#i just had a lot of feelings about this all of a sudden and had to reblog it again

[zae-heeyyy]

Piquancy- III

Summary: Arthur courts you properly. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 3,108 Tags: fingering, foreplay, LOTS of foreplay, oral, praise

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An: This journal entry is so unserious, but that's all I got today lol I've been re-reading The Odyssey and couldn't help alluding to it, shout out to my guy Odysseus.

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

Arthur Morgan wanted you. He wanted you in all the ways a person could want another. His desire for you throbbed like a muscle ache, painful but impossible not to press into. Longing like this had never worked out for him in the past. He was a fool to let himself wade into it, but the allure of you pooled all around him, a fate he could not escape. The memory of you still burned beneath his fingertips. He wanted to feel more: your lips on his, the curves of your breasts cupped in his palms, and your nails digging into his back. And oh, he wanted to taste you, to feel the skin of your neck between his teeth, to clash his lips against yours, and to lose himself in a heady dance of his tongue against the warmth between your legs. He wanted you so bad; the thought was burning him alive. Arthur Morgan wanted you, and if you let him have you, he wouldn't screw it up. Not this time, not ever. 

You were just as enticed with him, your fascination multiplied by his freshly trimmed face and the faint scent of bergamot soap wafting off of him as he greeted you outside the Blackwater Saloon that evening. While your "date" wasn't the sort of proper courting you read about in one of Marybeth's romance books, it suited the lifestyle you and Arthur shared.

The same man who made a living off of coarse intimidation metamorphosized right in front of you, unraveling himself to be a deep thinker, attentive, and tenderhearted. That tenderness made every step feel effortless as he led you up the stairs of the saloon to the room you'd shared the night before.

As the door clicked closed, Arthur made quick work of his satchel and gun belt, then sat on the bed with inviting arms. You walked into him, intertwining your fingers behind his neck, and he mirrored you, locking his around the small of your back. Finally, you allowed yourself to be enthralled by his eyes once more, drawn in like a moth to lantern light.

"Thank you," you whispered, mouth hovering close to his. As bad as you wanted to lean into him and let him swallow you whole, you held back. Making the first move felt too bold, too unladylike, and you cared too much about what he might think to risk it.

"What for?" he asked. You opened your mouth to respond, but he silenced you, closing the distance and kissing you once, quick, like a wave testing the shore. Then a storm brewed within you, and you surged back against his lips, swept away by the force of him. As the moment drifted away, you'd regained awareness of yourself, realizing you'd practically dissolved into the cowboy. The weight of you barely phased him, but he gave your waist a gentle tug, mooring you to his knee. With a slight grin plastered on his face, he nodded, urging you to go on with the thought he'd just unapologetically cut off with his lips.

"Thank you for this, courting, as you call it," You didn't mean for your voice to come out as shaky as it did, but you joked to calm your nerves, "would've got you drunk around me sooner if I knew I had this to look forward to."

He huffed low in amusement, a knowing smile growing as a cheeky thought flickered through his mind.

"Was only ever drunk on you, darlin'."

Tickled, you threw your head back in unrestrained laughter. His head dipped into your shoulder in an attempt to hide his sudden self-consciousness, making his speech come out muffled. "Weren't that funny," he said, trying to brush off his words. As he continued to nuzzle into your neck, he hummed and sighed contentedly as he took in your scent.

Smiling so much made your cheeks ache, but you couldn't help it. "You smell so nice," you mimicked his drunken flirting from the night before. He chuckled again, exhaled warm air onto your skin, and pulled you flush into him, holding tight. You'd never imagined you'd enjoy being trapped in an ursine hug, but Arthur's affectionate grip on you made his arms feel like the safest place in the world.

His lips made contact with your skin, and you tilted your head to give him better access. You could feel his lips curve upward as you sighed. 

"Not the only thing I said," he recalled, tugging at the fabric of your blouse, uncovering your shoulder, and kissing the now exposed skin. A shiver racked your bones as you gave into his shameless attempt to seduce you. Redirecting his attention from your goosebump-covered skin to your lips, you locked onto them, pushing through his teeth to tangle his tongue with yours. Arthur cursed himself as he felt his pants get tighter. Selfish, he thought and tore himself away from you. Damn, he was a greedy, thieving, heartless bastard. If he wanted something, he'd rob for it, but nothing—not even all the money in the world—could amount to you. In that moment, entirely consumed, he realized that everything he had was yours to take—and then some. He'd give it all to you, steal from others, and even kill to make sure you were satisfied. The mere thought of it terrified him, yet it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Your brow crinkled at the loss of his bodyheat but even more so at the frown etched into his features. Your mouth fell open to ask if something was wrong, but he shook his head assuringly. Of course, nothing was wrong; for once in his miserable life, everything was right. 

"Whoever he was– he was an idiot to have you and take it for granted. I won't." 

You wanted to believe him with every part of you. Self-doubt didn't have time to creep in before your attention fell to his hand wandering up and down your thigh. You kissed him hungrier than either of you had kissed anybody before, making his mind race. Closer, closer, closer hammered in his brain, inexorable. Two large hands gripped your backside, prompting you to lock your legs around his waist.

He panted against your mouth, "Let me make you feel good." You could only nod.

Soft pillows cushioned your head as you readjusted, laying on your back. As your eyes roamed up to the ornate chandelier, your legs opened with a mind of their own, giving him space to crawl between them. His bulk lay against yours, heavy in all the best ways.

"Yer'so goddamn beautiful, you know that?" His words came out strained, like he'd lost his breath as he trailed kisses down your neck. You knew he was observant, always finding something to sketch and write in that journal of his. Now, it showed in how he narrowed his eyes to see you better, how he grazed his fingers across untouched skin and looked up to see your reaction. You'd never had a man pay this much attention to you, to soak you in when he was the one doing all the work. Arthur didn't care a second about his own physical pleasure. Making you come around his fingers would be pleasure enough.

You were utterly lost in the man. When had the room grown so unbearably hot? When had he taken off your shoes? How did his hands find the waistband of your bloomers under the fabric of your skirt?

Pausing, his eyes met yours in a silent plea for him to continue. You answered by lifting your hips and forcing your skirt and bloomers down to your ankles. Arthur was swift in pulling them all the way off, grunting in delight as he tossed the garments to the floor, forgotten.

His breath whistled out of his nose loud like the wind of a dust storm, and his chest rose and fell hard at the sight of you. Eyes still fixed on yours, his calloused palm traveled up your leg like he was trying to memorize you. He wanted to be able to close his eyes and remember the shape of you from touch alone, to sculpt you in his mind. All his life, he'd been a nomad, traveling and exploring new places, never calling one home. Now, he realized home wasn't a place but a person–– you were who he wanted to call home yet never stop exploring.

As his hand finished its trek up your leg, almost landing at its final destination, a strange sense of self-consciousness washed over you like never before.

Arthur cared about you. That was evident. You couldn't deny it, and you'd be stabbing him with his own knife if you did. But you couldn't stop the nag of worry. What if this time was like every other time? What if, despite all his effort, Arthur would walk down the same road as the others, seemingly content with their own satisfaction but falling short of meeting yours. The what-ifs doused you like water on a fire, and you brought your knees to your chest, folding into yourself.

The fog of Athur's lust for you lifted, replaced by clarity and concern. Brow knit together, he scooted in close and rubbed his knuckles down your jaw. 

"What is it?" he murmured, nudging your chin to make you look at him, "We don't have to do anythin' you don't want."

He rested his hands so casually worshipping you a second ago on your knees with all the patience of a saint, finding your gaze and waiting for a response. He was so uniquely him, and for him to be yours was the only thought you'd had for forty-eight hours. You didn't just want him in the way he was five seconds ago, hot and heavy; you wanted him the way you were at the poker table, arm around your chair; you wanted him in the way you'd sat downstairs. To want him like that meant more than a one-night fleeting encounter. That meant giving yourself away to him, your whole self, not just your body, but your wants and needs and parts of yourself that scared you the most. Little did you know, he shared the same thoughts about you.

Storm-churned seas of blue bore into your own misty eyes, "want to," you squeaked, "it's just that––"

"I know what you said. I know, darlin'." His voice, tender as it was, broke the dam under your eyes. Silent tears spilled down your face for only a second before he caught them with his thumbs.  He waited, silently pushing you to go on, even though his heart ached at the sight of rivers etching a path down your features.

"What if there's something wrong with me?" You asked, openly admitting what you'd long suspected about yourself.

"Hey," he said as he rose up on his knees and towered over you. His hands tugged at the hem of your blouse and chemise, but his eyes caught yours in another silent ask. You adjusted to let him pull both garments up and over. Stricken by you, he shook his head slowly. Words were coming out of his mouth, but he was fixated on you. He couldn't stop his hands as they traced the curves of your body. "You say that, but from this side of the bed–– well, I reckon you're damn close to perfection."  

You were a siren, your body a beautiful symphony. Though he'd always clung to the mast of his own vulnerability, he would gladly untether himself and plunge to his death if it meant eternity in heaven with you. His declaration was Hermes' moly, making the spell of insecurity nonbinding.

Like the moon and the tide, you'd found yourselves in sync again, working together to shove his suspenders off his shoulders, untuck his shirt, and undo the buttons that were keeping it closed. You flung yourself into him, digging your fingers into his back and shivering as your nipples pressed against his chest. He tasted like tobacco and alcohol and somehow like an alcove of sunlight, fresh water, and vivid color. His suspenders hung loosely around his waist as he dipped you back down into the swell of blankets.

"You just relax now; let me take care of ye'. If you want me to stop, just say the word, alright?" You gave him the go-ahead, and he took hold of your knees, parting your legs to expose you to him again. His beard scratched the inside of your thighs as he dived between them, and you gasped as his tongue and teeth latched onto the skin of your thighs. You arched up off the bed, losing whatever control you had over yourself.

One of his hands snaked into yours. "I said relax, woman." He kissed your knuckles then went back to it, drawing dark marks into your thighs as if you were a page of his journal. Your whole being boiled with desire, a desire you didn't even know you could feel. While he kissed and nipped and sucked like his life depended on it, his hand untangled from yours and danced around your stomach, up your abdomen, and then to the shapely flesh of your chest, squeezing gently. You bit your lip, holding in a whine as he pinched a nipple through his index and middle finger, massaging lightly as he gave the same treatment to your other thigh.

As he neared heaven's gates, you tugged on his hair, urging him closer as the rough stubble on his face scratched your skin, a smile curling against your thigh. A disappointed huff escaped you as his face was level with yours again. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, and you looked up at him bewildered. He'd made a mess of you–– exactly what he'd aimed for.

He chuckled, proud of himself, and then his mouth found yours again, his tongue pushing through your lips to find yours. He kissed you with so much heat you could've broken out into a fever.  

Flames blazed through your veins as he slowly descended back to heaven. Arthur's lips burned like the tip of a cigarette wherever they touched. Just when you thought he'd finally taste you to relieve the aching, he began to kiss your thighs again, and you couldn't help it; you begged him.

"Please, Arthur," you choked out, not recognizing your own voice, shaky and desperate, "Please."

And to your pure bliss, he obeyed, never a rule follower, except for now. He spread you open, using his non-dominant hand to pin your knee to the bed while his shoulder kept your other leg parted.

With a touch so gentle yet purposeful, he drove his index finger from the top of your clit, all the way down until it dipped briefly into your folds. And he swept it back up again, curiously exploring you. He ground his throbbing cock into the bed as you yanked on his locs. Wet sounds of your sins filled the room, and you'd be embarrassed if you weren't entirely delighted. Arthur looked back up at you, his touch unrelenting.

"You okay? This good?" he asked. You could only bob your head up and down, gasping fast and loud. "Good," he said, kissing the inside of your thigh again and teasing the opening of your pussy with his finger. "Keep still for me?" you nodded again, the austere head movement the only thing you could muster.

You braced for discomfort that never came as his meaty digit sunk into you with ease, disappearing to the knuckle. You pressed your head deeper into the pillow only to rise a second later with your mouth agape as you felt his tongue, soft and wet, swipe at your clit.

And fuck, you whimpered.

All thoughts led back to one place now, and all your self-restraint leaked out of you with the movement of Arthur's finger. As your hips rocked feverishly against him, he slipped another inside of you, groaning exultantly. He'd transformed you, turning you into a hollering minx.

You belted his name in time with the rhythm of his fingers, "Oh Arthur, oh Arthur, oh Arthur," over and over again at a higher pitch each time. And the gunslinger couldn't help himself; he withdrew his tongue and pounded his fingers into you, using his palm to feed your needy clit. He wanted to taste you forever but needed to watch you, to see your pretty face when he pushed you over the edge.

"Perfect," he said, his finger thrusting steadily with your hips. His lips crinkled as he felt your walls spasm around him. "That's it, sweetheart, let it go."

A familiar ache built in your gut, one you'd only felt in your moments of solitude. Arthur reached for your hand again while the other steadily plowed. Though his arm muscles scorched with the workout you were giving him, he knew better than to give up now. "So goddamn beautiful wrapped around my fingers like this," he cooed. 

Goosebumps formed all down your arms and legs. Arthur's fucking eyes, staring up at you so proud, so endearing, opened the floodgates.

"There you go," he hummed, feeling your insides constrict around his fingers, "give it to me, good girl, let me have it."

And you did, going from a whimpering mess to silent as your orgasm baptized you, washing away all the doubt you ever had about yourself. Arthur went on babbling whatever depraved thoughts crossed his mind as you came.

"So damn good for me."

His fingers slowed, but he didn't stop, letting you ride them until you couldn't anymore. It wasn't until you gasped his name and squeezed your legs shut that he finally conceded, removing his hand and caressing your thigh. Unusually deft, he rolled over onto his back but turned his head to look at you. The cowboy was smirking like he did when he beat you in a game of dominos, triumphant. You were breathing heavily, returning his glance wide-eyed.

"Shit," you gasped, essentially speechless.

Arthur chuckled, cupping your face in both his hands and kissing.

"Told you," he said, "Told you, I'd take care of you. I'll always take care of you if you want me to––" his last five words came out in a quick jumble, self-doubt creeping back even after it all. You threw a leg over his and begin a slow grind into the leather of his chaps, taking your turn to bite into his neck.

"Take care of me all you want, Mr. Morgan."

You didn't have to tell him twice.

[tkomptgoedluv]

watermelon.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.3

pt1. here | pt.2 here | pt.3

joost klein x f! reader

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader still really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, angst angst and even more angst, did i mention angst?, tooth-rotting fluff, so fluffy it’s honestly a little cringe <3, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 3,494.

warnings: very brief + vague reference to SA, rpf.

notes: hello!! welcome to pt.3 <3 this is probably the part that i’m most proud of, probably because it weirdly hurt the most to write. a couple fun facts about this part: reader’s coat is heavily based on one i have in real life and absolutely adore. also, i genuinely couldn’t bring myself to touch this wip for two whole days because my personal life started to match up with this storyline and i did not like it! became a little too self-indulgent. anyways — enjoy!! lemme know what you think.

love you all lots 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

in a lot of ways, the whole situation was more or less your own idea of hell — ironic, considering it all started with literally the worst night of your life.

not once did you ever think that you’d be here, that this was how things were gonna go. the fun part? you don’t even know how you got here in the first place. for someone so in the middle of it all, you know surprisingly little about what actually happened, or what you must’ve done wrong.

all that you know is that it’s different now. joost is different now.

you still text everyday, a few phone calls here and there, and you’ll see him in person a few times a month or more, but you can still feel it. the subtle lack of emotion in his messages, the only-ever increasing wait times in between responses, the missing details in his stories that you’d still end up hearing from your friends. something, at some point, shifted and joost just didn’t seem to be your joost anymore.

at first, you tried to think nothing of it. you weren’t exactly a stranger to anxiety; it’s always been just a little too easy for you to get lost inside your own head. this also wasn’t the first time that you had fallen down this rabbit hole, suddenly convinced that someone you love doesn’t even like you because they said something in a slightly different tone once.

but then those weird few days where things didn’t feel quite right turned into weeks, and it just didn’t feel like nothing anymore.

you thought it could’ve been the videos because, as predicted, entire montages of the fight found their way onto each and every little corner of the internet. joost could be seen clear as day swinging for him, landing punch after punch until one of his friends would eventually step in. though somehow, the backlash against joost never came. for every clip there was a ‘story-time’ to go right along with it, and every single one explained how joost was just defending ‘this girl that had been attacked by that guy.’

so instead you exhausted yourself asking if everything was alright, just in case there was something else going on that he also hadn’t told you. but there was only so many times that you could ask the same question over and over again, only to get the same answer back.

joost was fine; great even.

so it had to be you. nothing was wrong, nothing bad had happened, it was simply just you that had repelled him all of a sudden. and that was all you could think about whilst you sat in a room surrounded by your closest friends — joost included.

it was someone’s birthday, a friend of a friend who’s name was still unknown to you and yet somehow you still ended up with an invite. aspon was on your left, deep in a conversation with stuntje about some new anime you’d never heard of, and alanis was on your right, asking to see pictures of daan’s latest art piece.

you, of course, were there in between them all, just staring into space. all of the ice in your drink had melted as it sat forgotten about in your hands, and you were fairly confident that you had memorised each and every scratch in the wooden flooring. you were yet to find a better place to look other than the floor, because of course it was joost that had to be sat opposite you.

he had pulled the short straw really, because by the time he came back in from his cigarette outside, the only seat left was one of those awful, plastic fold-up chairs. like the others he too was wrapped up in a conversation of his own, only his included a girl that you’d never seen before, and he was making her laugh a lot.

you didn’t have a single right to absolutely despise what it was that you were seeing, but still your skin felt hot and itchy, and tears burned behind your eyes. despite arriving together in your group and being seated a measly three feet away from each other, joost was yet to even glance in your direction, let alone talk to you. the blatant avoidance was unbearable; the new ‘you’ that he was talking to was even worse.

but with the anger came the shame, because really, you had no excuse to be feeling like this. two strangers with mutual friends, talking with one another at a house party of all places, wasn’t exactly incriminating. they also weren’t touching or even flirting for that matter — from what you could hear, their conversation seemed limited to small anecdotes about the people in common they both knew.

you weren’t being fair, you weren’t being reasonable; there was no excuse for the tightness in your chest.

without a word, you got up and made a dash for the balcony; desperate for a cigarette. so desperate in fact, that you didn’t stop to grab your jacket despite the rain bashing against the windows. you just needed the fresh air, needed space away from whatever the fuck was going on in there.

the small roof that the balcony upstairs provided did little to shield you from the rain. your hair quickly fell damp around the sides of your face as the wind brought goosebumps to your arms. you really should’ve stopped to grab your coat, you were soaking now.

but the pure, unbridled relief that you felt when you breathed in the smoke of your cig made it all worth it, though. it was something else to focus on, something to help soothe all of your aches and pains. best of all, it gave you a reason to be by yourself for a while — a moment alone to think, to breathe, a chance to get a fucking grip.

you took another drag of your cigarette.

“think you forgot this, schatje.”

over the sound of the heavy-falling rain and the music from inside, you hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open and shut again.

from the corner of your eye you saw joost standing there, clad in a black gilet and the same adidas track-jacket that you had bought for him two birthdays ago. your coat was in his outstretched hands; a big, red furry thing that almost swallowed you whole every time you put it on.

“yeah…thanks.”

you wanted to cry.

the silence that followed was heavy and awkward; neither of you could even look at each other as you took your jacket from him and slipped it on. whilst you focused on looking outwards towards the skyline, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill, joost busied himself with lighting up a cigarette of his own. it felt like you were standing next to a stranger, and not someone who quite literally knew every single little thing about you.

someone who always picked up the phone when you called; someone whose bed you’ve woken up naked in just a few too many times to count.

“you, uh, you doing okay?”

you almost choked on your cigarette.

he’d barely even glanced your way all night, too distracted by other female attention to really care that you were there at all, and now he wanted to know how you were doing? oh he had to be joking.

you stubbed out your cig underneath your shoe and went to storm back inside, shoving past him with your shoulder as you did so. you had almost made it too, before he caught you by the arm and gently pulled you back. it really pissed you off how hurt he looked, like this wasn’t all his fault in the first place.

“hey, can we not just talk for a minute? i wanna know what’s been up with you recently. we don’t really talk anymore.”

as hard as you could you pushed him off of you, and then you pushed him once more for good measure. you couldn’t bite it back anymore, couldn’t keep it all from spilling out when your blood was already boiling. if you were to regret it in the morning, you would just blame it on the few drinks you’ve already had.

“and why the fuck do you think that is, joost? tell me.”

a small part of you that you really couldn’t quite understand, genuinely hoped that he would push you back. that he’d get all up in your face, yelling at the top of his lungs, just as angry with you as you were with him. you wanted him to shout, to scream at you about how wrong you were; you wanted to feel crazy for even thinking that something could ever go wrong between the two of you.

you didn’t want him to just…stand there with his tail tucked between his legs, looking like he had already given up on you a long time ago. you found yourself shoving him again, only hard enough to knock him back a step or two this time.

