they finally meet yours, a visible wave of relief washes over him.

7… 6… 5…

He’s moving toward you now, weaving through the throng of people with long, purposeful strides. Your breath catches as the crowd seems to part for him, every other noise and movement fading into nothing.

4… 3… 2... 1...

He reaches you just as the final seconds vanish, his hands finding your hips, pulling you flush against him. The room erupts in cheers, a cacophony of “Happy New Year!” echoing around you, but all you feel is Luke. His lips crash against yours with a fervor that takes your breath away, his hands anchoring you to him as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You kiss back without hesitation, your arms winding around his shoulders to pull him closer, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. It’s a kiss that’s been building for months, maybe longer, and it’s everything—soft and urgent, sweet and electric.

When you finally break apart, the world feels fuzzy around the edges, the noise of the party and the faint sound of Auld Lang Syne fading into a distant hum. Luke’s forehead rests lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he searches your face.

“We’ve waited too long for that,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

You don’t trust your voice to respond, so you nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater.

The corners of Luke’s mouth lift into a soft smile. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” you manage to whisper back, your lips brushing his once more as the words leave your mouth.

Around you, the party rages on, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you — finally on the same page, finally saying all the things your hearts had been trying to tell each other for months.

[storiesaplenty]

Who fucked you better? (18+)

141 Task Force x f/Reader

Call of Duty Masterlist

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy though.

Warnings: swearing. Smut below the cut. Unprotected sex. P in V. Oral. Creampie. Anal sex. Use of toy. Recording sexual acts. Oral (m receiving) cum swallowing. Ball sucking. Cowgirl.

WC: 1740

Divider by @strangergraphics

©️ storiesaplenty 2024: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

Captain John Price

"Yes love, let them all hear you." John groaned as he fucked into you from behind. You are flat against the bed, your hips slightly raised just enouh for him to pound you into his mattress.

His hips slamming off your ass making you cry out his name as you reach back and place one hand on his stomach to try and get him to slow down, but he has a point to prove, not only to himself, but to you and his men.

He slapped your hand away, reaching around your body to grip you by the neck and pull you against his hairy body.

"Who the hell do they think are? Huh?" His thrusts were now hard, rough, choppy.

"John please." You whined.

"Asking if I can take care of you? Think they can love you like I can?"

"No." You whimpered, your pussy clenching around his cock at how possessive he was being."

"Think anyone of those 'boys.' can fuck you like I can? Make you cream the way I know how? Bet they couldn't make you squirt? Oh no, only I can." John groaned into your ear, is end drawing near.

"Bet none of them can make you go stupid with just their cock? My smart woman goes all dumb the moment my cock is in one of your pretty, little holes."

"John!" You practically scream as you came. Your pussy clenching so tight around his cock that John followed right behind you.

His hips stilling against your ass as he cums inside of your pussy, making you softly moan at how he is filling you.

"You better?" You finally asked, pulling away from him with your wobbly legs, to go over to the dresser and turn off the camera, hitting send to send to the group chat that you have with the guys.

"Much better darling." John said, as he grabbed a cigar and lit it, hearing your phone vibrate as you kiss your way down his hairy, sweaty body, taking his softening cock in your mouth and sucking.

"Can't wait to see what you do with the others. Those lads trying to prove how good they can fuck you, compared to me."

Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

"Relax baby. I got you." Kyle said as he trailed his hand down your back, as he pushed his thumb in your tight, ass.

You were trying to relax, you really were, but it has been a bit since he fucked you there.

Kyle put the tip against the hole as he pulled his thumb out, and slowly started to push in, making you gasp out his name.

He had his phone set up to record the two of you as he slowly pushed his cock into your ass.

He had another spare phone, pointing at your ass to record him sinking into your ass, until his hips were flushed against ass.

"Oh fuck." He quietly moaned as every single inch was inside of you. Your body was trembling at how full you fell.

He put a vibrating dildo in your pussy earlier as he has seemed to turn up the vibration making your eyes screw shut as you moan out his name, squeezing his cock with your ass.

"Gonna make me cum before I can give you a proper fucking." Kyle warned as he pulled back and thrust his hips forward, forcing a whine from your lips.

Kyle kept the slow pace, making you go crazy, as you needed more, even though by now you didn't know how to voice it, going dumb on his cock.

You moved your ass back each time he thrust back into you.

"You need me to go faster love?" He asked with a smile on his face.

"Yes, faster. Need it." Came the jumbled words spilling from your lips.

That was all Kyle needed to plunge his cock over and over again into your hole, making you scream his name, not caring about if anyone could hear you.

You collapsed forward, turning your face towards the one phone, your mouth hanging open as he fucked you.

Kyle placed one foot on the bed, making him feel even deeper inside of you.

He was groaning behind you, but you couldn't make out what he was saying as you cried out his name as another orgasm was pulled from you.

Your pussy and ass squeezing the dildo and his cock as he fucked your ass through your orgasm.

You lost track and how much you have cum by the time Kyle stilled, flushed against your ass as he groaned, loudly as he filled your hole with cum.

He couldn't help himself as he pulled back just to push back in a few times.

Kyle pulled out and brought the phone down to watch as his cum leaked out of your stretched hole, the vibrating dildo still in your pussy.

"Mmmm, I like to see any of them top that." Kyle said, issuing another challenge to the final two.

Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Johnny's name came out like a prayer as you rode him. His strong hands gripping your waist, helping you set the pace which you both need.

You have nothing idea which angle he is filming the two of you from.

"It's a suprise." He told you as he wrapped your hair around his fist as he fucked your face earlier.

The remnants of that drying on your lips and chin. The taste of him still fresh on your tongue.

But that seemed like a distant memory as the tip of his cock seemed to be nudging your cervix, making sure you remember him for days after this.

Your third orgasm of the night already knocking at your door as you grinded in his lap.

"So deep." You cried out.

"Yeah I am love." Johnny said, smugly, as he braced his feet on the bed and started to thrust up into you, making you brace your hands on his chest, digging your nails into his skin, leaving little indents there.

Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, flipping you the two of you over, so he is hovering above you.

Johnny leaned back, his cock still nestled inside your pussy, as he gripped your calves and pushed your legs towards your chest, making your eyes roll into the back of your head at the first hard thrust.

Your mouth hanging open as he fucked you at a rough, brutal pace that had your mouth fall open in a silent scream as he pulled another orgasm from you.

Your body shaking at how intense this orgasm is.

"Fuck." Johnny grunted as he pulled out, jerking his cock as stood up on the bed, to stand above you before sitting on his knees, which are now placed on either side of your head.

You take his balls in your mouth as he jerks his cock off above you.

Johnny is looking down at you, as you pull your mouth back from his balls, making a popping sound.

He moved down a bit just to place the tip of his cock on your tongue just as you closed your mouth around the tip.

Johnny's moans seemed to bounce off the walls as he came in your mouth, you quickly swallowing as fast as you can.

"Fuck me." He groaned as he got off the bed, grabbing a phone from one of his hiding places.

He trailed it up and down your body, until stopping at your face.

"Oh, you missed a bit there." Johnny said as he swiped his cum from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, placing it in your mouth as he closed your eyes, sucking his finger clean.

"Yes, that's it." Johnny said to you, tossing his phone to the side to go for another round.

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

"Si," You couldn't even get his name out, your head leaning against his chest.

Your arms were reaching behind you, holding onto his neck, his hands spreading your thighs wide as his cock was nestled inside your pussy.

That is already sensitive due to Simon spending what felt like an eternity between your legs, making you cum on his and fingers twice.

All of a sudden, Simon stood up, his arms moving under your thighs, moving you up and down his cock, like you weighed nothing.

Simon moved the two of you, never once leaving your oussy as he halted in front of the full length mirror.

"Open your eyes." He grunted, you not even realising that your eyes were closed .

You forced your eyes open to watch as he moved you uo and down, his cock disappearing in and out of you.

You could see how wet you were as your juices coated his cock.

You couldn't believe that you could actually take all of him inside of you.

The others are big, but Simon, Simon is thick and long.

"Look at how well you take me, eh love."

He moved you up and down on his cock, faster and faster until you became almost limp on his arms as you came around his cock.

Simon quickly pulled out of you and turned you in his arms, before tossing you on the bed, you landing on your stomach.

Simon moved you onto your knees before grasping your hips and thrusting inside you once more before you could even blink.

Simon fucked you like there was no tomorrow, and you swear you blacked out every few moments.

"Yes, squeeze my cock lovie." Is what you heard as you woke up to you coming around his cock, him fucking you through your orgasm.

Simon changed the angle of his hips and was hitting that spot inside of you that had you screaming his name as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from your quivering body.

Simon finally stilled, his hips flushed against your ass as he came with a grunt.

His cum filling you as he smacked your ass a few times, making you yelp, and squeeze his cock with your pussy one final time.

"Shit love." Simon groaned as he pulled out of you.

You collapsing on the bed, not watching where he was walking too.

You felt your phone land next to you, and you could see the screen lighting up from the group chat.

They were each asking the same question.

'Who fucked you better?'

[yourloyalwatchdog]

coming up to you while you're scrolling through tumblr on your phone. such an intelligent little pet... let me ruin that for you.

"hi, my dumb puppy." i say as i pet your head.

your thumb stops moving for a beat as your brain accepts my command to your subconscious.

then you blink and continue to scroll. "hey!" you smile when i sit beside you. you don't even register that i said anything to you other than a simple 'hi'.

it happens so subtly, do you even notice how you're already scrolling less? you spend more and more time on each post as it takes your mind longer to register them. the bigger words become harder to pronounce. you don't even recognize a word as hard as "conditioning", which is ironic, because that's exactly what i've done to you.

your eyebrows scrunch up all cutely as whole sentences lose their meaning. you stop scrolling soon enough. now you're stuck rereading that one post over and over and struggling to figure out what it says. but of course, it only makes less sense every time you read it while your vocabulary continues to shrink, until the language becomes something completely foreign altogether. it doesn't mean anything at all anymore.

you put your phone down, beyond frustrated by your own stupidity. your eyes are wary as they flicker over me. i cock my head to the side. "is something wrong, puppy?"

your eyes glaze over for another moment. then another blink, and you're trying to stare into my brain, decipher the tiny hint of mockery in my tone.