“tell me!”

now more than ever you wished that you could stay angry, that you knew how to hold onto the outrage instead of always just breaking down into pieces. it made you feel so small the way that your voice was cracking; your shouts quickly shrinking into cries. you felt like a child again, begging to understand why everyone always left in the end.

“i just needed to work some stuff out, okay? none of this was meant to happen. i never wanted to make you cry.”

you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, the state of your mascara becoming an afterthought, before raking your fingers through your hair. thin strands stuck to the corners of your face and the back of your neck.

“please, tell me what i can do to make it better.”

joost was panicking now, looking a lot like an old dog that somehow knew it was about to be left behind at the shelter. you could see it in the way his hands were shaking and how he couldn’t quite seem to stand still, shifting from one leg to another.

“you can tell me what happened; what changed or what i did wrong. i don’t care.”

from the look on his face, you never would have guessed that all you’d asked him for was the truth; ‘panicked’ was no longer the right word.

“i can’t. i promise, i’ll tell you later but i can’t tell you here. not like this.”

you laughed — you couldn’t help it. three months ago, when you asked him why he was so insistent on doing anything and everything for you, he gave you the exact same line. either he forgot that he’s already used it once before, or he thought you were stupid enough to fall for it all over again; either way, you knew now that ‘later’ was never coming.

before you really knew what you were doing, you were back inside and weaving your way through the small huddles of your friends. a few stared as you began to tread water through the house, a long line of watery footprints following behind you on your way out. you muttered a quiet ‘i’ll see you guys later’ to whoever was listening and in one smooth motion, grabbed your bag from one of the tables and disappeared through the front door, slamming it behind you.

no one tried to stop you. probably for good reason, too, because you could feel the makeup running down your face.

the only good thing to come from looking so sad and drenched from the rain was that nobody on the street stopped to bother you either. not many people were out in this weather anyway, so at most you felt their eyes on you as they passed, a look of pity on their faces. pity for a girl all dressed up for a nice night out, just to be walking home early in tears.

you didn’t want their pity, you just wanted to go home. you wanted your bed and your pyjamas. you wanted a nice warm shower and to try and forget that today ever fucking happened.

you didn’t want joost to be chasing after you.

you didn’t want to hear your name being yelled from down the street by the one person you didn’t want to see right now.

“cmon you always do this! stop running away from everything.”

that was the thing to get you; the one thing that made you stop and turn on the spot.

“oh i’m the one running away? you’re the one that left!”

you met him halfway with steam coming out of your ears, your hands trembling and nose all scrunched up. you were fuming and it seemed as though he was now, too.

“i never went anywhere! you’re making it sound like i disappeared off the face of the earth or something.”

“well that’s what it felt like! what about that don’t you understand?”

you were each taking turns yelling now, oblivious to how loud you were actually being. people were sticking their heads out of their living room windows, morbidly curious about the scene that was unfolding right outside their homes. those that walked by did double-takes and even contemplated getting their phones out to record.

“but i’m here now! and i was ‘here’ back there and you just ran away like you always do!”

“did you really expect me to just stand there and listen to you lie again? all this ‘oh i’ll tell you later’ crap, it’s just bullshit. ever since that night you’ve been different and if what that guy did to me changed how you see me then maybe you’re right, maybe we should stop being whatever the fuck we are.”

joost physically recoiled at your words, his entire demeanour changing to one of hurt.

“what are you..? schatje no, no, it’s nothing like that. fuck, please tell me you don’t really think that.”

how could you not? it was the only thing left for you to think. it wasn’t like you wanted to come to that conclusion or that it was the first one you jumped to, but joost never gave you any other choice. as much as it hurt, it was better than simply not knowing.

something died in him when you nodded — you saw it in his eyes. tears of his own spilled down his cheeks as he rubbed his hands up and down his face, wiping his nose with the inside of his elbow.

“i…i would never; that guy…that wasn’t your fault.”

“then tell me the truth, joost.”

all that adrenaline, all that energy from before was long gone. you weren’t two people arguing in the rain, full of love and anger like something straight out of a romcom anymore. you were just two people standing out in the cold, soaked to the bone, just trying to hold on for a little while longer.

you were still waiting for joost to say something, trying to prepare yourself for the worst. if he was to say that same shit again, that he couldn’t tell you now but would later on, that would be it for you. you’d walk away and not turn back again, not for anything; just like that it would be game over.

but joost wasn’t saying anything, and you couldn’t decide if that was any better or not. he was silent as he took a couple steps towards you, the palms of his hands suddenly cupping either side of your jaw. the pads of his thumbs wiped away all the tears and rain from your eyes and tucked the odd strands of hair behind your ears. not once did he glance away from your gaze, not once did he say something.

it was driving you crazy.

“joost?” you were pleading with him now, desperate for him to say something — do something. the way he was looking at you, it was like you were the only thing he could see. “say something.”

“i love you.”

you blinked, and all of sudden you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands anymore. it wasn’t the first time joost had said that to you because he says it to everyone, every single one of his friends. but he had never said it to you like that before, with a look in his eyes so heavy you feared that they might fall right out of his head.

“what?” your voice cracked as you spoke. “i don’t understand…what?”

“i love you. that’s what changed.”

a headache was coming, you could feel it. right behind your eyes, you felt a twinge, and then a subtle thumping that made your eyebrows twitch. you just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and the more you tried to make sense of it the more your head hurt.

“i swear to god if this is a fucking joke, if you’re just making this up -”

he shut you up with a kiss.

it wasn’t exactly for the first time or even close to being so, but it felt as though it could’ve been; all soft, gentle, careful. the hands that held either side of your face did so as though you could’ve cracked and shattered at any second. he moved slowly, almost hesitantly, until he felt you turn into mush beneath him. only then did he pull away, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

but you couldn’t let him have it though, could you? couldn’t just let him have the upper hand, just like that. you had to chase it, had to pull him down to your height by the collar of his jacket until your lips could meet his. by the time you were finished, both shaking and breathless, there were faint smudges of red all across his mouth.

“that was so hot; do it again.”

you laughed at his words for not the first time tonight, but now it was only out of pure joy instead of anything else. you laughed because of how out of it joost looked now, his eyes glossed over and lips parted ever so slightly as he panted. you laughed because of how much you did want to do it again and how you felt giddy knowing that joost wanted you to do it again too.

so you did. only this time joost was ready and pounced on you hard enough to knock you back a couple of steps, almost making you slip on the wet pavement. his fingers lost themselves in your hair, gently tugging at the roots as yours gripped onto the nylon of his jacket for dear life, too afraid to let go and risk letting him slip away.

you would have stayed like that with him all night if it wasn’t for the wolf whistle you heard from one of the windows above, followed by the rumble of thunder. the rain was starting to fall harder now, the storm only growing and you didn’t like knowing that people were watching you now.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here — people are looking.”

with his forehead resting against yours, joost simply groaned as he struggled to catch his breath. his hands still cradled the back of your head and his eyes were still squeezed shut.

“don’t care. need you.”

he may as well have been one of the puddles at your feet, the way he couldn’t even form proper sentences anymore. the things you were doing to him right now were criminal, almost cruel, and you were loving every minute of it. proud of it, actually. you might have been mush in his hands, but he was like putty in yours.

“well…maybe you should take me home then, yeah? then you can need me as much as you like.”

joost groaned again, muttering something about how you were ‘going to be the death of him’, and leaned back in. from your nose to your cheeks, to your chin, every inch was peppered with very sweet, very wet kisses.

“have i told you much i love you yet?”

he had, at least a handful of times by now, but not nearly enough as you would’ve liked. so you shrugged, a shit-eating grin plastered across your face as you did so, and stepped back, lacing your fingers with his.

“it’s okay, you can tell me one more time.”

apparently that was way too far for you to go, because after one singular step you were tugged back again and kissed as though joost’s very life depended on it. ironic, considering you were certain that you were both about to be struck by lightning at any moment.

“i love you.”

you figured if that were to happen by some chance, it’d be worth it if it meant staying here with him for just a little while longer.

“i love you too.”

[nerdanel01]

rungs of gold (18+)

certain works of fan art have me thinking a little too hard about what piercings Emmrich may or may not have.

Emmrich x Gender Neutral Rook, lots of cock, genital piercings, jacob’s ladder piercing, smut implied at the end but not depicted

“That—that’s not—” 

Rook’s tongue felt thick in their mouth; clumsy. The sight in front of them had rendered them inarticulate, and more than a little stupid, with a sudden, dizzy rush of heat and need. 

The lines around Emmrich’s eyes deepened with amusement, and his mouth slanted fetchingly to the side. 

“Yes, dear?”

The last two functioning brain cells in Rook’s head cast the incredulous words upon their tongue:

“That’s not part of your grave dowry.”

Because a grave dowry—as Rook understood it—was gold that Nevarrans took with them when they died. Rook had seen some of the undead thralls in the Necropolis, bangles of gold stacked along their wrists and ankles, just like the bracelets Emmrich wore nearly to his elbows.

But, with a shock that had nearly stopped Rook’s heart (but left other parts of their body clenching, deliciously, in anticipation)—when Emmrich had undressed in front of them for the first time, unfastened his trousers and pulled himself free, he had revealed certain jewelry that Rook could not possibly imagine any skeleton wearing from beyond the grave. 

Rook had no idea how they would attach it. 

“A keen observation,” Emmrich replied, his widening grin tugging crookedly at his words. “When I pass on, I won’t be able to take these particular adornments with me; they are exclusively for the admiration and stimulation of the living.”

Emmrich’s hand dropped between his slender hips, long fingers grasping loosely around his swollen arousal, already red and weeping. The ladder of golden barbells that ran along the underside of his shaft winked seductively at Rook as Emmrich ran his fingers over them. Really, Rook shouldn’t be surprised. Whyever should Emmrich not be dripping in gold from head to toe? Look at him: gorgeous, precious—perfect, even without the embellishments of the studs in his ears and the rings on his fingers (and the piercings along his cock, which Rook probably couldn’t pull their eyes away from if they tried.) But Rook still wants to layer him in golden pendants and ruby brooches until he shines exactly like the treasure he is.

That—and Rook would also very much like to climb naked into Emmrich’s lap, to feel all that gold pressing up against them.

Emmrich’s hazel eyes sparkled as he watched Rook’s gaze trace the movements of his hand. 

“Darling Rook, if you like them so much, I will have the gold melted down into a bracelet, and ensure it is bequeathed to you after I am gone.” The laugh lines around the necromancer’s mouth deepened, though Emmrich did not make a sound beyond the shallow huffing of his breath, unsteady with lust. “A small token to help you remember me fondly.”

‘Fond’ was perhaps not the word Rook would use the memories such a token might recall to mind. But the idea of Emmrich’s genital piercings living a second life as a bracelet on their wrist humiliated them with a burning they admittedly did not totally despise. Swallowing, Rook drank in the sight before them and imagined what Emmrich would look like after he came—milky rivulets of his spend trickling between the gold barbells like beads of dripping pearls—

“Dear,” Emmrich began, then, his voice wavering, less sultry and far less sure of himself, “you seem a bit shocked—forgive me, I ought to have said something, not left it til the moment to reveal it to you. If it is too much…”

A dull whine from the back of Rook’s throat answered. “Not too much,” Rook managed to reassure him after finding their tongue, tearing their gaze away from Emmrich’s waist to meet his eyes. “Definitely good, I just…”

Rook’s eyes sunk back to Emmrich’s waist. Color heated their cheeks, and they asked: 

“Can I touch?”

In the periphery of their vision, Rook saw Emmrich jerk his head—a sharp, emphatic nod of his head, yes—and Rook took a step forward, closing the space between them. 

Hesitant—not for any lack of desire on their part, but out of a profound reluctance to hurt Emmrich—Rook groped gently along his shaft, tugging loose-fistedly along the hot swollen length of it, carefully not to pull too roughly on his piercings. But even that gentle touch left Emmrich stifling a satisfied groan in the back of his throat—and Rook matched that groan in kind, feeling the smooth, golden ball-ends of the piercings glide across their fingers, imagining what all that metal would feel like, dragging mercilessly inside of them. 

Croaked, weakly, “Wow.”

Just like that, the crooked grin was back on Emmrich’s face—though now he surveyed Rook through eyes heavy lidded with desire, his breath catching unevenly as Rook continued to stroke him. 

“I’m pleased you like it. I must admit, some partners have found it off-putting, in the past.”

Rook choked out a laugh. Honestly, it was taking all of Rook’s self control not to rip off their clothes and jump on it this instant, but they gathered that such a move would neither be wise nor entirely welcome. Still,

“That’s insane. It’s a huge turn on.” 

Emmrich answered this declaration with a gasp of delighted disbelief. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Rook affirmed with an emphatic nod of their head, swiping slow, firm and insistent at the weeping, red head of his shaft. Told him:

“Emmrich, you’re gorgeous.”

—and felt their stomach flip and clench in excitement at the way Emmrich’s cock jumped in their hand at the words, bloodflooded and thick. 

“How very fortunate I am that you think so.” Emmrich’s words came breathlessly, now; a faint blush was starting to spread across his cheeks. “Do you still want to…?”

Rook pulled on his cock, kissed his neck, kissed up to Emmrich’s ear. 

“Yes,” Rook swore, pressing the words and their hot breath against the barely-there evening stubble on Emmrich’s neck. They could feel their own cheeks burning at the thought of the dirty talk perched on their tongue, felt a little shudder of arousal run through them when their mouth shaped the words against Emmrich’s skin:

“Yes, you’d better—

“It’d be cruel of you to display yourself like this in front of me if you weren’t going to fill me up after.” Emmrich didn’t answer. And Rook shrank in on themselves, already ready to apologize for pushing things too far—Emmrich was such a gentleman, they should have realized he wouldn’t want to be spoken to like that—when they felt Emmrich’s long fingers on their chin, tilting their face up to his and pausing only to groan a low, “oh, darling…” between their lips before he was crushing their mouths together in a kiss so passionate it bordered on the obscene.

[paige1722]

So Much For A Safe House-END

Summary: You go on a mission with 141 and end up taking shelter in an abandoned building. The place is haunted, and you are all trapped inside; creepy things are happening. (Ghost of War-inspired)

Warnings: scares, violence, weapons, monsters, first-aid stuff, lots of gore

Chapter 1: Shelter Chapter 2: Hunter's Moon Chapter 3: Pinnacle to the Pit

Ah, I can't believe this is the final part. I hope you all like it! Also, since it took me so long to finish this part, there's a small bonus at the end.

Chapter 4: See the Light

Deciding that you should all move back into the living room before anything else happens, you pack up the first aid kit and grab the discarded weapons, tactical vests, and flashlights to move them back into the living room next to the fireplace and sleep bags to be dealt with later. Heading back into the kitchen for what feels like the 100th time that night, you go to help Price carry Gaz. 

Price was holding Gaz up on one side, supporting all of his body weight, waiting for your return. Moving to the other side, you place an arm around his back, allowing him to put his arm over your shoulders, effectively distributing the body weight between all of you and allowing Gaz to walk somewhat easier. Ghost was in a similar position with Soap, who could not put any pressure on his now broken ankle, hopping out of the room using Ghost as a crunch, they make their way into the living room. You, Price, and Gaz are following closely behind.

The fire was still going; however, it had dwindled a bit. Walking slowly to accommodate Gaz, you and Price set him down, helping him settle in, and the sleeping bags were set up in front of the fire. Soap is sitting on his sleeping bag, his injured ankle propped up on a makeshift cushion of a pillow and blanket, pulling out his small diary, which he always carries with him, and begins writing. Having caught a glimpse of his notebook before you figure he is probably adding notes about what has been happening here and some sketches. 

Price and Ghost are busy tending to the fire, talking in hushed voices, you can barely make out bits and pieces of their conversation, something about our chances not looking good with two injured. Not wanting to stress yourself out by eavesdropping on their conversation, you busy yourself with finding a new shirt for Gaz to wear. Rummaging through the bags, you managed to find a black long-sleeve thermal shirt that belonged to either Ghost or Price judging by the size, but you figured they wouldn’t mind letting Gaz borrow it for the time being. Walking over to where Gaz was lying, staring at the ceiling, a far-off look on his face. You sit criss-cross beside him, gently taping his shoulder to gain his attention, “here, I found you a shirt.” 

He turns his head to you, a small smile on his face at the gesture, “Thanks, Spark.” Reaching to grab the shirt, he pauses, “I think you will have to help me get dressed.” 

Giggling, you help him slowly sit up, bunching up the shirt; you pull it over his head and slowly pull his arms one at a time through each sleeve. Once both of his arms are in the shirt, you pull it the rest of the way down to cover his stomach, being mindful of his injuries. He leans back on his elbows, careful not to pull any of his stitches, and closes his eyes before slowly sliding back down in his sleeping bag. 

Static breaks the silence, causing you to jump at the sudden noise breaking the silence that had shrouded the room. The crackling coming from the long-forgotten radio gains the attention of everyone in the room. Price and Ghost are no longer talking, Gaz's head is turned towards the radio, and Soap has stopped writing in his notebook; everyone’s holding their breath, hoping that maybe it is just Laswell and that you are all about to be rescued.  

“.....re……it……fire…d..” 

You can barely make out the word fire from the static, causing you to instinctively glance towards the fire still burning bright. Price grabs the radio, hitting a few of the buttons, his forehead creasing in concentration. “It’s not even turned on…” You hear him mutter under his breath. 

 A voice from the radio cuts Price off. “It doesn’t like fire.” 

Static still echoed from the radio but more quietly once the message had been spoken. 

“Keep the bloody fire going then; I’ll burn this whole place to the ground if it comes to it,” exclaimed Gaz, pointing at the fireplace. 

Even though the fire was still burning and did not seem as if it would be dying any time soon, Ghost still placed more of the broken chair pieces into the heart of the fire. He looks at the few remaining pieces of the chair. You realize there are not enough pieces left of the chair to keep the fire going for the remainder of the night.

 You stand to your feet, announcing, “I’ll go back in the dining room and grab a couple more of the chairs for us to use.” 

Receiving a nod in return, you quickly jog out of the room and back into the dining room. Moving quickly, you grab two of the small wooden chairs that were strewn around the room. Not wanting to be alone for any longer than you have to be once you have a good hold on both chairs, you go back into the living room, where it sounds like an argument was taking place in your absence. 

Soap throws his hands up in the arm, his accent thick. “How do we know that it doesn’t like fire? Is that even true? What if it is just trying to trick us, we already know whatever the fuck it is can mimic voices!” His heavy breathing was all that could be heard as everyone thought about his words.

While listening to Soap’s exclamation, you placed the two chairs with the other pieces of wood, giving you a grunt of appreciation. Ghost then starts to break the chairs into more manageable pieces for the fire, creating a pile of wooden stakes. 

Sitting back down next to Gaz and thinking about what Soap had said, you thought about the voice; it sounded vaguely familiar. Furrowing your eyebrows, trying to think of where you heard it before you realize it was the same voice from the beginning of the night that said, ‘It is here now.’ Now that you have time to comprehend things a little more clearly, maybe the voice wasn’t the cause of the terror, but perhaps it was actually trying to warn you about the wendigo. Still sitting next to Gaz, you turn and look at him. Making eye contact, he gives a concerned look, like he can see that you have thought of something, and he gives you a subtle nod.  

Taking a deep breath, you share your thoughts, “I don’t think the voice we have been hearing on the radio is the wendigo or some sort of trick. I mean, it kind of seems like whatever it is has been warning us. Like it warned us when the creature first arrived.” 

You glance around the room at everyone’s faces before continuing, “The writing in the room was probably meant to scare us from any more exploration, but that obviously didn’t work, and now, since two of us are injured and we are trapped here until the storm is over, now it tells us a way to properly defend ourselves against the wendigo.” 

Once you finish, you shyly begin rubbing your shoulders, scared that others will not agree with your thoughts. Having said that, everyone seems to be in deep thought over the new information presented.

Soap gains your attention by clearing his throat, “Perhaps we should check the notebook you found again, Spark. Maybe if the voice was actually warning us, then something in the notebook could help, too.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the rest of the team send you both a questioning look. Price mouths ‘notebook?’ to Ghost, who just shrugs his shoulders in return.

Nodding your head, reaching into your pocket, and retrieving the once-forgotten small red notebook, Gaz peering up to see what you’re looking at. You run your hands over the raised leather of the strange symbol on the cover. Signing, you wished that you knew what the strange symbol meant since it was the same symbol that was on the key to the cellar door. 

Flipping to the first page, but just like last time, you are unable to understand the scribbling on the pages; it is almost like it was written in a different language. The only things you are able to make out are the same phrases about not letting it in and someone needing help. 