"you..." your mind is hard at work trying to translate your racing thoughts into speech. and it's failing. "what... you... do to... me..."

you shift in your seat, rubbing your legs together as heat swells up in your core. as your confusion grows, so does the arousal, because you like to be dumb. you and i both know that. even if you can't quite think that hard right now.

"what do you mean, love? i didn't do anything to you."

"the– i–" your frustration grows, and your ability to articulate what's happening to you diminishes.

your pointless stuttering turns into a needy whimper, which i take great amusement in. "oh, i think i know what the problem is now," i chuckle. "is my dumb puppy in heat?"

your mind has completely slipped away from you now. you let out a bark as you buck your hips, rutting helplessly against the air. your hands reach over to paw at the waistband of my jeans. you don't even know how to get them off me if you tried. that's just too much thinking for a little puppy.

such a pretty thing you are. you pretend to be so smart. a normal, competent person like me. but you're nothing like me. all i have to do is tell you you're my dumb puppy, and every ounce of your humanity leaves you in a matter of minutes. doesn't that mean it was always the truth?

"does puppy need my cock?" i ask. you bark and gaze at me with your best pleading eyes. just a dog begging for a treat.

"well, since you asked so nicely..."

————————

this story is about a fictional scenario. assume prior consent and negotiation have taken place. do not attempt to recreate this scenario in real life without getting informed consent from and thoroughly negotiating with your play partner. kink without consent and negotiation isn't kink, it's abuse.

op/author is a trans man and uses he/him pronouns. do with that information what you will.

[clowns0up-felix]

Love that ur little tell that a Link is divine/super traumatized is a little bit of white in the hair or on the ears. (First and Mask)

I also NEED to know why u portray Oot/Mm Link so young since usually the little dude is portrayed as the oldest or older of the Links. ❤️💗pretty please 🙏 ❤️❤️

Uhmmm I think a young teen Mask is just super fun to explore !! Likee he’s grown since his last adventure and he prob thinks of himself as way more mature than he is? His mind is older than his body, but it’s not much. Like he’s prob 15 mentally lol . He also looks a little older than he is which gives him confidence in his belief of being mature,, Also also I need him to have a chill adulthood (until he dies) I can NOT have that guy go on an adventure at 30 he has kids let him ressssttttt , but yeah a teenager is stupid and I need him to be stupid but think he’s mature and smart and experienced which he is but he’s still a teen and and and

Tbh I feel like I’ve seen just as many young times in other people’s linksmeets as older ones

I love my fur eared guys 🫶 Wolf in theory also counts but his isn’t white so fuck him in particular

Thanks for the ask !!!

[scapinoz]

MY MAD DOG (all mine).

yandere male oc x male reader.

prologue.

first of all, thanks for reading. this is my first time publishing one of my original works :) disclaimer that English isn’t my first language and that i don’t pay attention to grammar lessons at school, so there might be a few errors. sorry in advance about that !!

warnings: mentions of firearm and cursing. maybe a bit of child neglect. nothing too dark…yet (we’re just getting started)

Ilarion Lucero had always wanted a dog– a german shepard, to be precise– when he was younger. He had always gotten everything he had ever wanted back then; Ilarion was his father’s only heir, the young master of the household. Everyone– the maids, the servants, the butlers, his father’s men, even his mother– was at his beck and call all the time back then; when he was young. Because God forbid that the young master should ever once feel yearning or sorrow.

Ilarion Lucero had never once asked for anything; because everything he ever desired was handed to him in a bloody silver platter before he opened his mouth to ask for it.

Yet, despite the endless parade of silver-plated indulgences, there was one thing Ilarion had asked for.

A dog.

Ilarion, perhaps when he was five or perhaps six, went to his father’s office, barging in without knocking. (back then he hadn’t paid much mind to the gun that sat atop his father’s maghony desk). He had demanded that his father should get him a dog, because a boy from his class got one; a white one, covered in fur and had wide and glossy eyes. Ilarion had also wanted one. He begged, he cried, he pleaded with all the fervor of a child who had never known denial. And yet his father’s answer remained the same.

No, his father had said, you’re not responsible enough to take care of a dog.

He didn’t face his father for three days after that. His mother had begged him to eat; even had the chefs make his favourite food. But he did not budge. He had hoped that his father would feel some kind of remorse in his cold heart and buy him a dog so that he could brag to his classmates about having a dog as well.

But his father did not do that.

Ilarion had always known that his father was rather unsympathetic (it was the kindest word Ilarion could scavenge to describe his father). His father smiled, of course, the man never compressed his emotion (though it was only in his later years that he realized the smile was fake). The older man loved his son, his mother had always told that his father loved him when he was younger whenever he would ask about why his father never quite kissed his cheek and embraced him as his mother did. Love, he thought, was not something that should be hidden. Love was warm kisses, soft words and long embraces (things his father never gave him).

Illarion never quite believed it. He wasn’t stupid after all (in his six year old brain acing his exams made him feel smart). His father did not love him. Nor did his father love his mother. He had heard them argue back and forth; his mother asking his father to quiet down so that their son wouldn’t hear them and his father said, ‘let him hear then.’

And Illarion knew that he was only his father’s heir; not his son, or his beloved boy, but only his heir.

And an heir should be kept happy, right?

So, he asked for a dog once again.

He cornered his father during breakfast, pleading more. This time his father simply looked at him before walking away, the man that was always with the older man (Rylan, his father’s right hand man) following him.

Later that day he asked again (Illarion really wanted that dog), during dinner. Surely, in the warmth of their home, with food and wine laid before them, his father might soften. But his father did not. his father left the table and his mother, silent and withdrawn, didn’t say a word.

Illarion sought out his mother after dinner. Seeking solace and perhaps an ally in his crusade for a puppy. Hence he made his way to his parents’ bedroom, more than ready to risk his father’s wrath.

His mother wasn’t there in the bedroom. Rather he only found his father and Rylan conversing. And for a moment illarion could swear that he heard his father say, “take the fucking kid outside.”

and Rylan, ever the loyal servant, took illarion out of the room.

“What kind of dog do you want?” He asked.

And Illarion didn’t waste a second answering (he had rehearsed the answer to this question, in case his father was to ask). “A big one,” Illarion said, “like those dogs that the guards had in the last gala.” And then Illarion realized that Rylan didn’t attend the gala which took place last week, which could possibly mean that the older man didn’t know what dog Illarion was talking about. “The big one, full of fur and like a long nose,”

Rylan cut him off, “A German Shepherd, kid. I know. Your father told me.”

“Oh.”

“Do you really want a dog?”

“Yeah,” illarion nodded, “I want one.” Maybe he’ll try asking during Christmas or his next birthday.

“I’ll see what I can do, kid.”

Illarion doubted that Rylan could do anything about it. After all, Rylan was just his father’s lackey and would just follow his father’s words like it was the holy scripture.

But two days later Illarion was proven wrong.

His mother didn’t join him for dinner that day. It was just him and his father eating in silence until the door opened, revealing Rylan accompanied by a boy.

Illarion immediately focused on the boy, who seemed to be around his age. But tall, so incredibly tall. Perhaps the boy was at least two or three years older than Illarion. Ilarion blinked. The boy had striking features that mirrored Rylan’s. But where Rylan stood rigid and composed, the boy exuded an air of defiance (Another difference was that Rylan wasn’t covered with bandages and dinosaur bandaids like the boy was).

“I’m sorry about the delay,” Rylan said, ushering the boy towards the dinner table. “This is my son.”

illarion heard the boy scoff and cross his arms over his chest. And it took him a minute to notice what the boy was wearing…a pair of jeans and a tank top— so casual that it bordered on insolence.

“It’s a pleasure,” Illarion’s father murmured, taking a sip from his glass of wine. “I’ve heard so much about you, Y/N.”

The boy— who Illarion now knew as Y/N— didn’t reply until Rylan nudged him . “Likewise,” came the reply, bored and nonchalant.

Ilarion watched in disbelief as his father allowed the insolence to pass unchallenged. It was the first time he had seen anyone address the man with anything less than deference and leave unscathed.

While his father was amused, Rylan looked the opposite. Perhaps a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance (the same expression that was mirrored on his son’s face).

“Y/N,” Rylan said through gritted teeth, “Go sit beside Illarion. He’s your friend now.”

And the boy complied, dragging his feet as if the short distance to the table was a long gruesome journey in the desert with no water. Illarion watched, bewildered, as Y/N plopped onto the chair beside him with all the grace of a sullen street cat.

Illarion’s father turned to look at him for the first time that night. “He is yours to look after now, illarion.”

Ilarion stared at the boy beside him, at the bandages on his arms and the fire in his eyes. He had asked for a dog, a loyal and silent companion. What he had been given was something else entirely— a mad dog, wild and untamed.

quick yap session :) it was like three a.m. when i wrote this, partially high on caffeine and sugar. idk what i was trying to achieve with this, actually. side note, im doing this just for shit and giggles actually. don’t take this seriously.

and if you’re interested in reading, comment down below and it might encourage me to write quicker and release more parts or else this might just collect dust like most my books.

[loverangels]

stolen goods

pairings: ares!reader x luke castellan

synopsis: luke is a sentimental thief. too bad you also love your belongings. and his.

warnings: not proofread! Don't really like this but I wanted to post something for you guys sooo I hope it's okay! :)

I am not a thief. Is what Luke castellan swears to himself under his breath and in his mind chorusing these words like a religious mantra.

I am not a thief. I am not a thief. I am not a thief.

But how many times could he repeat it before he believed it?

Yes he was Hermes son but only by blood and that didn't mean anything. Right.?

Good intentions. That was the only thing he he reassured himself with as his nimble fingers picked another of your possessions.

A coin, a wrapper, a hair tie,- god it could be a dirty napkin and he'd take it.

It's a keepsake. A souvenir. A memoir

Something anything to remember you by.