Realizing that the notebook is not going to be of any help if you can’t read it properly, you grow frustrated and scared with the entire situation you have all found yourselves in, and you throw the book across the room in anger. 

“I’m sorry, guys, I can’t read any of this. But the pictures are for certain drawings of the wendigo, so if I knew all the words written in there, then it would be more of a help. All I can make out are the few phrases not in that weird language.” you say, pulling your knees up to your chest, resting your head on your knees, trying to seek some comfort within yourself. Gaz slowly reaches up and puts a comforting hand on your back, giving you a sympathetic pat.

The small notebook hit the wall next to the fireplace and landed next to Ghost, who had still been tending to the fire every so often. Eyeing the notebook suspiciously, he picks it up, flips it open to the middle, and lets out a small grunt. 

“Of course, you can’t read it, Spark. Most of it is in Latin.” 

Your head shoots up, and your gaze lands on Ghost in surprise, “Latin! What the fuck? I thought that was a dead language.” 

Still looking through the notebook, Ghost replies, “Technically, but they still teach it in schools.” 

Price moves over next to Ghost, looking over his shoulder, “Well, does that mean you can read it then?”

He grunts in return, “I am not an expert or anything, but I think I can probably figure out the gist of things.” 

Ghost then spends the next few moments going through the notebook, trying to determine if there is any useful information in it, while the rest of you wait with bated breath for him to share his findings. 

After what feels like hours, Ghost sits up straight, pointing to one of the pages in the book, looking around at everyone, “According to the notebook, the wendigo is mainly active at night, but it will still come out during the day if it knows there's prey around. It cannot be killed by regular means. So, no bullets or anything; it heals too fast. Apparently, the only way to actually kill it is by burning it with fire, like that voice said. It also mentions they have a hard time seeing still prey.” 

Taking in the new information, Price slaps his hands on his thighs, “Well, now we know a way to protect ourselves: fire and no sudden movements. This new information can help us come up with a plan of attack.”

“Wait, there is something else.” Ghost speaks up, trying to decipher the small text that was written under one of the drawings of the creature feasting on something. 

“it says here don't become one of them.” 

What!” Soap yells, moving to stand but is stopped by his ankle, grimacing in pain, wrapping one hand around his hurt leg, slowly moving back to his previous sitting position, “What the fuck, does that mean?” 

 Turning the page, a similar picture can be seen, but instead, it is clearer what it is eating. The drawing is of a corpse being feasted upon by the Wendigo, with small text that could be seen at the bottom of the page. 

Pointing at the picture and turning the book around so everyone can see it, Ghost says. “eating the flesh of another.”

A sinking feeling forms in the bottom of your stomach, realizing how desperate someone would have to be for food, starving on the brink of death, feeling as if you have no other choice but to resort to cannibalism, eating someone that was once a friend or family member. Shaking your thoughts away, not wanting to think about that, you refuse to believe that it will even come close to that because in a few more hours, when it is finally daylight, this storm will be over, and you can finally make contact with Head-Quarters and get the hell out of this place once and for all. 

As if sensing your dark thoughts, Price speaks up, “Still, like this doesn’t change anything, we will stay here and keep the fire going.” He stands up and grabs one of the legs of the broken chairs from the pile and wraps a piece of torn cloth that was lying on the ground around one end of the stick, “if the wendigo somehow comes in, we will light a few of these on fire and kill the bastard. And once it's daylight and the storm is gone, we can call Laswell and get the hell out of here.” 

Gaz leans up the best he can on one elbow, “Yes, Sir. Though honestly, she has probably already worked out where we are, and as soon as the weather clears, we will already have a helicopter ready and waiting.” 

Gaz’s optimism rubs off on you as you smile in return to his wishful thinking, though knowing how meticulous Laswell is, he is more than likely correct in his assumption. The atmosphere in the room shifts to more calm at Price and Gaz’s words. Soap and Gaz both move to lie back down, shutting their eyes and finally feeling as if they can relax after their attack and constant worrying. All of the exhaustion catching up to your two teammates, the adrenaline from their near-death experience causing them to become tired quickly, and soft snores leaving them. Smiling slightly, you move Gaz’s blanket to cover him more, quietly grab your weapon, and sit next to the hastily boarded-up window to keep watch just in case.

 After a while, your body becomes stiff from sitting for so long, stretching your arms and legs out and hearing the satisfying pop. Glancing out of the window, you see the moon that was once high in the sky is now at the horizon, almost disappearing completely behind the trees of the forest, letting out a sigh of relief that this nightmare is almost a horrible distant memory. Then, all of a sudden, the wendigo jumps down from above, landing right in front of you on the other side of the window. Its breath fogs up the window as it stares down at you. Gasping at the sudden encounter, you jump back, aiming your weapon at the Wendigo. Your sudden outburst and movement catch the attention of Ghost and Price, who grab a piece of burning wood and stand on either side of you in front of the window. The tension in the room was thick; sweat was forming on your brow. Everyone was watching and waiting to see who would make the first move: your team or the creature.

“What’s the bloody thing doing?” you hear one of your teammates ask, you could barely make it out of the sound of your heart pounding in your chest, feeling like you were staring death right in the face. You weren’t sure why, but it felt as if it was smiling at you. 

Swallowing nervously, you whisper, “I think it is taunting us like it is trying to wait us out.” 

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the creature lets out a laugh. It was your laugh. The creature was using your own voice to torment you. You all watch as it raises its gnarled, bony finger and taps on the glass, pointing to where your two injured teammates lay blissfully unaware of the impending danger. Its yellow eyes move back, staring directly at you like it can see right into your soul. Its mouth opens once again, using your voice, “Two of us are injured. We are trapped here.” 

Feeling as if you can no longer breathe, you drop to your knees, resting one hand on the ground, keeping you from face-planting, your other hand placed on your chest, feeling the rapid beating of your heart and the quick rising and falling of your chest and you struggle to catch your breath. Tears flowed freely from your eyes, the burning in your throat causing you to let out pained gasps for breath. Feeling someone kneeling at your side, pulling you into them, your face pressed against their chest, feeling the slow and deep breaths they were taking, the rumbling of their chest as they speak slowly to you. 

“Come on, Spark. That’s it, nice and slow, match my breathing.” 

When you are no longer fighting to breathe, and it doesn’t feel like your lungs are about to explode, do you slowly move away from the person holding you. Wiping the tears that were still present on your face away, you look up to see Price’s comforting face beside you, one arm still on your back. 

“All better now, Spark?” his voice soft and comforting. 

Nodding your head in response, “Yes, Sir. I..I am sorry. It just was using my voice….The Wendigo?!!?” realizing that in the chaos of your panic attack, you forgot all about the reason for it. Quickly looking back to the window, you no longer see the wendigo glowering in the window frame, just the snowy forest. 

“It disappeared as soon as you fell on your knees. I think you were right about it wanting to taunt us.” said Ghost

You glance towards Ghost, who is still standing at your side. He was now holding Price’s fire stick from when he handed it off to Ghost to comfort you. Not wanting to burn the whole house down and force you all to take your chances outside, Ghost turns back to place the two burning sticks back into the fire. Patting your back twice, Price motions for you to follow. Grabbing your discarded weapon, you join them, standing in front of the fire. Ghost stands with his arms crossed, waiting for Price to share the next course of action. Price’s hands are holding on to the straps of his tactical vest, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, something you noticed he only does when he is really stressed. 

He glances at your two injured teammates and lets out a heavy sigh. “I am going to be honest with both of you; it is not looking good for us. I know that daylight is a mere two hours away at this point, but we have to keep in mind even when the storm is behind us, it is going to be near impossible to get everybody to the evac point if we have this creature to worry about. We will be sitting ducks out there in the open, and I think it knows that.” 

Rubbing his temples, trying to come up with a way somehow to carry Soap and Gaz through the thick snow, keep a constant lookout, and make it to the evac point in one piece, looking more and more impossible by the passing seconds.

 Ghost, who had remained silent pretty much this whole time, speaks up. “Well, then, we just need to kill the damn thing.” You turned and stared at him like he just grew three heads because if it was that simple, then surely whoever was here before all of you would have done it, especially since they figured out that fire could kill it. 

Unsurprisingly, in all the commotion, Soap had woken up; deciding that now would be a good time to share his thoughts, he spoke up, “I think that sorry bastard lives down there in that cellar. That is probably why it went berserk when we went down there in the first place. Maybe if we go down there and catch it by surprise, we can kill it once and for all.”

You finally register that Soap is talking about someone going back down into that thing's hideout and just hoping for the best while they try and light the stupid thing on fire. Looking around at the group, expecting Price, at the very least, to oppose the idea of sending someone to their death, but instead, you see him actively contemplating the idea. 

Throwing your hands up in the air in defeat, “Ah fuck it! What’s the plan? How would I even kill the fucker, once I am down there?”

“Well, Spark, I am glad to see you so willing to help, but don’t worry, it won’t be just you going down there. Ghost will be going, too.” 

Price grabs his backpack lying on the ground, rummaging around in it until he finds what he is looking for. He pulls out a small can of lighter fluid and tosses it at Ghost, who immediately catches it with ease. 

“Always carry that with me after my lighter ran out one time on a mission; I thought I was going through withdrawals without my cigars. It was not a fun time for me.” Price reaches his pocket and pulls out a lighter, sighing and handing it to Ghost as well. “Alright, when you both go down there, find the thing, cover him in lighter fluid, and light that son of a bitch up.” 

“Simple but an effective plan, Captain. I hope it works,” you mumble.

“Of course it will. Spark got my two best soldiers on the mission.” “HEY,” Soap yells, ignoring his outburst. Price continues, “While you and Ghost are down there, I will be up here watching after these two, making sure nothing happens, just in case.” 

Rolling your shoulders and popping your neck, you and Ghost remove your tactical vests to go down into the pit. Ghost then squats down and uses the materials Price gave to him to create some kind of Molotov-like device. Once complete, he stands back up and places it into a pocket on the side of his pants for safekeeping.

When he sees you staring at the contraption he put together, Ghost just simply grunts in reply, “Guerrilla warfare.”

While you both prepare yourselves for this risky mission, Soap speaks up, “Even though things went to shite down there earlier, I think we managed to learn where it stays, so just go straight out from the ladder when you get down there, keep going for about a click and then you should find it. Good luck, guys.” 

Listening to Soap’s advice, you both continue preparing, riding yourself off all the bulky padding of your uniform that might interfere with entering the small opening of the cellar door. Though you make sure to keep your knife and handgun strapped around your thigh, knowing that even if it won’t kill the wendigo, it could still be used to help subdue the creature. You unclip the tactical flashlights off your gun while Ghost grabs one of the hand-made torches from the broken chair. Once everything is secure, you both nod your heads in farewell towards Soap and Price and make your way back into the kitchen towards the creature's hideout.  

Entering the kitchen, you walk towards where the key sits on the floor after being thrown around the room in a panic when you were trying to save your teammates from the creature's clutches. Picking up the key, the cold metal feels heavy in your grasp. You walk to where Ghost is waiting for you next to the entrance to the cellar door, kneeling down you slide the key into the lock and pause, a million thoughts racing through your mind: what if once you turn the key and open the door, it is waiting for you and grabs you, what if the creature knows of your plan and is waiting for you and Ghost to go down into the cellar and then he attacks your injured teammates upstairs then goes back down to finish the job, what if- 

Ghost's voice breaks through your panicked thoughts, “It is going to be ok. We can do this.” Even though his face is covered by his mask, you see his eyes crinkle, indicating that he is smiling at you and trying to make you feel better about the whole situation. 

“Right.” you move the key, hearing the quiet click of it, unlocking the heavy cellar doors. You and Ghost both grab opposite sides of the door and, with a grunt, opening the door and leaving it to rest against the wall once again. Immediately, shining your flashlight down into the pit for any signs of the creature at the bottom. Not seeing anything, Ghost moves to squeeze through the narrow opening, the torch held carefully in one hand as he slowly made his way down. Once he is a few steps down, you follow suit, positioning yourself on the ladder, and slowly make your way through the opening, feeling claustrophobic as you descend into the cold, metallic darkness. 

The only thing that can be heard is the sound of the ladder groaning in protest at the added weight of people going down. The closer you got to the bottom, the more it felt like all the heat was leaving your body, the freezing air piercing your body, making all the hair on your body stand on end, putting you even more on edge. Ghost feet hitting the pavement of the cellar echo throughout the darkness; he steps over, giving you room to hop off the ladder. Stepping off the ladder, you remove the flashlight from where you held it in your mouth and unhook the handgun from the holster on your thigh. Holding the gun in front of you with one hand while supporting it with your other hand, holding the flashlight underneath, your arms outstretched in front of you, ready for whatever might be awaiting down here for you. 

Ghost was in a similar position; the strange contraption he made earlier could be seen in one of the many pockets on his pants. Silently, he motions for you to follow him, clicking off your flashlight using only the light from the torch as a guide and falling into step behind him. You snap into your mission mindset, not allowing for any other thoughts to distract you. Ghost kept walking straight out from the ladder as per Soap’s instruction. After you had been walking for about five minutes, a horrible smell filled your nostrils, like rotting flesh and blood. He moves the torch a little more forward around to try and find the source of the terrible stench; you see a trail of dried blood stained on the ground. Ghost slowly follows the trial. Gagging, you cover your nose at the sight of a huge pile of rotting animal carcasses, flies, maggots, and other insects swarming over the pile of viscera. 

Regaining your senses, you choked down the bile that rose in your throat and kept moving forward with Ghost, hoping to find the source of all this carnage. Amongst the sound of the swarming insects, you hear the sounds of flesh tearing and eating. Ghost jerked his head towards the source of the sound; the Wendigo was hunched over, ripping into the corpse of what used to be an elk. It was holding the creature in the air, using its razor-sharp teeth to tear into the dead animal's flesh, causing blood and who knows what else to go everywhere onto the floor. 

Slowly putting his handgun back into the holster on his hip but leaving it unbuttoned for easy access, he reaches into his pocket. Ghost retrieves the Molotov-like device carefully so as not to make any noise while the creature is distracted enjoying his breakfast. Keeping your gun aimed at the creature, Ghost rears his arm back and throws the Molotov. Time seems to move in slow motion as you watch it fly through the air; holding your breath, it hits the creature on its head, causing the can to burst, spewing the liquid all over it and setting fire to its body. 

The creature throws the elk corpse and begins screeching in pain, and the flames consume its body. It starts flailing its arms frantically, trying to put out the fire to no avail. Amongst its pain, it catches sight of you moving backward, lunging for you; it grabs ahold of you, knocking the gun and flashlight out of your hands and lifting you into the air. You scream for help. The flames from the creature are spreading, making its way towards you. Your arms are pinned to your sides because of the grasp the creature has on you; you’re unable to move them. Trying to use your legs to kick yourself free but it is no use. It is too strong; feeling the creature begin to use its strength to squeeze you, you let out another antagonizing scream, trying to look for Ghost but being unable to spot him; the only thing you can see is the Wendigo’s burning flesh. 

Fearing for the worst, ready to give up, the torch Ghost was carrying is stabbed into the Wendigo’s face right into its eye socket. The wendigo throws you down, screeching, bringing both hands to try and claw out the burning torch embedded in its face. Expecting to land on the hard, cold ground, you brace yourself for the impact only to land in the midst of the pile of rotting flesh, effectively breaking your fall but also covering you in the entrails of the dead animals. You can feel the blood seep into your clothes, sticking to your skin, trying to climb your way out of the pile of gore. A hand emerges from the darkness, pulling you to your feet. “Let’s go now!” Ghost yells at you over the horrible sounds the Wendigo is making. Wiping the blood from your eyes the best you could, you see Ghost pick up your flashlight and gun; you don’t think you have ever been so happy to see him in your life. 

You both run back towards the ladder, not wanting to spend any longer down here with the burning Wendigo than needed. Once you reach the ladder, Ghost pushes you to go first; climbing up the ladder as fast as you can was made a little difficult due to the blood covering you from head to toe, causing you to slip every once in a while, though Ghost was there to catch you every step of the way. Finally, you reach the opening, letting out a breath of relief. You squeeze back out of the cellar door, moving to help pull Ghost out, grabbing under his armpit and dragging him out. Once you were both out of the hellhole, you grab the door and slam it shut, locking the door for the final time and falling back onto the floor. Ghost was sprawled out beside you, breathing heavily. 

Being back upstairs, you see the sunlight peeking in from outside through the busted windows and cracks in the house; you feel the pain, fear, and anxiety leave your body at the sight you all made it to morning. After catching your breath, Ghost stands up and extends his arm out to help you up, “damn, Spark. You should just probably plan on burning your clothes.” 

Looking down at your outfits, covered in blood and god knows what else, you laugh, “yea, I think that is for the best. Thank you for saving me.” you reply, looking back into Ghost eyes that have a fondness in them. Instead of replying, he just jerks his head towards the living room, where the others are waiting. 

Slowly trudging back into the room, hearing the others converse quietly amongst themselves, realizing that you can hear Laswell's voices, knowing that means they were able to get into contact with her while you and Ghost were down in the cellar. Once you step into the room, all eyes snap towards your form, and all conversations stop. “Bloody hell, what happened to you!?” exclaimed Gaz, his eyes wide looking at your bloody form. 

Shrugging your shoulder, grinning wildly, you reply, “Oh, nothing much. Just killing a fucking Wendigo!” 

Gaz and Soap cheer in response while you hear Price chuckling. Walking back to where you left your tactical vest and other gear, you begin to put them back on and where they go amongst your armor, seeing Ghost do the same out of the corner of your eye. 

Price, who was holding the radio, shakes it in the air, “Well, I am glad you are both back up here safe. While you were both down there, we were able to get through to Laswell, and Nikolai was on his way to pick us up. The rendezvous point is about half a mile from here, so if we leave now, we will be able to make it in time.”Price is now standing in front of you and Ghost, hands on his hips, staring at you both like a proud dad. 

Gaz slowly moves to sit up, his left hand holding onto his stomach where the stitches are, trying to be as careful as possible not to pop any of them. “Thank God! I can’t wait till this is all a horrible nightmare.” 

Nodding in agreement, you help Ghost pack up all the equipment quickly, putting the sleeping mats, blankets, and small pillows back in their appropriate bags. Looking around at how quickly you all managed to get everything packed up and ready to go, you think this might honestly be a new personal best for your team. Picking up and handing everyone their prospective weapons, you move to help Gaz walk, but before you can wrap your arms around him, he stops you, “Um...Spark. No offense, but you really stink. I think it would be best if you just let Price help me.” 

Price, who had already had one arm wrapped around Gaz’s middle, handed you the radio, “Here, you can be in charge of this and keep watch then until we get back to base and can hose you down.” 

Grabbing the radio from Price, you nod your head in agreement, smiling at them both, “Haha, fair enough.” 

Ghost has Soap in the fireman’s carry, much to Soap’s dismay; laughing as you make your way to the front door, leading the way for everyone, you call out over your shoulder, “Isn’t he too heavy to hold like that Ghost?” 

“No” 

You all make your way out of the dilapidated house and out into the forest; looking down into the bright snow on the ground, you pause in your steps, kneeling down and collecting a handful of snow and rubbing it over your face to try and clean some of the blood off. Standing back up, you step over the now blood-red snow. After walking in silence most of the way, you hear the familiar sound of Nikolai’s helicopter blades; stepping into the clearing, you see him waiting, leaning up against the helicopter, smoking a cigarette. 

“Finally, I was beginning to think I would have to leave your asses here.” He states, and he pushes himself off the helicopter, walking towards Price, shaking each other's hands while Nikolia claps him on the back in familiarity. Ghost slides Soap off his shoulder and onto the closest seat in the helicopter; Soap's face is pale, and he looks a little motion sickness from the long trek here. 

Nikolia walks back up to the front of the helicopter and opens the door, moving into the pilot sea,t waiting for everyone to get situated before taking off. Price helps Gaz step up into a seat, carefully buckling him in the seat and placing a pair of headphones over his ears. Seeing everyone else has found a seat, you grab ahold of the bar to pull yourself inside when a noise from behind you makes you pause; turning around, you glance at your surroundings; not seeing anything, you shrug your shoulders and continue climbing on board. Horrific screeching makes your blood run cold, whipping around, you see the badly burned Wendigo running awkwardly towards you, a terrifying look in its yellow eyes. 

Screaming, you fall back onto the floor of the helicopter, everyone yelling different things. Ghost beings shooting at the creature, trying to hit its legs to stop its ascent upon you all, but all it does is cause it to stumble and beings clawing its way forward. Frozen in fear, all you could think about was how close you all were to escaping from the Wendigo, when the front door of the helicopter opened. Nikolai throws a Molotov at the Wendigo, effectively killing it, its burning body collapsing onto the snowy ground, the screeching stopping. 