And it wasn't like you knew.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Youstomp around your cabin fighting the urge to rip your hair out. You had been searching your room the whole morning in an attempt to find your favourite necklace with no success. It wasnt even as though you'd only searched your room even going to the extent to sneaking into your siblings room. Again no success.

By now your hands were fisted into balls as you travelled around the whole cabin asking your siblings if they'd seen your necklace.

'Clarisse!' you exclaim with your arms crossed face frowning impatient as you waited for your sister to arrive.

Gracefully with time, after a thousand fucking years your sister had arrived her eyebrows pulled up expectantly.

'yes?' she asked slow and tentatively.

'do you have my things ' you ask rushed and impatient

Clarisse face pulls into an angry glare offended you'd ask such a question.

'No'

You huff 'are you sure?'

'im not a thief but your boyfriend sure is go ask him' clarrise grunts before stomping away.

You fight the flutter in your heart at the thought ,'hes not my boyfriend!' you exclaim after her.

With your hands on your hips, you almost threatened to start crying.

Where was all your things going?

It couldn't possibly be luk-

Could it?

You bite your lip as you mull the thought before brushing the thought away. It couldn't be him-

You'd try anyways. You were desperate.

Leaving the cabin you search around camp for a while before being tipped that Luke was training. Finding him with his sword training with that awfully beaten up dummy you paused for a moment.

God he was so fucking pretty done.

You watch as his biceps clench as he swings his sword and the way his shirt lifts up slightly yes enough to get that delicious view of them gorgeous-

You snap yourself out of whatever kind of daze that was and call his name out watching how he stops immediately and turns around almost like a dog with his ears perked a grin slowly spreading on his face.

Stupid beautiful boy.

He drops his sword as you make your way to him, his hands instantly on your hips pulling you flushed up against him as he looks down at you tucking a strand behind your hair.

'yes sweetheart?' he asks. His voice so so soo sweet.

You mentally curse yourself as you stay at a lost for words before finally regaining your state of mind.

'do you know where my things are?' you ask abruptly watching his face with your makeshift eyes.

He leans his head onto your shoulder trailing his lips until they hover over your ear.

'and why would you think that hm?' he asks smirking to himself.

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow 'because nearly half of my things are missing and now that I think about it they always seem to disappear after we're together'

'smart girl' he hums pulling his face back from your ear as he grins down at you, his thumbs tracing mindless patterns on your hips.

'im waiting for them back castellan' you state firmly.

His grin drops as he groans throwing his head back 'oh come on! Let a man have at least something of his girl'

'something yes not half of my possesions' you tease.

Luke raises an eyebrow 'you're saying that in my shirt.' he deadpans before his eyes flickering down.

'and- hey wait aren't those my sweatpants?' he asks 'i was looking everywhere for those!' he exclaims

You give him a sheepish smile 'maybe you can have some of my things'

[milk-tea-sakura]

Back Story- Felix takes you to his family's Christmas gathering back in Australia.

Cw: Fluff

You sat in the car, staring out the window at the lush greenery that passed by. Felix was driving, a small smile on his face as he navigated the winding roads.

"Nervous?" he asked, glancing over at you.

You turned to look at him, a mixture of excitement and nervousness coursing through you. "A little bit, yeah," you admitted, biting your lip. "This is a big deal, meeting your family for the first time. I just want them to like me, you know?"

Felix chuckled, reaching over and giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "They'll love you," he said, his voice confident and soothing. "I've talked about you so much that they feel like they already know you. And besides, you're amazing. What's not to love?"

"I don't know, what if your sisters Rachel or Olivia don't like me?"

Felix smiled, his eyes warm and reassuring. "My sisters are going to love you, I know it," he said, his voice gentle. "They can be a bit protective of me, but they're both incredibly kind and welcoming. And anyway, it's not like they can resist your charm."

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to shake off your anxious feelings. "I guess you're right," you replied, your voice shaky. "I just hope I don't do anything embarrassing or say something stupid."

Felix chuckled, his hand still holding yours in a comforting grip. "You won't," he said, his tone confident and sincere. "You're smart, funny, and incredibly kind. My family will see that, just like I do. And even if you do say something stupid, they'll find it endearing, I promise."

You took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension leave your body. "Okay," you said, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I trust you. And I'll try to just be myself, like you said."

Felix smiled, a warm and proud expression on his face. "That's my girl," he said, giving your hand another squeeze. "Just be yourself, and everything will be fine. And if you get nervous, just remember that I'll be right there beside you the whole time."

As the car continued down the road, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. With Felix by your side, you knew you could face anything. And deep down, you knew that his family would welcome you with open arms.

You climbed out of the car, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Felix came around to your side of the car and took your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Ready?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You took a deep breath and nodded, trying to shake off the last few nerves and butterflies that were fluttering around your stomach. "Ready as I'll ever be," you said, summoning a brave smile.

With that, Felix led the way up the path towards the front door, still holding your hand securely in his. He rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, the door opened to reveal his mother, a warm and welcoming smile on her face.

"Felix, you're here!" his mother exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. "And you must be Y/n," she said, turning to you with a friendly smile. "We've heard so much about you."

You smiled back, feeling a little bit of the tension dissolve as you took in the warm and welcoming atmosphere. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Lee," you said, hoping your voice wasn't trembling.