Sitting back in his seat, Nikolai mutters under his breath, “I fucking hate Wendigos, they are such a pain.” 

Still in shock at what just happened, everyone silently moves back into their seats, buckles in, and places the headphones over their ears as Ghost shuts the door and Nikolai takes off. 

Leaning back in your seat, you look around at all your teammates' faces. You are just glad that everyone is still alive, with just some minor injuries, after everything that you all just went through. Smiling wickedly, you let out a cackle, causing everyone to turn and look at you. “Well, So Much for a Safe House, huh.” 

----------

Bonus: 

Laswell stands at the front of the hospital room, looking angry and awaiting an explanation from someone, anyone. Soap, you, and Gaz all lay in beds in front of her, listening to the constant beeping of the machines you are all hooked up to. Soap ended up having to have surgery on his ankle to fix the damage done to the bones. He had to have several screws and plates placed in his ankle, which now is wrapped in a cast, propped up on a mountain of pillows. Luckily, Gaz did not have to have any surgery, though they did redo his stitches across his chest, and they properly cleaned his wounds before rewrapping them in gauze. Though they did find out that he did have a minor concussion, which makes you a little nervous since he did take quite a few naps between getting the concussion and now, but the doctors say he will be just fine. It turns out you had gotten pretty injured, too, from your scuffle with the creature in the cellar. Both your arms had suspicious-looking bruises, and your ribs ended up being broken and close to puncturing your lungs. The doctors were shocked that you were even still standing in the state you were in. They fixed the damage the best they could with surgery and now have you under strict rules about moving too much, not that you could anyway, with the amount of bandages they have you wrapped in and machines hooked up to you.

Price and Ghost, although they were not hurt, were still in the room as well, coming to visit you all at least once throughout the day. They were sitting in hospital chairs next to your beds, looking anywhere but Laswell, who now stands with her arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“So, you all mean to tell me. You don’t know what happened to cause three of you to end up in the hospital with varying injuries.” 

Price looks at Laswell and leans back in his chair, “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.” 

[etclouie]

can i get 50 and 51 with spencer from the 100 list and its likd he’s embarrassed about constantly talking on and on but his girlfriend just listens

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; 50) “has anybody else ever made you feel like this?” and 51) “it feels like we were made for each other” — from 100 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; spencer x girlfriend!reader, reader listens and spencer talks, just domestic fluff really

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; there’s a real similar piece to this one i did for this event, and you can find it here

— thank you for celebrating 600 with me || submissions are now closed

neither you or Spencer could sleep, laying on the couch together while some movie played on tv. 

every so often Spencer would rhyme off a fact, which earned him a hum in response. 

but he’d began to stop sharing his facts, which made you frown. 

because you genuinely found them interesting, and you loved listening to him. 

wether it be about an actor in the film, or the location it was filmed at. you loved it all. 

“hey Spence?”

you called softly, turning to lay facing him as he did the same. his eyes tired and his hair messy, but it brought a smile to your face. 

he hummed in response to your call of his name, the blanket over both of you slipping before he tugged it back over you as you spoke. 

“how come you stopped sharing your facts?”

his eyes flicked from the tv and back to your face, and he could see the genuine interest in his facts as well as the disappointment from his sudden quietness. 

he sighed, eyes fluttering shut as you lifted a hand to cradle his face. thumb soothing across his cheek as he nestled into your touch, his skin warm against your palm. 

“don’t want to bore you”

he admitted in a whisper, almost embarrassed to have said the words aloud. 

you couldn’t help the frown that tugged at your lips, shaking your head with a sigh of your own. 

whispering back just as softly to him, thumb continuing across his cheek. 

“your facts could never bore me”

his skin warmed and a pink hue painted his cheeks, he was shyer now. closer to embarrassment from making assumptions. 

when his eyes met yours again they were full of love, a longing and warmth for the love you held for him. 

it felt strange almost. 

how loved you actually made him feel, even when he had a tendency to talk on and on sometimes. 

you knew how he felt about his ability to over share, and the few times people he worked with had pointed it out to him made him self conscious—so the warmth in his cheeks and his new shyness to you made it a lot clearer. 

no one had made him feel loved how you did. no one had ever loved him how you did. 

“has anybody else ever made you feel like this?”

you asked, wanting to clarify your suspicions. 

he could only muster a nod in response, and your heart ached at the admission. 

leaning in you kissed him softly, feeling him smile against your lips. he rolled onto his back and held you against his side, your head on his shoulder. 

he tilted his head to press a kiss to your forehead before he whispered out to you. 

“thank you for loving me”

your eyes flicked up to his, finding nothing but love in his gaze. 

leaning up to capture his lips again in a soft kiss, his lips soft against yours as you whispered out to him. 

“it feels like we were made for each other”

you seen the way one of his eyebrows raised at your words, the gesture a silent request for you to continue. 

“you talk and i listen, you tell interesting facts and i fall more in love with you each second”

he shook his head at your words but leaned in to kiss you again, his hands falling to your hips as he pulled you to lay on top of him. 

breaking the kiss pulled a reluctant noise from his throat before he was whispering out against your lips. 

“thank you for always listening, and loving me”

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[arc852]

Gifting Myself to You

Summary: Jimmy has been living in the walls of Tango and Skizz's restaurant for a few years now. It's been a little less than a year since he was discovered and since then, he's become friends with the two of them. And as friends, Tango and Skizz are constantly offering Jimmy to come and live with them. Up until now, Jimmy has said no.

But after a lot of thought and more time, he realizes he does want to live with them. And with Christmas coming up, he comes up with a special way to tell them.

Warnings: some anxiety

Word Count: 3467

AO3 Link

Merry (very early) Christmas everyone! I got this idea when a group of us in discord were talking about tinies being given as gifts or gifting themselves to humans. I went with the latter and now this exists! I hope you guys enjoy!

______________________________________________________________

 “Did you bring the stuff?” Jimmy asked as he hopped off of Scott’s hand and onto one of the many counters within the kitchen. He heard Scott scoff as Jimmy turned back around to face him and saw Scott pulling out a bin of supplies from underneath the counter. Jimmy figured he must have stored it there at some point after the two of them had made their plan.

 “Of course, you know I’m always prepared.” Scott answered and then started rummaging through the bin. “I wasn’t sure what kind of thing you were going for so I just brought a little of everything.” Scott explained.

 “Oh, uh, I just figured I would leave that to you.” Jimmy said with a slight laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I wouldn’t know what looks good or anything.”

 Scott hummed and thought for a moment. He looked Jimmy up and down and then started his rummaging back up. He pulled out a small box, well, relatively, it was still a lot bigger than Jimmy, and then the lid for said box. “I think this box is cute. And it’s small but big enough to fit you comfortably inside.” Scott explained. Jimmy went up to it and looked it over. The box was cute, with little snowmen and snowflakes dotted around.

 “I think it’s perfect!” Jimmy said with a grin and so Scott grabbed a pin and poked a few, needle sized holes in the box so they wouldn’t have to worry about Jimmy losing air. Not that he should be in there long enough for that to happen but it was better to be safe than sorry. Scott put the box back down when he was finished and then looked between the box and Jimmy.

 “It’s still missing something though…” Scott trailed off and then went back to the bin. Jimmy simply watched as Scott pulled out an icey blue ribbon. “Here we go. I can wrap this over the box once you're inside.” Scott said.

 Jimmy looked between the ribbon and the box. The two really did fit perfectly together and it would keep the box together without having to use tape or anything like that. Jimmy nodded. “Sounds good! Are we…ready to do this then?” Jimmy asked, feeling a bit nervous all of a sudden.

 Scott hummed, once again in thought. He looked between the ribbon and Jimmy and the smirk that started appearing on his face made Jimmy’s heart rate spike. “Actually,” Scott started. “I think we can take this a step further.”

 And that was how Jimmy ended up tied up in the blue ribbon.

 Jimmy pulled against his binds, frowning slightly as it gave no give. Scott had carefully tied the ribbon around his chest, wound it down his legs, and then went back up to wrap it a few more times around his waist before tying the last little bit into a bow that rested in front of his stomach. He also made sure his arms were pinned at his sides as he tied Jimmy up, making his arms just as trapped as the rest of him and basically leaving him motionless. “Was this really necessary?” Jimmy asked, looking up at Scott.

 “Of course! You look so cute all wrapped up with a little bow.” Scott said with a small laugh as he adjusted the bow on Jimmy’s front slightly. “If you're giving yourself as a gift, then you gotta look the part.”

 Jimmy grumbled a bit and pulled against his restraints one last time before sighing. “I guess you’re right…”

 “I always am.” Scott said with far too much confidence. At least in Jimmy’s opinion. “Trust me, Tango and Skizz are going to love it.”

 “I hope so.” Jimmy said, more to himself than anything. 

 “Are you ready to get in now?” Scott asked and Jimmy nodded. Scott scooped the borrower up and gently slid him off his hand and into the box. With Jimmy now sat within, Scott lifted up the lid with the intent to put it on.

 “Oh, wait!” Jimmy suddenly said and watched as Scott froze. Concern crossed Scott’s features as he met Jimmy’s eyes.

 “Yeah? Is everything okay?” Scott asked and Jimmy smiled a bit. Despite how Scott could be sometimes, he still cared. Jimmy of course knew this but sometimes the reminder was nice.

 “Yeah, sorry, I just…thank you Scott, for…for helping me with this.” Jimmy said, his tone a bit shy as he glanced away from Scott’s eyes. Scott blinked but then smiled at him fondly, letting out a little sigh.

 “You know I’m always happy to help when it comes to you.” Scott’s smile turned more into a smirk as he winked at Jimmy. Jimmy felt his cheeks warm a bit. “And I’d say this is a long time coming anyway.” Scott continued, before he finally placed the lid over the little box. Jimmy was washed in darkness, his only bit of light coming from the needle sized holes Scott had poked through the box earlier. 

 There was some shuffling as Jimmy assumed Scott was wrapping the blue ribbon around the box. “There we go. Alright, I’m heading back out there now.” As Scott said this, Jimmy felt his stomach somersault as he suddenly felt himself being lifted into the air. Jimmy settled in quickly though, doing his best to stay quiet as Scott started to walk out of the kitchen area and back toward the front and main eating area of the restaurant.

 He thought back to Scott’s words as he squirmed slightly against the ribbon, feeling the smooth and cool silk against his skin. This really was a long time coming. Tango and Skizz had been offering up their place to him for months now. Ever since they discovered Jimmy within the walls of their restaurant, they had offered for him to come and live with them.

 Jimmy had said no every time. He was fine at the restaurant, it was his home and had been for three years now. And…it was one thing to see Tango and Skizz for short amounts of time during a work day and another thing entirely to actually live with them. And, to be honest, the thought still made him nervous. But over time, the more Jimmy spent time with them, the more Jimmy began to like the idea of seeing Skizz and Tango all the time.

 He had only just made up his mind a couple of weeks ago. He had initially planned on telling them that day, but that night, Tango and Skizz had stayed late at the restaurant to hang out and they ended up watching a movie on Tango’s phone. His humans had called it a Hallmark movie, which was apparently a really cheesy Christmas romcom. It was a fine movie but it was one scene in particular that sparked an idea in Jimmy’s head.

 In one of the scenes, the man held out a closed box to the women. At first, Jimmy thought he was proposing. But then the women opened it and it wasn’t a ring but a key. The man’s gift to the woman was inviting her to move in with him.

 And that’s what gave Jimmy the idea to gift himself to Tango and Skizz, as a way to tell them yes, he wanted to move in with them. Essentially, he would be the key.

 …Okay, so it was a bit of a silly idea. But Jimmy was known for doing silly things anyway and so he still decided to go for it. Jimmy ended up going to Scott, a friend of his who he met through Tango and Skizz, to help him with his idea. He went to Scott above the others because, while Scott would still tease him about the idea, he knew Scott would also help him and find the importance in what Jimmy wanted to do.

 And so, at Tango and Skizz’s yearly Christmas party that they hosted for all their friends at their restaurant, Jimmy and Scott put Jimmy’s plan into action.

 And now Jimmy was here, wrapped up and about to give himself to his two friends as a way to say, hey! I do want to live with you guys!

 …He really hoped this turned out well.

 He tuned back into his surroundings as he heard Scott speak from above him. “Wrapping things up then?” Scott asked, his voice casual. Jimmy realized then that the once loud sounds of the party had quieted considerably.

 “Yeah, it’s getting pretty late. And I know we all still have to get ready for actual Christmas.” Tango chuckled.

 “You two need help cleaning up?” Scott asked and Jimmy thought back briefly to the mess the restaurant had been in before he had disappeared with Scott. It would definitely take a while to clean up.

 “Nah.” Skizz’s voice chimed in. “We were just gonna leave it for tonight. We’re closed for the holiday’s anyway, so no reason to get things in shape yet. But we appreciate it!” Jimmy could just see the big grin on Skizz’s face and even the mental image of it made Jimmy smile too.

 “If you say so.” Scott chuckled and then Jimmy felt the box rattle a little more as he assumed Scott brought the box forward. “By the way, Jimmy wanted me to give you this.”

 “Oh?” Tango said, perking up. Jimmy felt the box switch hands. “A present from Jimmy?” He sounded excited.

 “A present from Jiggles!?” Skizz exclaimed with even more excitement.

 “Yep. I helped him out with it. But he said he wanted you two to wait until you got home to open it.” Scott said, telling them what Jimmy wanted him to. He wanted this to be a private moment between the three of them and so having them open him at home was the best way to do that. Besides, he thought it would have more meaning if they opened him in the place he would soon be living in.

 “Speaking of, have you seen Jimmy? He seems to have disappeared and we wanted to say goodbye before we headed out.” Tango asked, pulling the box closer to him as he did so. Jimmy only knew this from the sudden fluid motion and the now faint heartbeat he could just barely make out through the cardboard.

 “Actually, I think he went to bed already. Said he was really tired from all the excitement.” The other reason Jimmy got Scott’s help was because of how good of an actor he was. He lied to Tango and Skizz like it was nothing.

 “Aww man.” Skizz said with a pout. “I guess that’s fair though. This party probably had more humans than he’s ever dealt with at once.”

 “I guess we’ll just have to talk to him tomorrow.” Tango said, though he too sounded disappointed. Jimmy bit his lip, feeling a bit guilty about having Scott lie to them. But hopefully it would be worth it for the surprise.

 “Well, I’m heading out. It was a great time!” Scott said, his voice getting a bit fainter, more far away as Jimmy assumed he was walking toward the door.

 “See ya Scotty!” Skizz shouted.

 “And make sure you’re careful with that present! It’s fragile!” Scott yelled back one more time before Jimmy heard the familiar bell of the door open and soon close behind him.

 Jimmy continued to simply sit and listen as the rest of their friends left, the restaurant getting quieter and quieter until it was just Tango and Skizz (and Jimmy) left. “I guess it’s about time we headed out too.” Skizz said and Jimmy heard some shifting of items. Skizz must have just been doing a quick clean.

 “Yep, time to close up shop.” Tango said, despite their ‘shop’ being closed for most of the day already. Though at this point Jimmy knew it was more of a human expression than actually what Tango meant.

 As they started to move, so did the box, swaying him gently. As they entered outside, even from within the box, Jimmy could feel the cool night air nip at his skin. The ribbon, though covering a lot of him, still did little to keep out the cold. 

 Thankfully, they weren’t out in the cold for long. Jimmy soon heard the signs of a door opening and felt some rough movement that was quickly followed by Skizz’s voice. “Hey, careful! Scott said it was fragile, remember?” Neither of them had even been that rough but it was sweet that they cared so much about a gift he had given them. And that was without them knowing he was the one in there.

 “Right, sorry.” The slight tilt of the box was fixed and then the engine of the car roared to life. Jimmy jumped, surprised by the sudden noise. He had never been in a car before though he should have expected it to be loud.

 It got even louder as the music was turned on and Skizz started singing loudly to it, Tango jumping in shortly after some coaxing from Skizz. It was loud but Jimmy also couldn’t help but enjoy it. They sounded like they were having fun, singing and laughing. It was not unlike what he had seen while in the restaurant but here, right now, they seemed so much more…relaxed. Jimmy had only seen them like this a few times before. It was nice. He was excited to be able to see it all the time.

 The car ride wasn’t long. Tango and Skizz always told him they only lived about 20 minutes from the restaurant. So, before Jimmy knew it, the engine cut, the music turned off and the box he was in started to move again as both humans got out of the car. Jimmy pushed against his bindings slightly, his muscles starting to ache just a bit from his stiff position. Why had he let Scott tie him up again?

 Well, it didn’t matter too much now. Tango and Skizz would be opening the gift any moment now and he would be free soon enough.

 His heart pounded at the thought that after months of being asked, of weeks planning this whole thing to tell him he accepted, that this was finally happening.

 He was starting to second guess himself now, just a little bit. As Tango and Skizz entered their home, talking above him, Jimmy hoped this wasn’t the wrong way to go about this. Scott had liked the idea but would Tango and Skizz? He took a deep breath. He needed to calm down, there was no backing out of this now anyway.

 “Should we open up Jimmy’s present now?” Tango asked after a moment of hanging up their coats and toeing off their shoes. Tango’s tone was filled with barely contained excitement that had Jimmy’s heart racing.

 “Absolutely!” Skizz all but shouted, sounding just as excited as Tango and even more so than he had back at the restaurant. He could feel them walk a bit more before settling down again. Jimmy could only assume they were both sitting on a couch or something similar. “I can’t wait to see what Jiggles got us. What do you think it is?” Skizz asked after a moment and Jimmy could just picture the big grin on his face.

 “Not sure. Scott said he helped him out with it so the possibilities are all over the place.” Tango answered in reply and then Jimmy’s stomach did a little flip as the box was suddenly lifted up higher. “Thankfully, we don’t have to guess, cause we can open it right now.” Tango said with a laugh.

 “Right, let’s not waste anymore time!” Skizz exclaimed and with the brief silence that followed, Jimmy could just picture them untying the ribbon that wound around the box. Even if there was no audible indication that they were doing so. And then, the moment of truth, the lid of the box was carefully lifted off, drowning Jimmy in light as he suddenly found himself staring up at Tango and Skizz.

 Both humans’ eyes went wide as they saw Jimmy, Skizz’s mouth even fell open in shock. Jimmy cleared his throat, feeling his nerves spike. “Um, surprise?” Jimmy said, a little less enthusiastically than what he had initially planned but he was also a lot more nervous than he had been expecting.

 “Wha-Jimmy?” Tango said, leaning in just a bit more to get a better look at Jimmy within the box. “What are you doing in there?”

 “And why are you all tied up?” Skizz chimed in, shock and confusion overlapping each other as he leaned in on Jimmy’s other side, since Tango was the one holding the box.

 “Well, uh, Scott thought tying me up would make me more…present like.” Jimmy answered, a slight flush on his face. “It’s uh, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable though.”

 “Aww, well come here, let's get you untangled.” Skizz said before scooping Jimmy out of the box, shifting him to one hand as he started to untie the ribbon wrapped around Jimmy’s body. He pulled at one of the loose pieces on the bow and from there it seemed easy for Skizz to unwrap the rest of the ribbon. Jimmy shivered slightly at Skizz’s touch but he was mostly still.

 Tango put the box down onto the coffee table and leaned in close, watching. His brow furrowed but his features no less fond. “That still doesn’t explain what you were doing in there though.” Tango spoke up after a moment, just as Skizz pulled the rest of the ribbon off of Jimmy and placed it back in the box. Jimmy stretched his limbs and then turned to face Tango. He flushed and then quickly turned away, fidgeting with his hands as he looked down at them.

 “Well…remember how you've been asking me to move in with you guys?” Jimmy asked.

 “Yeah, but we understand why you’ve said no.” Skizz said, reassuring Jimmy of his previous responses.

 “We don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to.” Tango chimed in as well. Jimmy glanced up at the two of them, a small smile forming on his face. And that was exactly why he felt ready now to live with them. They had proven time and time again that they cared about him and they never treated him like any less of a person just because of his size. Even now they were reassuring him that he was in charge of himself and that they understood why Jimmy had said no to them in the past. And they had always respected his decision too. Never doing more than putting the offer back on the table every once in a while.

 They really were the best.

 He took a deep breath.

 “I know, and I really appreciate that.” Jimmy looked up at the two humans fully. “But this whole thing is…me gifting myself to you guys. As a way to say that I want to live with you two and be a full part of your lives.” There, it was out in the open now. Jimmy felt his heart flutter with nerves but they were quickly reassured as two giant grins formed on Skizz and Tango’s faces.

 “Really?” Tango said, his tone full of barely contained excitement. Jimmy could practically see him trying his hardest not to bounce up and down from it.

 “Yes!” Skizz exclaimed, not trying as hard to subdue his reaction. “Oh Jimmy, dude, we are going to have a blast with you living here.” Skizz said, his grin big. Jimmy couldn’t help but match it.

 “I’m excited for it.” Jimmy said, looking at his two humans fondly. “Thank you for offering.”

 “Thank you for accepting.” Tango said and then gently scooped him up off of Skizz’s hands so he could hold him close. “I think I speak for both Skizz and I when I say this is the best present we’ve ever gotten.”

 “Oh, by a mile!” Skizz responded with a laugh.

 Jimmy smiled fondly at the two as they started talking about setting up a space for Jimmy and what kind of stuff they could plan for their first Christmas all together. As they talked, Tango continued to hold Jimmy up against his chest, his thumb subconsciously rubbing at his back. Jimmy sighed in relief as he leaned into the touch, wondering how he had ever been worried about what the outcome of this would be. Of course they would be happy, they were amazing.

 As their voices washed over him, excited and coming up with idea after idea on how to include Jimmy in their lives, Jimmy knew he had made the right choice.

[tired-truffle]

Even the Gods Cry For Us

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.6k

Part 16/17

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt @dedicated2viktor (if anyone else would like to be tagged with future updates let me know!)

"Whether you come as a lover or an executioner, I am ready to receive you." - Agustin Gómez-Arcos

Curses by the Cranewives is a great song to listen to for this chapter <3

Masterlist

Clink, clink, clink, the Gemstones rattled together in your backpack as you ran. Eyes darting side to side, Caitlyn and the rest of her crew running with you. 

You’d made a plan, a desperate attempt to avert disaster. Find Viktor, restore his emotions, help him realize the pain he was inflicting. You didn’t know what came after, but it didn’t matter when Viktor was still out of your reach. 

Jayce had given you orders; stay with Caitlyn, let her lead you to Viktor’s arrival point, and then absorb the Gemstones, hitting them with everything you had. And you had a lot - after all your anguish and grief, the loss of almost everyone you’d ever cared about, your magic was itching to unleash itself. Viktor would be sending his robots - the bodies of those he’d once healed weaponized. The less you thought about it the better.

An explosion in the clock tower, retribution for Caitlyn’s attempts at shooting Ambessa - the Noxian leader - swiftly blocked by your shield, crackling with blue energy. With a nod of thanks, Caitlyn pulled out her telescope, spying on the carnage below. 

She turned to you, face set in grim determination. “He’s here.” There was no need to specify, and with an incline of her head, you, Caitlyn, and the three enforcers assigned to her group - Maddie, Charles and Laz - were off. 

This was your role, to stop Viktor, even as your heart beat arrhythmically in your throat, your stomach tight and churning, your magic crackling over your skin like lightning in a desert storm. 

Bodies scattered the ground, spears protruding from blood-splattered corpses. Dust filled the air, large chunks of stone smashed on the ground providing coverage. You crouched between Charles and Maddie, Caitlyn taking point, peering out from behind the stone. She nodded at her men across the street as they gathered, ready to fight - to give you the opening you needed. 

The image of Laz, arrow in his neck, body strewn on the ground flashed before your eyes. You blinked and it was gone, but as Charles pulled the safety pin on a smoke bomb, handing it to Laz, your magic surged instinctively. 

You stood, but not of your own accord, palms splayed before you, creating a shimmering barrier of crackling, spitting magic in front of Laz as he surged to his feet, arm wrenched back to throw the smoke bomb. An arrow hit the barrier and harmlessly fell to the ground, followed swiftly by two more, and another. Though shocked by the suddenness of your action, Laz nodded gratefully, and threw the bomb over the barrier, Maddie and Charles following suit. 

Green gas spluttered and billowed, filling the air with noxious fumes. Yet, before it blocked your vision, you saw it, Viktor’s cocoon.

Your eyes locked onto the metallic sphere, its surface a mesmerizing swirl of dull silver and muted violet, intricate patterns etched into its shell like a cosmic spiderweb.

The orb was tethered to a monstrous creature that lumbered forward with thunderous steps. The abomination was a hulking mass of misshapen muscle and oversized limbs. Its skin, a sickly pale grey, stretched taut over bulging organs and deep scars, vibrant purple lines pulsing as it groaned. The red of Noxus draped over its massive form in tattered banners and makeshift armour.

Before you realized what you were doing, your magic had reached out, desperate to feel Viktor’s presence, to reassure yourself that he was alive, just as Jayce had promised. 

But the shell was empty, a gaping hole where traces of Viktor’s energy remained. 

This was a trap, a ploy to pull out the frontline guard and distract from where Viktor had truly gone. 

You cursed under your breath, and surged forward, grasping Caitlyn by the wrist as she moved to advance. 

“Wait,” you hissed as she whirled around, vibrant blue eyes set wide. “He’s not there, it’s a—“

A hand on your shoulder yanked you back and you stumbled, only barely managing not to fall flat on your backside. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Maddie snarled, her teeth clenched. “You can’t just grab your superior officer like that.” 

“Maddie, it’s alright,” Caitlyn began, hands raised to placate, but you didn’t hear the rest of her attempt at de-escalation. Maddie’s emotions rushed through her connection to you like a roaring wind. You weren’t sure if you’d reached out first, a hint of suspicion at the girl’s actions, or if the loudness of her zeal for Noxus control and order had called to you first. 

Travelling through her intricate web of feelings was nothing compared to Vander’s, and you burrowed deeper, ignoring her sharp gasp and the tensing of those around you as you searched. Buried beneath her unwavering commitment, lay the tiniest morsel of guilt. She’d be hurting Caitlyn with her betrayal, and while it paled in comparison to her devotion, it remained a crack in her otherwise solid mask. 

You held that seed of guilt in your metaphysical hands, feeling its potential. With a gentle touch, you began to nurture it, coaxing it to grow and flourish. Filaments of remorse spread through Maddie's psyche as you carefully cultivated her buried emotions.

Maddie's eyes widened, her grip on your shoulder loosening as confusion washed over her face. Guilt blossomed, her betrayal flooding to the surface.

Tears welled up in Maddie's eyes, spilling down her cheeks in glistening rivulets. Her shoulders began to shake as sobs wracked her body. She stepped back, her knees buckling beneath her.

"I'm sorry," Maddie choked out. "I'm so sorry."

She collapsed to her knees before Caitlyn, her head bowed in shame. Snot dripped from her nose as she wept uncontrollably, her carefully maintained composure shattered.

"Caitlyn, please," Maddie pleaded, her voice raw and stuttering between gasping breaths. "I betrayed y-you. I've been feeding information to Noxus, I-I am supposed to bring you t-to Ambessa. Viktor’s not in there, the mage is right."

Caitlyn glanced at you, her upper lip pulled back in disgust at the base display, but her eyes swam with confusion.

“I only pulled to the surface what was already there,” you explained with a serenity that you did not feel, your face carefully blank. “Do with that what you will, but he’s not here. I am going to find him.” 

Caitlyn hesitated, her eyes darting between you and the sobbing girl as she grasped at Caitlyn’s boots, pleading for her forgiveness. The battle raged around you - the clash of steel, the thunderous booms of explosions, the anguished cries of the wounded.

Finally, Caitlyn's shoulders sagged, and she wiped a hand down her tired face. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible over the din. "Go. Find him.”

You didn't need to be told twice. With a surge of magic, you propelled yourself away. The wind whipped through your hair as you ran through the streets of Piltover, your magic reaching out, scanning desperately for any sign of Viktor.

You spotted a quiet alcove nestled between two towering structures and turned, slowing down as you slipped inside. The sounds of battle were muffled there, providing a momentary respite. You closed your eyes, trying to focus, to reach out with your magic and sense Viktor's presence.

But your power, wild and untamed, refused to cooperate. It pulled your thoughts in a thousand directions at once - flashes of memories long buried, glimpses of the battle, echoes of past regrets.

Gritting your teeth, you called a spark forth, letting it slip out of your backpack and into your awaiting hands. With a deep breath, you began to channel some of your excess power into the spark, feeling the pressure in your mind gradually ease.

The spark glowed brighter and brighter, pulsing with barely contained energy. As the last of the excess magic flowed into it, you slumped against the wall, exhausted and breathing raggedly. An irony taste coated your tongue, and you coughed, spattering the ground with flecks of blood.

"Shit," you grumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. But you couldn't afford to rest, not when Viktor was still out there, not when the fate of Piltover - and your own heart - hung in the balance.

You clenched your fists tight, nails digging crescent moon shapes into your palms. You could do this, you had to do this.

Closing your eyes, you forced yourself to take slow, deep breaths. The sounds of battle faded to a distant rumble as you focused inward, reaching out with your magic to sense the web of souls surrounding you.

At first, it was overwhelming - a racket of emotions and energies swirling around you. Fear, anger, determination, desperation, grief - they tore at your skin like fishing hooks cast over and over again. But you pushed through, your own desperation to find Viktor giving you strength.

Gradually, it began to take shape. You saw the souls of Piltover's citizens as glowing points of light, some dim and flickering with terror, others burning bright with resolve.

Noxian soldiers appeared as harsh, angular shapes, their souls hardened by years of conquest and conflict. You felt Ambessa's presence like a dark star, her iron will drawing her forces to her like gravity.

You pushed your awareness further, searching for that familiar spark, that brilliant mind that had captivated you from the moment you'd met. But Viktor's unique energy was nowhere to be found.

Panic clawed at your chest as you stretched your senses to their limit, desperately scanning every corner of Piltover. The effort left you dizzy and nauseous, your head pounding as if it might split open at any moment.

Faint enough that you hadn’t noticed it at first, a light tug at your awareness, a flicker of a feeling pulled your gaze up to the top of the Hexgate looming above. An urge, gentle yet insistent, pushed at your back. 

There, you needed to be there.

You bolted from the alcove, your feet pounding the cobblestones as you raced toward the Hexgate. The towering structure loomed ahead, its golden orb gleaming even through the smoke and dust. Your lungs burned, muscles screaming in protest, but you pushed on, driven by that inexplicable pull.

As you neared the base of the Hexgate, you gathered your magic, feeling it crackle and spark along your skin. With a burst of energy, you launched yourself upward, your hands grasping at the intricate metalwork. You climbed with frantic speed, magic propelling you higher and higher, over flat surfaces and smooth stone.

The wind tore at your clothes, threatening to pull you from your precarious perch. But you held on, gritting your teeth as you ascended. Sweat poured down your face, stinging your eyes and making your grip dangerously close to slipping. But you couldn't stop, not when you were so close.

With a final, desperate lunge, you hauled yourself onto the top of the Hexgate. You lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, your chest heaving as you tried to recover. But there was no time to rest.

As you staggered to your feet, the air around you began to crackle with energy. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you felt a familiar tingle in your bones – the unmistakable sensation of arcane power building to critical mass.

You spun around, searching for the source, and that's when you saw them. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of robotic bodies standing in formation across the top of the Hexgate. They were beautiful in their own way, sleek forms of white and gold metal gleaming in the fading light as they blocked your sight. But there was something eerie about their stillness, their vacant eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.

They looked too similar to the rusted and dented creatures you’d seen in your hallucinations to be anything else.

The arcane energy swirled in bright purples and pinks, and you shielded your eyes against the grit as it coalesced into a whirlwind that spun around the golden surface. You braced yourself, magic instinctively forming a shield around your body.

The whirlwind reached a fever pitch, and with a deafening crack, it exploded outward. A shockwave of pure arcane energy blasted across the top of the Hexgate and down into the city below.

You held your ground, your shield flickering but holding as the energy washed over you. The force of it nearly drove you to your knees, but you stood firm, your eyes squeezed shut against the blinding light. 

The silence that followed had you blinking the spots from your vision, carefully scanning the scene. As your gaze swept across the surface, through a gap in the robots’ seamless lines, a familiar form caught your attention. Jayce knelt in the center of the Hexgate roof, near a jagged hole that looked as though a large mass had burst through it. His broad shoulders slumped in defeat, his massive Hextech hammer positioned before him, its head resting on the ground, his hands gripping the handle as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality. Sweat glistened on his brow, his chest heaving with laboured breaths.

Your eyes locked with his for a brief second. You could see the toll this fight had taken on him - the anguish twisting his features, the flicker of despair in his once-determined gaze. This was a man pushed to his limits, grappling with the harsh truth of what his old friend had become.

Before you could take a step towards him, a flicker of movement above tore your attention away. You tilted your head back, eyes drawn inexplicably upward.

A figure floated in the air, twin strips of its cape fluttering in the breeze. Though his body had changed, his face obscured, you knew who it was like you knew your own bones. 

“Viktor!” Your voice boomed across the expanse of robots, propelled by the force of your magic writhing in your chest, your lungs, your heart. “Enough!” 

The lithe figure turned, hip bones jutting out, and all that fight you built within yourself bled from your pours. Tall and gangly, he moved with purpose and grace. Thin, too thin, limbs too long. No longer human, but machine and the arcane mixed into one eldritch being. The mask that covered his face - that beautiful face you could have spent the rest of your life contentedly watching - lay in slumber, serene and at peace. You’d seen it before. Glimpses in your magic-infused terror, the metal plate down the centre that hid the contours of his sleeping face, his eyes now perched high on his forehead, glowing, golden beads of apathy. He floated down, nonchalant and uncaring, landing behind Jayce. 

Your magic surged, knocking the robots down around you like bowling pins. With a whimper you placed your hand on your chest, pushing down until your ribs creaked, shoving the magic back into its place. 

“Milá,” the indifference with which Viktor said your name made you flinch, “what have you done?” His voice had become robotic, steady and tinny in quality, like he was speaking through a modulator. But you could still hear him in there, beneath all that armour, his lilting accent unmistakable. 

“What have I done?” you balked, magic sparking between your fingers, a vibrant azure light shining from your backpack. The robots twitched and jerked as they righted themselves, movements inhuman. “Have you seen yourself? Look around, Viktor, look what you did to these people—“ 

Like a lingering dust in an abandoned room, you felt it, the robot closest to you tilted its head. Charlotte, her joy, her tender love, echoed in the sleek form. She was gone, only traces of her essence left, puzzle pieces scattered beneath a weathered couch. Her soul had been torn from its host and scattered amongst the stars. Gone and unable to rest. But she had been here, it had been her body, and now it was warped and used against her will. 

Your chin quivered as you reached for her, the robot remained still as you trailed your fingers down the side of its face. “Do you even remember who they were?” 

Silence greeted you, and then, “Their sacrifice will not be in vain.” 

“You say sacrifice like it was a choice,” you spat, dropping your hand from Charlotte’s husk and rounding on him, pushing your way through the metal figures. They didn’t try to stop you, their expressionless faces turning to watch you as you passed. 

“Choice is false,” he said, the words ringing in your ears as though you’d heard them before in another life, another universe. “It is influenced by untamed emotion, it is the cause of all division and destruction plaguing our world. The only recourse to be truly free is to remove it - the final stage in our glorious evolution.” He held up a hand and the robots moved before you could register it, grabbing your wrists and pinning you in place. You were only a few feet from where Viktor stood and Jayce knelt, watching you warily. “Your torment could have been prevented had I not succumbed to this madness. Once I have unified our minds, I will at last liberate you from the source of your suffering. You will understand, as I have, that this is what’s best.” 

The remnants of your heart shattered, a thousand shards of glass piercing your chest. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable a dagger twisting deeper, sharper. Yanking your wrists to no avail, the robots’ grip too strong, you gritted your teeth. 

“That’s the thing about choice,” you said, raw and rough like the weathered bark of an old tree, “it can lead to terrible suffering, but it can also lead to such incredible beauty. You once said that loving me wasn’t a choice, but if it had been, you would have chosen to love me every time. Do you regret it now, in all your infinite wisdom? Do you regret being with me when I’m…like this? Controlled by emotion, when you can’t fix my problems?”

You did not wait to hear his answer, the words tumbling from your chapped lips. “Because I don’t. I would have endured a thousand years of this just for one more second with you, Viktor. My love for you is a part of me, to take that away, to take any of my feelings away, would be to kill me. And I will always choose you, even if it means I end up like this. You are worth it.” You sucked in a sharp breath, holding back the tears that brimmed in your red-rimmed eyes. “But maybe, in a way, you’re right.” 

“What are you—“ Jayce started, but you weren’t finished. 

“This is partially my fault, isn’t it? I just couldn’t let you go, and in holding on, I pushed you towards this - hellbent on removing the cause of your pain, as well as mine.” Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, salt coating your tongue, but you refused to allow them to drag you down into the murky pits of your despair. “But I think…you couldn’t let me go either. That’s why you avoided me once you’d realized what you’d become. It’s why you turned me into this that night in the cave, and why you wanted me to give you the Hexcore instead of letting it tear me apart. It was all because you loved me, and you made that active choice to fight for us. But the Hexcore stole your humanity, piece by piece, and I’m so fucking sorry I can’t give it back.”

Viktor stilled, the hold his robots’ had on you slackening. If only you could see the emotion behind that mask, the animated expressions you loved so dearly; the crinkle of his nose in distaste, the soft play of a smile over his lips and the way it quirked up towards his beauty mark.

“I was…” he began, turning his head to the side as though seeing memories unfold before his eyes that had been buried beneath his suppressed emotions. “Unwilling to live without you.”

A chink in the armour, a small crack in his hardened shell. But Viktor had always been skilled at patching up broken things. 

“It was an error I will never repeat.”

His hand reached out, fingers splayed against Jayce’s forehead, tilting his head back as light shone from his eyes and mouth - held in a silent scream. 

“No!” you cried, a primal sound of anguish and desperation tearing from your throat. You couldn’t lose the last friend you had left, even if you both hated and loved him. Your magic surged forth unbidden, a force of raw power that shattered the robots' grip on your wrists. Their metallic fingers crumbled like ash, scattering in the wind as you lunged forward.

Time seemed to slow as you raced towards Viktor and Jayce, your feet barely touching the ground. Your hand stretched out, fingers spread wide, reaching for Viktor's ankle - anything to shove him off balance and release his partner. You were so close, close enough to feel the hum of his changed body, to see the intricate patterns etched into the metal of his mask. For a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to hope.

But hope, as you'd learned, was a fickle thing.

Before your fingertips could brush against Viktor's form, you felt cold metal fingers wrap around your wrists once more. More robots had taken the place of the ones you’d destroyed and they seized you with callous strength. This time, they didn't stop at your arms. Unyielding hands clamped around your calves, rooting you to the spot.

You thrashed wildly, your magic lashing out in erratic bursts of bright light. But it was no use.

“Your fight is over, you may rest now, miláčku.”

The once sweet term of endearment was now a grating sound, like nails on a chalkboard, in that robotic voice. It reverberated through your body, almost bringing you to your knees.

Something inside you crumbled. The hope you'd been clinging to, the desperate belief that you could reach him, save him, shattered like brittle glass. 

Every step of this journey flashed before your eyes - the late nights in the lab, the focus on his survival above all else, the Hexcore and his numbed emotions. You saw now how each choice had led to this moment. The road to hell, paved with good intentions.

Your conversation with Soraka echoed in your ears. "Was I destined to lose him?" you’d asked. "You were destined to love him, for however long you had," she’d responded. Destined to love him, not to cure him, not to help him figure out a way to survive. The answer had been there all along, you’d just refused to see it.

You laughed, humourless and tinged with a manic edge. “You should know me better by now. I will never give up on you.”

As if on cue, a clattering trill pulled your attention to the slope of the Hexgate. A young boy with white dreads, and a worn brown jacket flapping in the wind, raced towards Viktor with lightning speed. His hoverboard hummed with neon green energy, leaving trails of light behind him as he weaved through throngs of robots. They grasped at him, but were met with empty space as he flew by, always a fraction too slow to catch him. As he drew closer and you saw the determined set of his jaw, the conviction in his eyes, it dawned on you; this was the Firelight leader you’d seen in your visions of Heimerdinger, if your knowledge was correct. Ekko, the Boy Saviour.

Viktor stood motionless, a dark silhouette, as one particularly agile robot scuttled over his shoulder. Its spindly legs carried it with unnerving speed towards Ekko, who banked hard to avoid its lunge. You held your breath, certain the machine would make contact, but the boy twisted at the last second, the robot's hand closing on nothing but air.

His victory was short-lived. As he attempted to circle back, a swarm of robots converged on him from all sides. They moved with eerie synchronization, cutting off every possible escape route. You saw the moment he realized he was trapped, his eyes widening in alarm, panic setting in as they lifted him up.

“Viktor,” you said, your voice reedy as you called his attention away from Ekko. He turned his head, an instinctive need to ensure your safety. “I wasn’t ever supposed to ensure you survived, that wasn’t my purpose, as much as I wish it could have been. I was just supposed to love you, and I lost sight of that somewhere underneath all my fear of losing you, of being alone.” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t waver. “I should have cherished the time I had with you instead of being focused on preventing the future. I will always want more, but not like this, not when it means you lose everything that made you, you.”