"Please, call me Lina," his mother said, her eyes sparkling. "Come in, come in! The rest of the family is in the living room. They've been eager to meet you."

Felix led you into the house, following his mother towards the living room. As you entered the room, you saw a group of people gathered around the fireplace, talking and laughing. They all turned to look at you as you entered, their expressions curious and eager.

Felix introduced you to each person in turn - his sisters, Rachel and Olivia, and his father, Mr. Lee. They all greeted you warmly, expressing their excitement at finally meeting the girl who had captured Felix's heart.

You did your best to keep track of everyone and make small talk, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. But as you spoke to each family member, you could feel the tension melting away. They were all so friendly and welcoming, and it was clear that they loved Felix very much.

As you continued to chat with the family, you noticed how at ease Felix seemed to be. He was laughing and joking with his siblings, his eyes sparkling with happiness as he made sure to include you in the conversation.

After a while, the group moved to the dining room, where a feast was laid out on the table. As you all sat down, Felix took the seat next to you, his hand finding yours again under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"So, Y/n," Rachel said, her eyes sparkling with interest. "Tell us a bit about yourself. Felix has told us some things, but we're eager to hear more from you directly.”

You felt a twinge of nervousness, but you tried to push it aside and focus on the warm and welcoming atmosphere around you. Taking a deep breath, you began to tell the family a bit about yourself - where you grew up, what you studied in school, your hobbies and interests.

They listened intently, asking questions and making comments as you spoke. You noticed how genuinely interested they all seemed in getting to know you, and you felt a warm feeling of acceptance begin to bloom in your chest.

As the dinner continued, you found yourself feeling more and more comfortable with Felix's family. They were all so accepting and friendly, and you felt a sense of belonging that you hadn't expected.

After dinner, everyone moved back to the living room. You found yourself sitting next to Felix on the couch. He had his arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

"You're doing great," he murmured into your ear, his voice warm and encouraging. "They all love you. Just like I knew they would."

You smiled, feeling a surge of happiness at his words. You leaned into him, soaking up the warmth and comfort of his presence.

As the evening wore on, you continued to chat and laugh with Felix's family. They regaled you with stories about Felix and his siblings growing up, making you laugh and gasp in all the right places.

Felix was watching you intently the whole time, a warm and affectionate smile on his face. You could see the pride in his eyes as he saw how well you were getting along with everyone, and it made your heart flutter.

As the night wore on, you could feel exhaustion starting to set in. You tried to stiffle a yawn, not wanting to appear rude or disinterested. But Felix noticed, and gave you a knowing side-glance.

"I think we should probably head out soon." Felix said,turning to his family. "Y/n looks like she's starting to fade."

His family nodded in understanding, everyone expressing their own variations of "It was nice to meet you" and "We hope to see you again soon." You thanked them for their warmth and hospitality, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving.

As you said your goodbyes, Felix's mother pulled you into a tight hug, holding you a little bit longer than the rest "Take care of my son," she said, her voice soft. "And make sure he takes care of you too."

You nodded, hugging her back tightly. "I will," you promised feeling a sudden rush of affection for this woman who had taken you into her home and made you feel so welcome.

As you and Felix stepped outside into the cold night air, you felt a sense of contentment wash over you. You had survived your first meeting with Felix's family and it had gone even better than you could ever have hoped for.

[rdng1230]

Sorry op, you awoke the writing demon and it must be satiated.

—-

Sal groans into his whiskey, silently asking god why he sent him such an idiotic best friend with it seems, an equally stupid ex boyfriend.

"You asked him to move in with you? Buckley I thought he said you were smart."

Buck can't help the sad smile that invades his face. "He really said that??"

Sal ignores him, tapping on the bar like he's Columbo laying out a case. "So tell me if I got something wrong here. He kisses you, you go on a date, you pull the no homo routine, ask him for coffee, invite him to your sister's wedding, fucking insane by the way, you spend the next what, 5 or so months happy as clams not asking any deeper questions at all and you think you can just jump into cohabitating with a smile and a Stonewall Spiel?"

Sal straightens up and turns to face Buckley full on. "No foolin, is there an actual goddamn gas leak in your apartment?"

Buck stares back at him sheepishly, either shame or booze flooding his cheeks red. "I may have skipped a few steps."

"Boy you skipped so many steps you took an elevator."

Buck bites the inside of his cheek. "Tommy always made your pep talks sound like, you know, actual pep talks."

Sal takes another sip of his drink and signals for another. "Here's the thing I think you've failed to grasp about ole Tommy Boy. There is nothing more baffling to him than a compliment."

The younger man's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

And this time Sal actually looks sad. Really sad. "I've been his friend for longer than either of us care to remember. I have seen the best and worst of him and I love him more than anyone apart from my girls. I haven't always been good at showing it, but he is my family."

Sal stares at Buck with a strange mixture of vulnerability and laying down a challenge. One Buck desperately hopes he can meet.

"The only thing I would change about Tommy Kinard is that he would believe me when I tell him that. Would believe anyone when they tell him things like that."