You were a steadfast and unshakeable force, rooted in determination and resolve like a mountain refusing to be moved. Nothing could stray you from this path, not now, not when you had one last fight still left in you. 

He said nothing, face impassive behind the mask. But that he had no dismissive response had your confidence surging. 

Until a robot snatched your backpack from your shoulders. With an effortless motion, it threw the bag up to Viktor, who deftly caught it with his claw. 

“Stop!” you screamed. “Give that back!” 

But it was too late. Viktor's claw unclasped the hook that had been keeping the backpack shut, and turned it upside down. A cascade of empty Gemstones came tumbling out, clattering against the Hexgate like discarded marbles. The dull sound echoed across the surface as they pinged and rolled away - there must have been thirty, even forty husks in that bag. Your sparks, freed from their confinement, zipped through the air, buzzing their excitement and filled to the brim with magic.

You’d never gotten into the habit of listening to what people told you to do.

You coughed, wet and guttural as Viktor's masked face snapped towards you. A grin spread across your lips like melted butter, revealing blood-coated teeth, and the tangy taste of iron filling your mouth. The robots' grip on you loosened slightly in response to Viktor’s surprise, and you swayed unsteadily on your feet as dizziness pricked at your vision.

Viktor took a step back, his body tensing. "You absorbed them," he said, his robotic voice tinged with what might have been awe or horror. "All of them."

You nodded, the magic coursing through your veins, an inferno barely contained within your fragile human form. It gnawed at your insides, a ravenous beast devouring you from within. Your skin felt too tight, as if it might split open at any moment, unable to contain the raw power you'd consumed. 

Viktor's unearthly eyes searched your face. "Why?" he asked, and your magic pricked at the smothered smoke of his disquiet. "You know what that will do to a human body. You'll die."

"It was an easy choice to make if it meant it would get me to you."

Viktor’s unwavering gaze remained fixed on you, even as Ekko broke free from his robots in a blur of colour too fast for your eyes to track.

“I wouldn’t change anything about our time together, Viktor. I love you, remember that,” you whispered, bittersweet as you sobbed around an adoring smile, the iridescent lights of Viktor’s magic reflecting in your tears. 

Ekko reared up behind Viktor, arm raised to throw a container filled with otherworldly energy that seemed to defy all logic. His face contorted in a scream of pure fury as he brought it down.

Not once did Viktor look away from you.

Your hand closed around his ankle and the container collided with the back of Viktor’s head. In a flash that blinded you, your magic billowed out, uncontrollable, and pulled you into its devouring orbit.

Next Chapter

A/N: I apologize for yet another cliffhanger, but it was just too much to put in one chapter! You'll be getting all your answers and the promised happy ending in the next chapter, but I'd love to hear your predictions!

[mwahbabe]

drop more loser!Chloe content and my life is urs

loser!chloe headcanons

tags: fluff, gf!chloe, switch!chloe, nsfw, cunnilingus(r! recieving) (c!recieving) strap on sex, (r!recieving) (c! recieving) scissoring/tribbing, perv!chloe.

a/n: you got it baybee!! omg i need her so bad it’s not a joke nomo😩

✦ loser! chloe who was so scared to hold your hand when you first started dating, doing that pinky thing, inching it closer to yours while you were sitting together or would brush her hand against yours while you’re walking together.

✦ then hesitantly takes your hand and acts nonchalant until seeing your sweet smile and she gives you a goofy grin.

✦ when you started getting closer and more comfortable around each other she just spoils you.

✦ is such a sweet girl.

✦ we’ve seen how she is with those she cares about and trusts

✦ acts like the badass tough punk lesbian but when seeing a hot chic can’t even form a sentence.

✦ once before she met you ofc when a tatted up girl at a concert wearing little to nothing came to ask her where the bathroom was she was standing there with this dumb look on her face before pointing in the direction of it and then proceeded to walk into someone when she turned back around😭😭

✦ still has her “gee wizz that’s my girlfriend? awesome!” moments when she sees you. especially when you’re undressing or getting ready.

✦ sends you stupid memes while you’re in class/at work

✦ like the ones that are so random and unfunny to the point they are funny😭 and the “feeling sad rn send boob pics” ones.

✦ and she sends you stuff that she thinks you will find funny.

✦ was a weird kid in middle school.

✦ argues with little kids on minecraft servers.

✦ golden retriever gf. she will do anything for you and whenever. oh your dvd players broken? all of a sudden she’s a handywoman. you need a specific snack at 3am when it’s raining? she’s getting in the car.

✦ soooo puppy coded. just- look at her. puppy eyed masc.

✦ the type to burn a cd for you with songs that remind her of you.

✦ has tried to pierce herself but couldn’t handle the pain.

✦ 100% tried to act tough during her tattoo but whimpered the whole time.

✦ definitely watched those creepypasta internet videos when she was 13-14 and max got scared while she pretended they didn’t scare her but couldn’t sleep for weeks.

✦ was secretly a fan of monster high even if she had barbie dolls growing up. thought they were all hot. and def had a crush on clawdeen. cuz she’s a lesbian in love with her bsf? lol get it?

✦ her instagram is probably so empty except for a profile picture of a dumb shark meme she just hasn’t bothered changing. and maybe posts once a month and somehow has lots of followers.

✦ definately loves sharks because they’re “badass and eat people”

✦ but it’s so fitting because they’re actually so misunderstood and seen as mean and aggressive but are mostly just sea puppies

nsfw

✦ loser!chloe who absolutely begs to eat you out. she loves it. will have her face buried between your thighs for hours.

“please babe… c’mon just one more? please?”

✦ gets so carried away she forgets you’re overstimulated, she just enjoys eating your pussy so much.

✦ even came in her pants from your sounds and the taste of you alone.

✦ loves when you ride her face. she doesn’t care if she can’t breathe. just sit on it. breathing is overrated anyway.

✦ loser!chloe who cums too fast during tribbing and has to pull away and eat your pussy a little before putting your leg back over her shoulder so she won’t cum before you.

✦ such a loser she steals stuff of yours, like bracelets, lipgloss, hair ties, …your panties from the laundry hamper.

✦ sniffs them while her fingers are pumping in and out of her cunt that’s embarrassingly soaked. her eyes rolling back as her cunt clamps down on her fingers smelling the fabric before putting it back acting like nothing happened.

✦ SERVICE TOP!!!

✦ loves making you feel good. it’s her purpose. her job. and she’s damn good at it. round after round of turning you into a mess gives her a sense of pride and like she’s doing right and making the love of her life feel good and satisfied.

✦ gets off on you getting off.

✦ if you’re a pillow princess she love love loves you.

✦ lay there and look pretty with your legs spread or over her shoulders orr on your stomach face down ass up while her strap is buried in you? absofuckinglutely.

✦ this girl is a whimperer. idc. she has pretty moans and gets embarrassed by it especially how she moans like she’s the one being pleasured when fucking you.

✦ loserrrr chloe who has wet dreams about you while you’re sleeping next to her and has to rub one out and muffle her moans and whimpers to not wake you.

✦ if you’re more of a dominant person she also loves you.

✦ sub chloe is so needy and such a brat<3

✦ when you eat her out she’s a mess. trying to conceal her moans letting out grunts and covering her mouth until she gets close and these pretty whines and groans come from her as she cums all over your face.

✦ when you first use the strap on her, she gets so flustered at how slutty she sounds as the toy slides in and out of her and the angle you’re fucking her in making her lose her mind.

✦ then will deny anything she said or how she sounded if you bring it up.

“shut up! you’re such an ass.”

✦ yea her loser ass loves you<33

[shoresoftheshadowlands]

I've been feeling a bit under the weather with Tummy Troubles™️ for a couple days now, and had some sudden, unexpected writers block for a week. In the early hours of the night (2-7am) I finally surmounted the blockage and got a lot of work done on the topic I was struggling with. This one 'chapter' (Well it's like a headworld encyclopedia, so in this case its more like a chapter on the element of Water) is already nearing 10k words and in my doc is 14 pages, and I'm not close to done with it. Very surprised by how much more I had to say about it as compared to the first drafts like fifteen years ago (Or more, if we count the idea chatter before I ever formally wrote any info about them at all, which dates back to grade school)

I had only a little bit of my wild-hive white Himalayan honey left in my tall jar, so I tossed some cranberry vanilla tea bags in there and made tea in the jar, stirring it til all the honey had melted, poured it into my big mug, and added just a bit of milk and it was like heaven on earth.

When I did finally get to bed (At noon....) I slept so well, and had inspiring dreams about the water element I'm writing, so I will surely add that to what I'm working on.

I had homemade tacos, and today I tried a new sauce in them. I am very autistic and I always dress my (home made specifically, I'm weirdly not picky about whats in taco bell tacos? unsure why) tacos with the bare minimum, cheese, meat, sour cream. But there was an avocado sauce with mild spice, and I tried it and I liked it! Shock! Awe!

It has been a lovely day, or night, I feel better and I feel I can write again!

There are good things in this world still

Today, I sat in a parking lot and cranked up my music and ate taco bell like a raccoon at a garbage can and it was glorious. Very delicious. I am a weak autistic white girl from Michigan, the taco bell creamy jalapeno sauce is too spicy for me but I will endure it for a cantina chicken hard taco. But I can't do anything else while eating it.

Today I gave Bug the wheat grass sprouts tray to forage from and she had a blast eating sprouts. I took some to the outside birds, who were all terrified of them but I assume who actually ate all of them as soon as someone braved eating one. There's still half a tray left growing and the other half now has micro greens starting to sprout.

Today, I made myself a little charcuterie plate for dinner. The black grapes I got are enormous. They were delightful.

Today, I added words to a story I've been writing, and told a lovely story idea to try friends.

Today, I rewatched Twisters, and enjoyed it all over again. It really is a lovely movie.

There are good things left in this world, however small. This is your opportunity to reblog this and share your good things with each other, or check the notes if you need a reminder.

[kinardsevan]

I find the writing of 806 absolutely wildly awful. First, we have a date that is completely antithetical to what we've been shown a week before; we had an established couple who takes care of each other like it's the most natural thing in the world and evidently spends a lot of time together, we have Tommy 100% integrated in Buck's everyday life both on their own and with the 118 (the hospital scene, the birthday party for Chris) and all of a sudden we get Buck bumbling over a hot girl who doesn't say he's on a date (100% OOC) and who doesn't even know Tommy's gay and not bi. Second idiotic idea, Buck's answering yes to Josh's questions which are evidently things you would only say yes to if you loved someone (you don't put someone's happiness above yours if you're casually dating) and then randomly regurgitating that awkward speech instead of a very simple ' I love you' which he's had no trouble using before with other people. It just DOES NOT MAKE SENSE.

i feel like when y’all send me these messages, you’re expecting the long-winded responses at this point (at least I hope so 😂😂). EIther way, you’re about to get one lolololol.

I won’t disagree with you on the writing entirely. I don’t hate it as much as others do, mostly because I feel like I ~kindof understand what they were going for, but it wasn’t perfect by any measure. It left a lot to be desired, and I think what they were doing could’ve been achieved more effectively in other ways.

I also don’t think you’re wrong about how it feels antithetical, especially when we have Buck suggesting to Eddie in 705 that Tommy is gay, and we’re supposed to believe these two are spending all their spare time together, but are apparently not having real conversations during all that time. To that end, I can’t solve that issue for the writers. However, there are parts of your argument that I have counters to. 

For one thing, I don’t think we can knock the fact that even being in a committed relationship doesn’t stop the best of us from stumbling over ourselves when we see someone we’re attracted to. People get so upset about how Buck acts in this scene that they fail to appreciate the major points that I actually enjoy about it: Buck yes, looks, (and is obvious about it), but he apologizes to his boyfriend about it in a way that makes it clear that he’s not outwardly interested in the women. Tommy also tells him that it’s okay (and we know that there’s a deleted line from this scene where he mentions finding one of the waiters good looking). To that end, we get the distinction that while these two don’t have an interest in stepping out on each other, they’re not blind. 

People also get upset about the lack of Buck’s distinction that he’s on a date. And while there are a million different reasons to complain about it (or explain it away), I’m gonna go with the obvious answer of, he doesn’t owe some random woman in an italian eatery his personal life situation, especially in a place where he may not feel ready to express exactly how he defines himself. There’s a massive difference between accepting things about yourself and actually dignifying it out loud, and the fandom has been so quick to assume one requires the other. Buck knows he’s bisexual; he even knows his feelings for Tommy are deep. That doesn’t necessarily have to mean he’s put a label on who he is. Just speaking from personal experience on reaching a point where I’m comfortably labeling myself as queer,… I even struggle with that. Because people throw around all of these terms (bi, queer, pan, etc.), and it creates this pressure to say exactly what you are, which I don’t think is fair to real people, let alone a fictional character. Some might say his decision to not dignify it verbally suggests fear to, but I don’t think that’s the issue. 

Further, I think the issue of “he doesn’t know Tommy’s gay”… I don’t think that’s the intention with the question. When watching it back, first of all, you have to remember from a writing standpoint, they have to have an entry for how Tommy and Abby were (previously) inclined. Moreover, asking Tommy if he’s ever been with a woman is not the same as asking him if he’s gay. Those are two entirely different questions. I can literally cite from a book to you that I own (Guilded Razors by Sam Lansky) which directly discusses being involved with women even though he knew he was gay. Evan first says that he notices Tommy didn’t look at the women when he did. I imagine that trying to figure out how fluid he is in his own mindset towards both sexes makes it confusing to understand someone who is strictly straight or gay. I can’t conceptualize of it and I’ve known personally that I liked both since I was in middle school. So I don’t think it’s ridiculous for him to ask his boyfriend (who he later will distinguish as someone he’s extremely comfortable with, and would be comfortable asking those kinds of questions to) about his attraction (or lack thereof) to women. I also think it has more to do with the follow-up question (“have you ever been with a woman”). Sometimes we ask questions that we already have the answer to just so we can get to the follow-up. When you intersect that with the “How do we bring Abby in to the conversation” of it all, it makes sense. 

Second, I totally agree that Evan answering those questions points to him being in love with Tommy. When I wrote up my psychology breakdown of the break-up, I referenced two things which tell us they’re in love with one another. 

-The entire “we don’t have to go that far” exchange with Josh. I think there’s a lot to be said about the fact that with Evan still figuring himself out, maybe it’s hard for him to dignify being in love with Tommy verbally. I also think that when you’re an adult and you get into serious relationships like this, there’s a period of time where you’re in love with them but you haven’t put a label on it. 

-“If I were move in with you, you won’t mean to, you wouldn’t plan for it, but you’d end up breaking my heart. And I don’t think that I could deal with that.” THIS ENTIRE FUCKING LINE MY GOD. (Just rip my heart out LFJr.) 

However, I think your argument about the fact that he skips over the “I love you” and straight to “move in with me” negates some serious engagement with the source material. First of all, we have an acknowledgment that Tommy’s clearly responding from a place of trauma. He’s responding from a place of “I love you more and then lose you; better to lose you here and now by my own hand”. From Buck’s side, we’ve seen him struggle with being in love. He was in love with Abby and never got to tell her, and then was strung along for months until he finally ended things in a letter to her. He was left by Ali when she couldn’t deal with his “lifestyle” (job). Love may not have entered the equation there, but he was clearly serious about her. Taylor was messy for him, but he clearly felt deeply for her, and even that blew up in his face. There are competing schools of thought on whether he truly loved her or not, but at the end of the day, that relationship fell apart due to issues with trust. Natalia wasn’t around long enough for him to dignify anything towards her. 

And then there’s the mess with his parents. We’ve never had this acknowledged, but I struggle to believe that Evan grew up in a house where “I love you” was actually said out loud very much (if at all). Based on how absent we know Phillip and Margaret were (and are to some degree still), I feel like they probably lived by the attitude of “we may not have always said it, but we always felt it”….which isn’t really good enough as a parent. Your kids need to hear you say it, and they need to know it’s okay to say it back. When you don’t have that foundation, it’s hard to put those feelings into words towards others, even if you do feel it, because they might burn you. Evan has been burned, and even though we don’t know a lot of his backstory, we know Tommy has too. So while you argue that he’s used those three words towards others in the past, I counter with, did it feel this real? Did stand to lose as much? Because I don’t really view the relationship as Tommy being more in it than Evan is. I think we’re kind-of getting that “grew up in the same house but turned out different” trope.  We see Tommy as someone who wants to take care of the person he loves because he hasn’t had that before, while Buck fumbles his way through wondering if it’s okay to do those things because no one has really shown him how. There’s also been commentary on the fact that he asked Tommy to move in instead of saying “I love you” because this entire relationship has been grand gestures. I think there’s something dignifying in that choice. He’s telling Tommy he sees a future with him. He talks about things like marriage, but from Tommy’s end it reads as out of left field from someone who’s still figuring out who they are in their sexuality. I think (after watching the scene back), that Evan doesn’t necessarily feel that way about himself, but the same way he railroads Tommy with the starry-eyed future, Tommy kind-of does the same thing back to him with the breakup. It’s very…. “I pushed you five steps in the wrong direction and now you’re pushing me ten steps back” (for lack of a better metaphor). And I know people argue about the fact that this entire relationship has been so key with communication from day one, but those forms of communication have never required the two of them to get down into their traumas with one another. It’s really fucking easy to have day-to-day conversations with people that stay on the surface and just keep powering through. Go back to 710 and notice how we don’t go deep into the daddy issues. They both touch on them, and then Evan changes the subject and Tommy goes with him on it. I don’t think it’s unreasonable at six months in to not have done a deep dive on major trauma. You can skate around it if it’s not something you’re ready to talk about. It’s one of my reasons for why these two will ultimately be back together in 8b, because at some point you have to flesh out the unfinished business of it all (ala Wyatt and Judd when Judd’s leg was broken). Now, I don’t know if that happens the involvement of a serial killer, or a truck/jeep/helicopter accident, or trapped in a burning building… I just know that at some point, it has to come to fruition. TM enjoys these kinds of standoffs too much to not have a plan for these two to end up in one. 

That all said, I’ve said before, the general audience doesn’t have a psychology degree or years of trauma counseliing under their belt. They’re not going to look at these two and read it the same way I can. TM probably doesn’t even realize the way he’s writing it is very direct into psychological motives 😂

But, just to cover my own skin… I could always be wrong. One of my very favorite people has a completely different theory on how b/t will be handled, and we agree to disagree 😂😂😂. as I’ve said to him “the best part of this entire scenario is that one of us eventually has to be wrong”. 

(circling back to your “simple i love you” just one last time as I looked at it again…. it feels siimple to us as an audience. however, verbalizing that shit out loud when you fear rejection and abandonment is an entirely different story. we know they had abandonment on the brain for Buck going into the midseason finale, and this obviously would’ve played right into it. So in what world are you going to expect him to give up “I love you” when he’s about to be broken up with. That would’ve been unnecessarily cruel.) 

My last little addition, to circle back to other points I’ve made… there’s a give and take in this relationship that we need (or at least deserve) to see. Personally, I feel like Buck will be the first one to say “I love you”, but my preference would be that Tommy does. It’s the whole issue of stepping beyond the fear for me that makes me feel that way.

By correlation, I feel like Buck has to give up the loft. He asks Tommy to move in, but we’ve had many discussions about the fact that Tommy has a house with a car lift and a muay thai set up. those are not things that would translate well into a loft. Having that trade-off would show a meeting in the middle on things that they both hold close to the vest. Tommy allowing himself to love and be loved would be a major point for him, while Evan giving up the loft would suggest that he’s not just in things for the short-term, because he can also give things up for Tommy. (also, the loft is very bachelor-esque, and these two are not bachelors when they’re with each other so….) 

sorry not sorry. you’re welcome for my rambles lol

[loz-and-lu-fan-blog]

Lu what if au. What if Warriors was raised by Ganon

Everyone in this group was odd, that was pretty much expected, they all held the hero’s spirit, the holders of the Triforce of Courage. If they weren’t a little odd, then there would be alot of room for concern.

They were unsure what really set them on the adventure, but it was becoming apparent that they learned more about each other and their own worlds. Sky seemingly laid back and warm mirror his home of skyloft perfectly, the Traveler was skittish and very resourceful and considering the monster running around his home it was no surprise he was more self reliant then the others.

Then there was the Captain, the one who was lovingly nicknamed War.

Almost all the others thought they had him figured out once they met him and learned of his story. He was one of the faceless soldiers from the hylian army, it was just by pure luck this teen with no family was the holder of the Triforce of Courage. The sudden rise to being captain and finding the Master sword made him a bit egotistic but his quest quickly fixed that.

So to most of Links, War was a pretty boy with a heart of gold underneath. A little prideful at times, sometimes more focused on his looks but overall a good heart and willing to help others at the drop of a hat.

Which is why the more time they spend around him, the more they question their original assessment of their fellow hero.

It just started one day, just another day of travel and fighting monsters. Most were just resting, Sky was trying to practice for a bit to which War, being the captain that he was offered to spar with him. This got the attention of most of the group, as the last time anyone fought Sky it was the Rancher, who ended up with a sword pointed to his throat. Some like the Vet placed bets on how long War would last, Champion got out his sheikah slate and got ready to take some pictures.

However the fight didn’t end up like the Rancher’s, their swords clashed for a few minutes, both moving fast and land hits. However it was over when War ended up behind Sky and jammed the hilt of his sword into the other hero’s spine sending him tumbling to the ground.

“Whoa.” Some of the other heroes muttered as Sky tried to crawl back up to his feet.

“You're taking too long.” War informed, seeing how the other Links looked at him he quickly corrected himself. “Your reaction time after your swings, you take too long to recover, an enemy could easily end you.”

“Geez…” The smith of the group said.

“Spoken like a true knight.” The Vet said.

War ignored the comments and held out his hand for Sky to take and helped him off the ground.

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just want you to know so you can be prepared.” War offered. “These monsters have shown they will do whatever it takes to win.”

The two dusted off after the spar, still friends of course. Yet this wasn’t the last time this behavior was seen, each time one of them went up to fight War, he would quickly find a way to disarm them and tell them their weak spots. This wasn’t just with sparing, he went up to the eldest of the group, lovingly nicknamed the old man or Time sense he refuses to tell them his age, who never spars with the boys. War quickly made a mention of a weak point in Time’s armor and that he either needed to fix it or change how he fights to cover it.

It wouldn’t have been too off to be fair, after all that what a captain does right? Look after his men, see their weakness and force them to improve. However this was different, both Time and the Sailor could tell, after all they were around him during his war. Time saw how War focused on his teammates, how when others would spar, War would stare and observe.

The way War watched, it reminded Time a lot of his Zelda, the eyes that were constantly three steps ahead, accounting for everything.

The group however quickly realize they may had read the Captain wrong.

It was originally the Veteran, nicknamed Legend by the Sailor, who started the nickname ‘pretty boy’ for War. And it was no shock as to how that nickname came to be.

War was very self conscious about how he looked, early in their adventure he would take Time’s mirror shield and use it in the mornings. He would look over his face, straighten his hair, and general grooming habits. It was not surprising that he always seemed to have a picture perfect uniform, no hint of dirt or anything. He did this all with a carefree smile.

However it slowly started to change, Time noticed it first (of course he did) but soon everyone picked up on it. Suddenly he didn’t have his carefree smile when he looked at himself in the mirror, instead it was replaced with a harsh frown, the one a toddler gives when they have to do something they don’t want to do. The compliment people would pay to him, once War would reply with a flirty compliment, now he replied with a polite smile that would quickly vanish to a frown once the person stopped looking.

Legend was wondering if it was because of his teasing, Time wondered if it was because he wasn’t taken seriously.

It was no surprise War was a strategist of the group, he could seemingly predict behaviors in battle and where an attack would likely take place. However, if he had a map, it was like he could see into the enemies head…..which brought the group to today.

They had been brought to Wild’s world, by a portal. Thankfully unlike pure wildness or in a camp of enemies, this time they appeared by Hyrule castle. They were quickly ushered in by the knights of hyrule and led to a room. They were greeted by a short haired Zelda who gave Wild a giant hug upon seeing him, as well as the four champions Wild had told them about, Riju, Yunoboo, Sidon and Teba. Currently they were all around a map of hyrule, talking about the attacks the traitorous Yigas have been doing.

War wanted to join in on the conversation but a few of the knights stopped the group, making comments on the hero’s appearance before Zelda ordered them aside and allowed the group to see the map.

“We can’t seem to locate the Yiga's hideout. We know they must have been close to the Gerudo desert when they stole the Thunder Helm otherwise they would have been caught.” Zelda explained. “But besides that, we don’t have any leads.”

The champions began to talk amongst themselves while the knights threw out ideas. The links did the same as they looked over the map, most just gave a shrug as they looked at the map, but War's eyes narrowed before he pointed to a spot on the map.

“Here.” War stated matter of factly, causing most everyone’s talking to stop.

“Why there?” Teba asked, confusion edged across his face. “That is nowhere near the major attacks.”

“But it has a major source of trading and access to the roads close by.” War countered as he drifted further down the map hitting the pins. “They wouldn’t place their base so close to their fights. They would pick a trade route they could easily have access to, to slip in and out. It is also close to the Gerudo desert, not unreasonable that a spy with sticky fingers could make it back in a night.”

“His line of reasoning does make sense.” Sidon offered.

Zelda gave a quick look to see Wild sign a ‘he’s right’ to her, causing her to let out a sign of relief before she spoke again. “Well now knowing the whereabouts of the Yiga the next question is what action to take next?”

The group went back to talking over each other, War was silent for a moment before turning over to Riju asking about the crops in her kingdom. It was an odd time for such a question but she informed him they did all their growing at an oasis which was their main way of getting food that wasn’t from trading. War absorbed the information and gave the young gerudo girl a nod showing he understood it all. Eventually the chatter died down and one of the knights spoke up again, saying “Why don’t we ask the Pretty boy his thoughts?” with a snarl.

War glared at the man however before he gave the man a verbal lasing, Zelda spoke up again. “What do you think we should do?”

“I think the answer is very simple, Princess.” War said.

“And what exactly is your simple answer?” One of the knights replied with a sarcastic tone.

“Starve them out.” War said, his tone colder than ice.

The suggestion seemingly froze everyone to the core, either from the tone or just the cruelty of his suggestion.

“What?” Zelda muttered.

“It’s simple.” War said as he picked up a knife from the table and stabbed it on the closest stable. “If you shut down the roads, all transportation leading in and out. Given the environment they will starve if lack of water doesn’t get them first.”

“You can’t do that.” The knight screamed out.

“You can and you should.” War replied. “Their attacking and killing random civilians, if you take away resources, they will become desperate, they will get sloppy, eventually infighting will begin and a surrender will come. It is the best soluti-”

“Absolutely not!” Zelda cut off the hero as he explained.

“But-” War started to say.

“No, even if they are enemies. They are still people, what your suggestion is inhuman, barbaric. Something only a monster like Ganon would think up.” Zelda yelled.

“Zelda, pleas-” Wild started to say.

“You're right.” War voice said softly. “Apologize princess.”

It was the sudden shift, the icey confidence to a soft almost sorrowful tone that got everyone's attention. War had taken a step back, now staring down at his shoes.

“I am used to the way my kingdom functions. During the war it was drilled into us that we couldn’t show mercy to our enemies, not when we were actively fighting, we must do anything to win. I can see now what mindset that brings, apologizes for making you witness it, princess.” War says as he bowed to Zelda. “I’ll remove myself from your sight.”

Just as quick as his shifting tone, War had turned and was quickly out the door, leaving everyone behind in a stunned silence.

“I…i didn’t mean…” Zelda muttered. “..his world, is it that bad…?”

The group looked around, trying to find someone who had the answers before the Sailor, sometimes called Wind, finally spoke up.

“Yeah, it was..” Wind said. “I went to his world by accident during the war….there was never a rest, it was just never ending battles.”

“It’s easy to see why that mindset would form, especially against a dark force like Ganon.” Time added.

“He fought Ganon?” Zelda asked before her words sunk in. “I shouldn’t have made that comparison..I need too-”

“Zelda, it’s ok. You don’t have to apologize for what you feel.” Wild offered and the others nodded in agreement.

“Cub is right.” Twilight offered.

“It is strange, War is no stranger to criticism when it comes to his plans, I wonder what set him off like this.” Time muttered.

“Maybe it’s cause he showed his ass in front of the princess?” Legend offered with a laugh at first before it shifted to worry. “I wonder what’s up with him.”

War marched through the castle like a man on a mission, his eyes glanced over the many doors and hallways, it was so familiar but different. The hero yanked open a door, a quick glance around revealed no one was around, likely just a spare room to hold weapons. War quickly shut the door, locking the door and shoving a barrel full of spear in front of the door, blocking it with its weight.

Now once War realized no one would be walking in on him, he walked over to desk; he bunched up his scarf and stuffed it into his mouth, to muffle his scream. After the scream, he quickly fell to the ground, tears flowing down his face.

‘Something only a monster like Ganon would think up.’ Zelda’s words range in his mind.

Ha, if only she knew…

War thought back to the time of war, how his Zelda, clad in armor, agreed with the strategies he offered, despite how brutal they could be at times. They were at a war with Ganon, there wasn’t room for mercy. He remembers how he first offered the strategy of ‘starving them out’ to a group of traitors that had isolated themselves on a barren plane. How Zelda agreed with a smile and asked him where he got his knowledge on war strategies.

All Link could do was close his eyes, allow the tears to fall as his memories began to run.

“Link, run it again.”

Link lifted his head from the table, glancing up and he saw the deep skin and bright red hair that belonged to the Gerduo king, Ganondorf. The normally messy mane was pulled back, now cleanly in a braid. He glanced down at the boy, where most would expect anger or hatred, his expression held a softness though it was mostly covered by annoyance.

“Do we have to?” War said, his voice matching his young body. “Can’t we do something fun like spar? How is looking at maps supposed to help?”

Ganondorf's expression shifted to amusement before he spoke again. “Power and courage can only get you so far on a battlefield. In time’s of war, where our people’s lives are on the line, you must think ahead. Run it again.”

War flinched at the words, glancing down at his hand, the triforce of Courage sat surrounded by scars. Where the young boy had foolishly tried to burn it off, much to the dismay of his adopted father. The boy let out a sigh before he stood straight up, getting a better view of the desk and map that sits on it.

“Another civilization that lives in the desert has declared war against our sisters? Their main kingdom is here, their bases for weapons are here, and the roads leading out as well as in are here, where would we strike?” Ganondorf asked, as he gestured to the map, showing Link where each important place was.

Link’s face shifted into a frown, causing Ganondorf to chuckle, as the boy stared down at the map, his mind racing through many different possibilities before he spoke up again.

“What about their food? And their water source?” Link asked.

“Their water source is over here.” Ganondorf said as pointed to a source further up the road. “It’s also where they also grow all the food, anything that isn’t traded for gems that is.”

Link thought for a moment before speaking. “We could starve them out, if we cut off their travel, trapping them in their palace they wouldn’t have any way to get food and water. Eventually they would have to surrender for the good of their people…..or their people would rebel..”

“Excellent Link!” Ganondorf said as he reached over and ruffled the boy’s blond hair. “That's what I would do as well. It would make for a quick war with the least amount of deaths.”

“For us…” War added. “No telling how many people will starve and die because of this plan…”

Ganondorf's face shifted to a frown as he grabbed Link’s face making his son look at him. “You have to remember in time’s of war you cannot be merciful, you must hide that heart of you-”

“Yeah, yeah, hide your heart away. You have to make the big decisions to insure your people don’t suffer, you have to do stuff you don’t want to do to make sure others don’t die.” Link said as he pulled his face away. “You say that every time we do these exercises.”

Ganondorf frowned for a second. “One more example, and then we can spar.”

“Really?!” Link turned around, jumping up from his chair in excitement. “You promise?”

Ganondorf let out a few chuckles before nodding a ‘yes’.

“Alright, what’s next?” Link asked with a bright smile.

They went back to the desk, as Ganondorf laid out another map, as he began to explain the key components of the next battle.

However as happy memories began to fade, it began to be replaced by a battlefield. The smell of death and iron clung to the air as Link found himself looking up at a familiar figure. His casual wear was gone, replaced with the ornate armor he wore into battle, his hair now it’s loose mane, only kept out of his face by a crown. The Gerudo stared down at the young boy, a powerful sword rested in a teens hands as a blue scarf fluttered behind him.

“It’s me, remember me!” Link cried out. “Lay down your weapons, we don't have to fight…..Father!”

Ganondorf let out a cruel laugh, causing the young warrior to catch his words.

“Your pleas will do you no good, hero.” Ganondorf spat out.

Link looked up, he stared into the Gerudo warrior’s eyes. He looked for a hint of his father in those golden eyes, even hatred, disappointment, even sadness, just something that hinted that the man was still in there.

All Link saw in those golden eyes, that once held warmth and love from his father, was emptiness…

Just emptiness….

A loud knock on the door startled War out of his thoughts. He looked down, his hands were covered in blood anymore.

“Captain, are you in there?” Wind childlike voice echoed through. “Zelda wants to apologize by bringing out food, we want food!”

War quickly got up, whipping away his tears and moving the barrel. He opened the door and was greeted by Wind, Time as well as Legend standing on the other side.

“Hey,” War said, forcing a smile. “Sorry about that, I needed a quiet place to gather my thoughts.”

“It’s fine if you wanted to pou-” Legend started to say before Time shoved him aside.

“Are you alright, War?” Time asked. “You can talk to us, you know that?”

War glanced into Time’s one blue eye, looking to see the warmth it held.

‘It’s your job to carry that burden just as I must carry mine.’ Ganondorf's voice ranges in his ears. ‘You must make the decisions no one else will make, you must be the one to fight when no one else will, that is your job, as my son.’

“I’m fine.” War lied with ease. “Let’s get something to eat.”

[thefandomsfervent]

Viktor x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 16) - Dianthus Pink

This is a jayvik x reader fic now but it'll still be labeled as a Vik Fic until it's fully implemented. Ft. JayVik and wine. Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

Planning on writing as much as I can this weekend to post in bulk before Christmas week, I'll be traveling a distance away and can't bring my laptop with me.

stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3

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Viktor lets out a tense breath when you and Mel leave. The Medarda’s arrival had been a welcome distraction from Jayce’s heated one. He had not thought that he would ever be thankful for her unexpected presence before then. And then cursed it all the same. Taking you out of the lab meant that if Jayce wanted to continue being a little shit then there wouldn’t be an audience to stop him. Although, having one seemed to be what spurred him on in the first place. Another thought, one of many, that will be haunting his mind when he should be sleeping. 

Not only had she removed the only buffer he had, she had left them with wine. Expensive wine. A very large bottle of it. A Jeroboam pomegranate red. An amplifier. It sat with the two glasses on the table behind Jayce. Viktor looks to him, the wine, and back to him. Mel’s sudden arrival had cooled him off, seemingly made Jayce aware that they were in their lab and were supposed to be working. The blush fading by the second as the taller man settles in his seat by Viktor again. There’s a thankful feeling at the normalcy returning, and an annoyed one that it took her to do it. She had taken you from the lab, and the fire from Jayce. Which should be good. He should be thankful for the removed distractions. Not frustrated at the cooling in his gut. 

The silence that settles is not uncomfortable because it is familiar. Yet it is loud. Viktor can hear his own heartbeat over the tapping of Jayce’s foot. He can hear every shift in his clothes as he moves forward to grab a paper. When Jayce speaks it startles him, body jolting in his chair. 

“When do you think they’ll be back?” It’s a simple question. The potential underlying meaning is not. He doesn’t trust his voice. Just shrugs and starts plugging in variables to the equation he was working on. Atleast, that’s what he wants to do. But there’s that same warm hand on his knee. Large palm, thick fingers splayed and adjusting. “Viktor?” Jayce’s voice is full of an emotion he hasn’t heard before. Not sad, not angry, it’s asking, pulling at his heart. How can he not look at his partner then?

Those thick brows furrowed, those hazel eyes framed by short eyelashes. Searching Viktor’s face. That gaze flitting between his own eyes, he watches as it drops to his mouth, to the mole by it. “Jayce?” And he sees those broad shoulders move with a deep inhale, hears it pull through that round nose. 

Jayce is looking at him. At all of him. At his hair ruffled from their day long musings, at their worn uniform, at a lot of things about Viktor. He wants to kiss him. Wants to cross a lot of lines that hadn’t necessarily been drawn anywhere but hung above their heads regardless. He wants to ask him questions, to talk. Jayce liked Viktor, liked their resident painter, he liked Mel. All people who had very recently made their presences known in his life. He had liked many people before, thought he knew love for them too. The way all three of you are in his mind everyday, not just out of proximity but out of fascination, is different from that liking. It was more than that. He wants to know so many things about all of you. It wasn’t just skin to skin dreams and wandering thoughts, he knew it. That knowing was not enough to quell the acidic fear in his veins when he looks at Viktor. His golden eyes passing over Jayce’s face, his body. “Vik, you know I-” What does he say? What is he supposed to do in this moment? 

Viktor’s eyes widen slightly when he continues speaking. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. This was not easy, so many distractions despite it only being the two of them in the lab. “You know I am with- have been with other people right?” Viktor nods. Waiting. Confused but waiting. He wets his lips before continuing, noting the way Viktor’s eyes dart there and settle before he speaks again. “And that I like you right?” He hadn’t said it outloud before. Had offered shoulder rubs, blankets, nap spots, drinks, food, jokes, teasings, flirts, and many other things to Viktor that would have told him those words but he hadn’t said it before. His heart pounding in his chest, he could feel every thump in his ribcage as the muscle worked overtime. Viktor nods again, slower this time but just as sure. 

Okay. Two things confirmed. Steeling himself to ask another question he grabs Viktor’s hand. The pale hand of his partner in his golden one. Leaning closer to him. “And you like me?” 

Viktor finally speaks. “Yes.” Voice thick, something close to fear and adoration clouding it. He clears his throat, sitting up straighter, holding Jayce’s hand stronger. “Yes,” he says again. “I do.” He can feel the brush of Jayce’s forehead against his now. The breath of his words ghosting his lips. 

“But we both want other people too don’t we?” Immediate spike in his heartbeat with simultaneous relief. The hardest part is out there, the ball in Viktor’s court. He feels Viktor pull on his hand slightly, not enough to leave his hold. Just enough to show doubt. 

Viktor thought he knew where this was going, and now with that last question he isn’t so sure. This discussion was going to happen at some point, and if it had happened before you entered their lab, their lives? He would have not had any confusion at all. He would have wanted to tell Jayce that he was an idiot for taking this long to admit his feelings, even if Viktor himself hadn’t admitted anything at all. Now things were complicated. He felt jealousy towards the Councilor, he could admit that. He knew that Jayce would go for Mel eventually, when it was less likely to end poorly for their dream. And recently he had started to realize that he had become attached to you in a way that rivaled his first thoughts of Jayce, then his continued ones. That he wanted to know you the ways he wanted to know Jayce. For you to know more of Viktor.

When you had broached the subject of their partnership in your studio, Viktor had felt like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Wanting you, wanting his partner. Him and Jayce were not a couple, not defined or exclusive or together in any kind of way. Jayce had his flings, Viktor had his, then two of them came back to the lab, to each other. It didn’t need defining. Despite the lack of a sexual or overly physical relationship, they had done everything outside of that to maintain their connection. All of today’s teasing had been new but not unwelcome. Lighting a fire in both of them apparently. And if they were going to cross that last line a discussion was warranted. Especially since it seemed that they both enjoyed you, your presence, your voice, your drive. 

He squeezes Jayce’s hand, nodding his answer. The sigh that looses through Jayce is loud, relieved. Viktor can smell the cinnamon tea on his breath. Sweet and strong. Familiar and grounding. Highly representative of Jayce himself in Viktor’s life. 

It’s Viktor that closes the distance first, tapping his forehead to Jayce’s. An intimacy that, as a Piltover citizen, he would not understand. But as a man who has wanted, has loved? He knows what the contact means. Tenderly rubbing nose to nose, soft breaths, eyes becoming half-lidded. When Viktor puts his hand to Jayce’s face, it’s to ground himself. And it does the opposite when warm skin presses onto his. Incredibly short stubble gives a soft friction to his skin. His partner closing his eyes and practically nuzzling into his palm, bumping their noses.

“Viktor.” Jayce’s voice barely a whisper. Their lips brushing as he talks. Not a kiss. Not yet. “I want this. You. Our dream, I want to do it together in all the ways we can.” He’s still laying his head in Viktor’s hand when he continues, eyes opening to gauge Viktor’s reaction. “And I want us to be able to find this in others too.” And Viktor doesn’t look away. He doesn’t pull away. He stays, holding that golden face, thumb brushing over a cheekbone. Jayce continues, “Can we do that, will you do that with me?”

Viktor wants to speak, but he can feel the bubble in his throat. He knows his voice would be hoarse with emotion. He answers with a kiss instead, pushing his lips to Jayce’s. Both of them closed their eyes. The grip Jayce had kept on his knee tightens before moving to cradle his head, pulling him forward while his body is pushed further into the chair. A gasp from one of them, maybe both. Another kiss, harder, the two of them pushing and pulling. Hands moving, the one from Jayce’s face going to his arm, full and strong. Then back again, thumb on his chin. When they pull away Jayce’s eyes are still closed leaning into Viktor’s touch like being away from it would hurt him somehow. 