Buck reaches out without thinking to grab Sal's shoulder, and surprisingly the old grump doesn't recoil. Buck can't really say Sal and him are friends. In fact they may be far too similar to ever be friends. But Sal wants nothing but the best for Tommy, and for that, they're on the same team.

"The truth is kid, Tommy has a knack for picking roads he knows are dead ends. He was ready to ride the thing with you till the fucking wheels fell off, but he never expects anyone to stick around. There's nothing scarier to him than potential. To him that's the same thing as loss. And believe me, he's lost enough."

Buck stares at the foggy bar mirror. If he wasn't on his second whiskey, Sal would have made an excellent Roman Centurion. Stalwart and intimidating against anyone who would wish harm to the things he cares about. It's probably what makes him such a good Captain.

"How do I make him believe that he's not gonna lose me? How do I convince him that I want to stay."

Sal gives him a sympathetic glance. "I don't know if he'll ever believe it fully. But the best advice I can offer? Stay anyway. Love him anyway. But you gotta love the real him this time, and believe me he will fight you every step of the way on that."

Buck nods sincerely, his whole body singing at the idea of even seeing Tommy, much less being with him. "I'd fight forever if it means getting him back."

Sal grimaces and juts his chin toward the door. "Get the hell out of here and go get your man Buckley, Unless you wanna gimme a toothache on top of this hangover."

Buck grins, tossing a wad of cash on the counter and gunning it for the exit.

Sal goes up to Buck in a badge and ladder bar and asks him what the FUCK did he do to Tommy

And Buck is taken aback and looks so confused as he replies that Tommy's the one who broke up with him?

And Sal juat goes cool, that doesn't answer my fucking question. What the fuck did you do to him?

[commsroom]

What is it you love so much about Eiffel? Asking as a fellow Eiffel Lover, I'm just interested in your response!

i've been holding onto this one for a while, in part because i know there's no complete answer to this and i could probably just talk forever, but it's almost his birthday, so... in the spirit of dougmas:

what i love about eiffel as a character is that he feels like a real person. he's full of these very human contradictions: he's a coward, he can be exceptionally brave, he's considerate and thoughtful, he's got his head up his ass, he's a mediator by nature, he's frustratingly stubborn and will dig his heels in about the pettiest things, he's very technically capable, he's a master of weaponized incompetence. he's stupid in ways only a very smart person can be, and has a certain kind of self-hating self-centeredness. he has very firmly held morals and wants to do right by people, and he struggles to reconcile those beliefs with the unforgivable things he's nonetheless done; he has very real and serious flaws that the narrative doesn't flinch away from, but neither exonerates nor condemns him for. he's so entangled with the heart of the show, its themes and relationships, that you couldn't have wolf 359 without doug eiffel, and - as a friend of mine once said - if you put eiffel in any other show, he'd turn it into something resembling wolf 359 as well. and as gabriel urbina said about pan-pan: "he's the communications officer; without him, they stop communicating." he's a compassionate portrayal of an addict, and a very real and nuanced example of a kind-hearted man who's still used to thinking of himself as the "default" kind of person, and is still learning how to deconstruct the biases that come with that.

what i love about eiffel as a person is that he's someone i'd want in my life. he's a very sincere and emotionally honest person; he doesn't have hidden agendas, and you know exactly where you stand with him. he hates authority, he hates work, and he won't suck up or pretend otherwise - in fact, he'll create more work for himself if it means he can avoid doing his job, on principle. if he has a grievance about something, oh, you'll know. at the same time, he has this infectious enthusiasm about the things he loves, and the things that excite him, and he's a geeky guy into primarily 80s/90s nostalgic media who doesn't feel the need to gatekeep. i love his voice, i love how expressive he is, i love how you can hear the same mannerisms you can see in the live show just in the very open-body-language way he emotes. he has a very distinct former class clown type of energy, and i think that goes hand in hand with an underlying loneliness. he can be pretty clueless, he speaks before he thinks and has chronic foot-in-mouth disease, but… doug eiffel is the kind of person who would notice if someone was standing alone in the corner at a party, and would go out of his way to make them feel included. he's good at getting people to open up, even if it's in spite of themselves, even if it's while they're rolling their eyes at him. he's a staunch pacifist who - even when things piss him off - doesn't react to conflict with violence or threats of violence, and he can't stand to have things stay bottled up: if there's one thing eiffel wants everyone to do, it's talk about it. whatever it is. he has a good balance of traits that make him feel genuine and warm without coming across preachy or suspiciously softened; he's also very much still a gross dirtbag with a lot of annoying flaws typical of some average guy, and that's a huge part of his appeal to me. he's good with his hands. he likes building stuff and taking things apart. he's rough around the edges in ways that reflect his life experience, and he's just… a guy who has lived a life, who has a lot of life experience, but hasn't made a lot of true friends in the process. he's gotten used to being lonely, and gotten used to telling himself he's fine with it, and something in me really aches for that.

his birthday is a good - and timely - example: he's a man in his 30s still holding onto childhood hurt, having his birthday forgotten and overshadowed by christmas. i'm also a christmas hater, so it's nice to have something else to celebrate and prioritize, and i like imagining his disgust at all of the unavoidable holiday trappings; it makes me feel less alone. i wouldn't say i relate to eiffel, more that i feel we have compatible issues, and it's not a secret that he's the type of guy i find attractive. he feels like a real person that i already know and love, and at the same time he's representative of the kind of person i'd like to know, like his life would fit comfortably into mine.

[desos-records]

that alternate ending version of Under the Red Hood (2010) where Talia gives Damian to Jason for some ungodly reason always makes me laugh because Jason is like. I'm going to turn Bruce's son into something horrible just to spite him and says this while holding an infant that can't be more than a month old, like. no, Jay, you're gonna get two days into surrogate fatherhood before your instincts take over and you're finding a better safe house in a better neighborhood so you can build a proper nursery and get Damian into a proper pre-K when he's older. the pit can't erase the fact you died trying to save the mother who gave you up or the fact that a mother has just given up her son to you. and by the time any of that gets through your red fiberglass skull, you'll find yourself standing in the grocery store deciding whether you should buy Dami a bat stuffie just to be funny

[solidaritygaming-fanblog]

btw do yourself a favor and never think "haha someone should make a compilation of everytime Jimmy says something self depreciating!" Because any time he says he hates himself you'll feel sick to your stomach and want to cry. Totally not speaking from experience

[ancharan]

sorry im sorry im not fucking done, coloring this stupid pictures got me emotional

i know fords not christian, i know his family is jewish, but i was raised as a christian, even if i dont practice or believe any more, and i empathize with people who participate in that community

and the reason im bringing this up is bc, for a lot of those people, religion is what you put into it. that's the whole "personal relationship with christ" that mainstream protestant christianity loves to talk about. its meditative. its cathartic. appeals to a power outside of your understanding, who knows you so intimately, who loves you unconditionally, who has been there for every prayer, who gives you the assurance that, at the end of the day, it's all going to work out fine - even if you starve, even if the ceiling falls in, you did the right thing by praying and you're going to be taken care of in the end. it's a nice idea. it's a seductive idea. not bashing christians at all in this post - everyone comes to religion for their own reasons. i left for personal reasons, too.

so like. lets talk about billford?

bc you have this thing that knows you, this thing outside of time, outside your comprehension, a god in a very literal sense - and he loves you. he wants you around. he thinks you're smart. he knows, better than anyone else could know in the entirety of existence, just how smart you are. you get privileged access to this being, he gives you his literal flesh, he lets you tap into the core of what makes him who he is - and, the most unforgivable thing of all, he reciprocates the love you give him? not in the ambient way that a christian god loves his children, but you. specifically you. exclusively you. jesus fucking christ. how do you not go fucking insane about that? lose yourself in it?

the thing is, though... that bill's not God. the appeal of the christian god is that he's infallible, infinite, ultimate - concepts of morality don't apply to him, and he isn't petty, or jealous, or vindictive (we're talking pure protestant church bylines here, do not come at me citing bible verses). but bill - the thing from another world, cataclysmic force of change, snappy dresser - he absolutely is all of these things. worse, too. so you get the seductive allure of a personal, literal, reciprocal relationship with your own god - but he's also the worst person you know and wants to kill your family.

of course he's there to catch you when you fall. that's what prayers are for. of course he'll welcome you back. take comfort in it. bask in it. you don't have to worry about a thing.

god fucking theseus' guide has given me the worst brain worms. like of course stanley doesn't get it - but what is there to get? he hit the nail on the head, ford can dress the relationship up however he wants, there's no grand romance happening, it's as base and banal as anything stanley ever did, ford's business isn't inherently more important

sure, he's sad. sure, he's having some kind of fucking crisis right now. but like we have a couple of equally traumatized kids on the beach, can we fucking move this along please?

and the dismissive attitude makes sense given the circumstances, given that it's stanley, but also we're in ford's head as the readers, so like... yeah dude it is a big deal. it would have been so so easy for ford to just go along with bills plan this whole time. it would have been sooo easy. and yet here he is, he blew up his only chance at ever getting home to save their dimension, when he could've had literally everything

and then right back at it it's like dude, you want a fucking cookie for not blowing up the earth? you really have that little regard for humanity as a whole, that this was ever even a question for you? what the fuck is wrong with you? why does this matter so much to you? what the fuck is your problem, ford?

[blackthorn-faerie]

I am a frequent indulger in University AUs, and Aventurine is always depicted as a business student. I love to see it, but to me, he is a high school dropout who somehow managed to work his way into a recruiting position in a mega corporation (the IPC lol) and is frequently at the university for hiring fairs and things

[mathes0n]

My partner asked me to draw evil Wheatley

[runespoor7]

Do think it's very crunchy that WWX only defends his new flavor of the month in the ancestral hall. Not himself. Not WN, to whom JC did arguably have a life debt and for whom WWX did dump JC. Not any of these old things; just the shiny new hot powerful protective dude that he doesn't have any meaningful preexisting bond with and that he's been falling for since returning and running away from his previous life.

Just the perfect, serene blank slate of novelty (and the guilty undercurrent of once again feeling something that isn't socially acceptable and won't be welcome).