“Yes. I will do this with you.” Jayce finally leans back at that. He pulls the wine bottle forward and the two glasses after. 

“Then we should celebrate.” He’s looking for something to uncork the wine with when Viktor’s playful lilt starts. 

“We should work. And maybe keep our newer affections out of the lab.” Viktor puts his legs between Jayce’s when he speaks, hooking them under the chair. He was already worried about how he was supposed to focus with you here. Knowing that he and Jayce both wanted each other. Both wanted you. Mayhaps others in the future. It was a lot to deal with, to process. And he wanted to do nothing more than to continue exploring this new development with Jayce. But how was he going to sit in his chair tomorrow, see his partner, and not want to do anything but work. No. Those kinds of physicalities would need to be nowhere near his table.

“Why not both.” He had found a thick enough screwdriver to wedge open the bottle, the cork popping unceremoniously into his palm. “A glass or two to our partnership. Something to sip on while we work.” Viktor doesn’t turn away the glass when Jayce fills it halfway and sets it on the table. The first of many new compromises. They spend the next few hours in the lab in a silence that grows hazier and hazier with the wine. Equations marked on the board, on papers, notes with more scribbles. In between, there were soft touches, gentle kisses that Viktor allows for this night. 

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------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[thewalrusespublicist]

I’d love it if you could give your thoughts on john getting married a week after paul. do you think it was just a matter of outdoing paul and having ppl talk about his wedding instead or something entirely different. thx!

That moment John realises he's going to have to commit to the bit…

Nah I'm joking, but also a little bit not.

I mean the more you think about the question of why the hell John did that, the more complex it gets (and why it’s taken me so long to reply lol). Trying to boil it down to three essential points from least to most important though, I’d say it was the commitment to the ‘ballad of John and Yoko’ plotline, drug fuelled competition and then the fundamental reason underpinning it all which was the overwhelming fear of abandonment/‘thwarted love’ between John and Paul.

So let’s start of with the simple one - the ballad of John and Yoko. Part of John and Yoko’s entire brand was that they were the most in love couple in the history of love and that their love story was the symbol of progressive society and the activist movement in the late 60s. That type of brand and the undercurrent of superiority complex and fragile narcissism underpinning it can’t do with a competing love story pulling focus. Therefore, John and Yoko would have to quickly correct that by getting married as soon as possible to draw focus away from them.

Then there’s the competition. John and Paul were famously competitive with each other, but somewhere towards the late 60s, this starts to shift a lot more into the personal than it had before, probably partially due to heroin. In this landscape of drug use and high competitiveness, everything including personal happiness is a competition to win. This would be especially true when it came to dating women due to its ties to concepts of masculinity and Johns insecurity about Paul’s looks. In John’s mind, I think he partially believed Paul getting married was a strategic one-up move that John had to outdo.

But to me, the real root of the transition into personal competitiveness is actually what I believe this was all about this entire time: abandonment.

(Some of this will be similar to the breakup podcast series but I heavily agree with them so it can't be helped.)

Now competition is par the course for John's creative partnerships, but he does have a specific pattern when he feels his partners are becoming too independent. Whilst you need a lot of salt for Dakota Days, John Green/Charlie Swan does occassionally say some very insightful things which ring true, one being John's behaviour toward Yoko:

John did have a long-established pattern of early support followed by sudden withdrawal. What he required above all was Yoko's undivided attention. So long as her ideas kept her focused on him, he would support them. But as soon as she started off on her own, John would withdraw his energy, knowing that this would force her back to him.

It's not a 1-1 situation and other factors are at play with the John and Yoko dynamic but similar behaviour was present with Paul around Yesterday. Coming back to the late 60s, John was in a similar predicament. According to Pete Shotton, John was feeling isolated in 67' with George and Paul developing their own lives. Then came the engagement to Jane Asher and the arrival of Linda. It's quite notable to me that John remains so salty and annoyed about Linda and not in a 'god why did Linda pick him not me' but in a 'why did he pick Linda??' way. Add to Paul coming into his own musically to the point John has to 'swallow his jealousy' and you have a huge mess for John psychologically.

This is a view shared by many on here but the shift to personal is to me part one of the two pronged withdraw and burn strategy. Fearing that he was going to be abandoned, John withdrew emotionally from his dynamic with Paul and tried to individuate himself. As highlighted by later statements by both of them, their construction of their own identities did not allow for severance from each other. Having no option in his mind to separate from Paul and spurned on by his paranoia, his belief system morphed into a karmic yin-yang in which only one of them could be strong and successful.

The second part of the strategy (that still bleeds in with the first) is to burn and humiliate, in this instance to a new partner, and rip apart everything they had built. My big question with John is how much does he believe in what Yoko and he are doing? I think somewhat, but I'm not convinced that at least part of it is to smash apart the Beatles brand and everything he and Paul had built apart (the dead rat story especially made me really reevaluate some things). I'm not saying that John and Yoko weren't madly in love and that some of John and Yoko's own weirdness didnt factor into her being there all the time, but the constant 'Yoko has to be here, has to talk for me, 'I'd sacrifice all of you for her' feels partially performative and intentionally provocative (especially the last one, why say that when no one is really attacking them other than to make your friends feel like shit?). Paul reactive response in kind reflects that this strategy worked. It's crucial to remember that Paul brought Francie Schwartz into the studio first. This isn't about 'being too in love' to be apart, it's about getting back at each other and as Lina put it, ''playing these games' in escalating ways.

In this environment the marriage is the flipped table on the chessboard. Paul isn't playing and they can't take this back. He is now a married man whose first priority will be his wife and the children John knows he's always craved. Considering his responses to his imagined abandonment by Paul, there's no way John is jinxing his relationship with Yoko nor getting left alone at one altar as it were when there was another ready and waiting to go.

[pskmonika]

I saw the post you made abt MHA boys’ type and thought it was so cute and accurate (at least how I envision it too) I loved your vision for Shinsos s/o and was wondering if you had any hcs about his type/what he finds attractive? I love this purple haired boy sm you have no idea

-🫐

Shisou's type / him having a crush:

Because of shinsou's calm personality, a lot assume that he'd be into someone who's more outgoing and extroverted that makes him get out of his shell, but i dont think thats true

trying to think of it in a canon way, shinsou is sooo similar to aizawa and we saw that aizawa had no feelings towards the bubbly girl that like him, so thats why i think similar to him, thats simply not shinsou's type

Shinsou wouldn’t fall for someone who blends into the crowd—he needs someone who sees the world differently, someone extraordinary in their own quiet way, shinsou doesn’t crave noise; he craves depth.

well at first You was quite, that all there was in you , that all everyone saw, but shinsou unlike everyone else, pays attention to the smallest details, like the way u loved to draw whenever u got free time, like the way u chase cats outside and always leave a piece of cheese or tuna in ur backpack just in case u found hungry stray cats, or the way u loved to come to class earlier than everyone just to listen to ur fav songs while staring out the window, u loved the sky, he for sure knew that, from the way u stare at it, the way u drew it

maybe it was drawing, writing, making music or even photography.... but you certainly was someone artistic, someone that sees beauty in things, someone that doesnt just look around the world, someone that sees the world, someone that holds so much inside

You were fascinating, just like your quirk: Nightmare. It brought your enemies’ greatest fears to life, turning them into a reality you controlled, it was scary, it made him wonder if people thought you have quite the vaillin quirk, just like they thought about him,

But unlike him, you was quiet but never unkind, and he was curious

So he got closer, started from borrowing a pen, to a random chat in the rooftop to being partners for a school project, and the more time he spent with you, the more, he’s sinking, deeper and deeper, into you.

you made him feel at ease, you were like a gentle breeze on a warm day, he felt like with you he can breath

He loves that no one knows you like he does, Your laughter, your secrets, your vulnerabilities—they belong to him. He’s possessive, and he knows it. its no secret how insecure he is, so knowing that he got to see sides of you that no one else sees, hear a laugh that no else hears, making inside jokes with you, hearing your secrets and discovering all the diff sides of you, it all make him feel so special

But the moment he sees you with someone else, it feels like his insecurities explode, the jealousy start consuming him like gasoline igniting on an open flame, and when the wild fire consumes him, it all came bursting out his chest, as a messy unexpected confessing and a sudden passionate kiss

N.B: i hope u enjoyed this! I always try to keep the character's true personality and stay canon and make the s/o kind of special, so sorry if this wasnt exactly what u wanted! Everyone feel free to request any other characters! This is the previous post and sorry for any grammar mistakes, if u got any other thoughts on shinsou's type comment it down below! Id love to hear your thoughts

[n0vazsq]

End | JMM21 x Reader x FC43

pairing . . . pepe marti x reader ,, franco colapinto x reader

summary . . . It was Pepe was your long time best friend, your favourite person, your crush. But Franco was the charming boy who flirted his way into his life. Both wanted you, but you didn't want to choose, you just wanted it to end already

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.2k+

warnings . . . angst?

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . idk how to write like love triangle stuff but i hope this was good!!

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @hwalllllllelujah ,, @parkerloves (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . You and Pepe had been best friends for years. From the moment you met, there was an instant connection, a bond so natural and easy that it felt like you’d known each other forever.

You spent your days laughing, sharing secrets, and supporting each other through everything life threw your way. The two of you were inseparable. But somewhere along the line, your feelings for him had shifted. What started as friendship had evolved into something deeper.

You didn't dare admit it, not even to yourself. You didn’t want to ruin the most important relationship in your life. After all, what if he didn’t feel the same? You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

But recently, things had started to feel different. You noticed how your heart raced when you saw him, the way your thoughts often drifted to him even when he wasn’t around. Every time he looked at you with that familiar smile, your breath hitched.

And then Franco joined the team.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Franco was charming, outgoing, and good looking. He was the type of guy who always had a smile on his face and knew how to make everyone feel at ease.

He was the opposite of Pepe in a lot of ways. Where Pepe was quiet and reserved, Franco was loud and confident. But soon, it became clear that his attention wasn’t just directed toward anyone, he started focusing on you.

It began innocently enough. Casual conversations here and there. He’d compliment your work, or tell you that you looked nice that day.

But then, as time went on, the compliments became more frequent, the touches a little more lingering. Franco had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room whenever he spoke to you.

One evening, after a team dinner, you were standing outside on the balcony, gazing at the night sky.

You’d stepped out for a moment of quiet, trying to sort through the swirl of thoughts in your head. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way Franco had been flirting with you lately, how he made you laugh in a way no one else did.

He was persistent, and it wasn’t hard to feel drawn to him.

But as you stood there, you heard a familiar voice cut through the silence.

"Here you are," Pepe said, leaning against the balcony’s edge with a casual air, though his eyes were darker than usual.

You looked over at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. "Just getting some air," you replied, trying to act natural.

Pepe smiled, but it was a little too tight around the edges. He wasn’t quite meeting your eyes. "You know, Franco’s been pretty… forward with you lately."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. "What do you mean?"

Pepe shrugged, though it didn’t seem entirely casual. "He’s been flirting with you non stop. Kind of hard to miss."

You sighed, feeling an uncomfortable knot form in your stomach. "He’s just being friendly. You know how he is."

Pepe’s expression faltered for a moment. "Right. Friendly."

It hit you then, Pepe was jealous.

You hadn’t even realized how much you’d missed it, but the signs were there. The way he always stayed close to you, his eyes following you when Franco was around. And now, his words were laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

Just then, Franco appeared in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. "There you are," he said, stepping outside to join you both. "I was wondering where my favorite person had gone off to."

Pepe straightened up, his jaw tightening as he met Franco’s gaze. Franco gave him a playful smile, not bothered in the slightest. But you could see the tension between them, two men, both vying for your attention in very different ways.

"Hi, Franco," you greeted him, trying to break the awkward silence. "What’s up?"

Franco leaned against the railing next to you, a bit too close for your comfort. "Just wanted to make sure you weren’t out here all alone. You know, it’s dangerous out here with all the stars in the sky."

You couldn’t help but laugh at his playful tone. "I think I’ll be okay."

Pepe crossed his arms over his chest, his stance stiff. "You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately," he said, his voice slightly lower than usual.

Franco raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?" he asked, the challenge clear in his voice.

Pepe didn’t answer right away. He was staring at Franco now, the muscles in his jaw working. His gaze flickered to you for a brief moment before he looked back at Franco. "I just… I don’t think you’re exactly the type of guy she needs to be hanging out with all the time."

Franco chuckled, clearly unfazed. "Oh really? And what kind of guy is that?"

You could feel the tension rising between them. It was hard to ignore the sharpness in their words, the way they were both trying to stake their claim on you in subtle, unspoken ways. You didn’t want to be the reason for their conflict, but you couldn’t help but notice that you were starting to feel something more for both of them.

"Maybe… we should just drop it," you said, trying to ease the situation. But it was clear neither of them was going to back down.

Pepe turned his gaze to you, his eyes softer now. "I just don’t want you to get hurt. He’s a… bit much."

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Pepe, you're just mad because he’s stealing your spotlight."

Pepe’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curving into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just tired of seeing him flirt with you."

You swallowed, realizing how real this situation had become. The underlying tension between you, Pepe, and Franco was becoming undeniable. And you couldn’t deny that you were starting to favor one of them more than the other.

That night, as you lay in bed, thoughts swirling in your head, you couldn’t stop thinking about Pepe. You had been best friends for so long.

You’d shared everything with him, confided in him, laughed and cried with him. He was always there for you. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized; maybe you had always been drawn to him. Maybe you just didn’t know it until now.

But then, Franco’s playful smile flickered in your mind. His flirtations, his persistence, the way he made you feel special and wanted.

You were caught between two worlds.

The next day, you found yourself standing between the two of them; Pepe, your long time best friend who seemed to be harboring feelings he wasn’t ready to admit, and Franco, the charming newcomer who made your heart race every time he smiled at you.

And it seemed like the competition for your attention had only just begun.

But you wanted it to end already.

[niallerspayno]

Black and White - Part 2

Masterlist

As One Direction’s hair and makeup artist, you’ve always had a flirty friendship with Niall. But one wild night in Las Vegas changes everything when you wake up married—and management insists you stay that way. Will you keep hiding your feelings, or finally admit there’s more than friendship between you?

Tags: Niall x reader, friends to lovers, forced proximity, fluff, kinda slow burn

Part 1 | Part 3 - coming soon

You wake up slowly, your head still fuzzy from sleep—and maybe the lingering effects of last night’s drinks. The first thing you notice is warmth, the kind that makes you want to burrow deeper into it and never leave.

And then you realize the warmth is coming from Niall.

Your eyes snap open, and sure enough, there he is, his face mere inches from yours, his arm draped snugly over your waist. Your legs are tangled together, and his hand—his hand is resting on your hip.

Your breath hitches as you try to make sense of the situation. You promised—promised—last night that you’d both stick to your own sides of the bed.

Clearly, that didn’t last long.

You’re just about to wiggle out from under his arm when he stirs, pulling you a fraction closer.

“Mm,” he mumbles, his voice deep and gravelly with sleep. His lips brush lightly against your hair as he murmurs, “Mornin’, love.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you freeze, unsure what to do. This is...way too cozy.

“Uh...morning,” you manage, your voice embarrassingly weak.

“Sleep alright?” he asks, his arm tightening just a little, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You try to keep your voice steady as you respond. “I—uh, yeah. You?”

“Best I’ve slept in years,” he replies, his voice still heavy with sleep.

You groan internally. Of course he’d say that.

“Niall,” you hiss, keeping your voice low so as not to wake the entire floor. “We talked about this. We said we’d stay on our own sides!”

He cracks one eye open, giving you a lazy grin. “Yeah, but your side looked lonely. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not break the rules we literally set last night,” you say, trying—and failing—to wriggle out of his hold.

“Rules, shmules,” he says with a yawn, resting his chin against the top of your head. “C’mon, admit it. You were just as comfy as I was.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can say anything, there’s a sudden knock on the door.

Before you can react, the door swings open, and in strides Louis.

“Oi, you two,” he says without looking up, “Breakfast downstairs—” He stops mid-sentence, his eyes locking on the two of you tangled up in the bed.

His face splits into a wide grin, “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

You and Niall spring apart so fast you nearly tumble off the bed, and Louis cackles, leaning against the doorframe.

“I knew it!” he crows, his voice practically echoing in the room. “You lot couldn’t even make it 24 hours without—”

“Louis, shut up,” you snap, your face burning.

“What? I’m just saying,” he says, holding his hands up innocently, though his grin betrays him. “This fake marriage thing might not be so fake after all.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Niall says, though his easy tone makes it clear he’s not bothered in the slightest.

“Right,” Louis says, smirking as he backs toward the door. “Anyway, breakfast downstairs in fifteen, so maybe get yourselves...untangled by then.” He winks at you both before closing the door behind him.

You bury your face in your hands with a groan. “I can’t believe this.”

“What’s there to believe?” Niall says, his grin audible in his voice. “We were just cuddling. Happens all the time, right?”

You glare at him, but your heart betrays you with its rapid thudding.

“No,” you mutter. “This doesn’t happen. Ever.”

“Well,” he says with a shrug, standing up and stretching, “maybe it should.”

You groan again, standing and grabbing your things. “I’m taking the first shower. Don’t follow me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, though the smirk on his face suggests otherwise.

As you close the bathroom door behind you, you lean against it, exhaling sharply.

The warmth of his arm around you lingers, and you hate how much you liked it.

…

You walk into the hotel dining room, doing your best to appear composed despite the lingering embarrassment from that morning. The air is thick with the smell of coffee and pancakes, but the low buzz of conversation stills the moment you and Niall step through the door.

“Oh, look who decided to grace us with their presence,” Louis announces loudly, his grin already reaching his ears.

You glance at Niall, who just shrugs, as if to say, Might as well get it over with.

“You know, you didn’t have to rush out of bed,” Harry quips, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Bet it was cozy,” Liam adds, smirking into his mug.

Lottie sits next to Louis, her chin propped in her hand as she studies the two of you. “Good morning, newlyweds. Sleep well?”

You groan and drop into a seat across from her, grabbing the nearest cup of coffee to hide your burning cheeks. “Can we not?”

“Nope,” Louis says, leaning forward with a gleeful smile. “You’re officially the most entertaining part of this tour.”

“Is that why you barged into our room this morning?” Niall retorts, his tone sharp but playful. “Couldn’t wait to see what trouble you could stir up?”

“You were cuddling,” Louis says simply, as if it’s the most obvious justification in the world.

“We were not—”

“You were,” Niall cuts in, his voice steady but teasing. “And it wasn’t bad, was it?”

You whip your head toward him, your heart skipping a beat. “Don’t start,” you mutter, but the way his smirk deepens tells you he already knows he’s won.

“Alright, alright,” Harry says, raising a hand as if to settle things. “Let’s move on to the important stuff—like figuring out how you’re both going to survive this circus you’ve created.”

“We didn’t create it,” you argue, shooting him a glare.

“True,” Lottie says with a laugh. “But you’re living it now. How’s that going for you?”

Before you can answer, the table erupts in laughter, leaving you wondering how you’re going to get through breakfast without losing your mind—or your carefully constructed walls.

Zayn slides into the seat next to Lottie, his eyes darting between you and Niall with an unreadable expression. “You two are impossible,” he mutters, barely looking up from his phone.

“Tell me about it,” Louis says, winking at you. “Can’t even pretend anymore.”

You shoot him a warning glare, but it only makes him laugh harder.

“You two were practically glued together last night at the concert,” Liam adds, his voice teasing but with a softness you didn’t expect. “Didn’t help that everyone could see it.”

Niall shrugs, unconcerned. “So? It’s not like we’ve got anything to hide, right?” His eyes flick to you for a second, warm with that familiar playfulness, but there’s something else there too—a quiet confidence you can’t ignore.

You force a smile, feeling the walls you’ve spent so long building up start to crumble. “Sure. No big deal,” you mumble, hoping they can’t see right through you.

“Don’t pretend like it’s no big deal,” Harry says, his voice a little too knowing. “You two have been dancing around each other for ages. It’s only a matter of time before you admit what we’ve all known.”

You roll your eyes, trying to brush it off. “You don’t know anything.”

“Actually,” Zayn cuts in, still focused on his phone, “we do. But it’s not like you’ll admit it anytime soon.”

“Exactly,” Lottie says, glancing between you and Niall. “We’ve all been waiting for you two to finally figure it out. And now... well, here we are.”

The silence that follows is thick, as if everyone is waiting for you to crack, to admit something you’ve been trying so hard to hide. You can feel Niall’s gaze on you, steady and warm, but you keep your eyes down, focusing on your coffee cup like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“We’ve got a lot to sort out,” you murmur, hoping to deflect. “And breakfast is definitely not the time for that.”

Niall leans back in his chair, his easy grin never faltering. “You’re right. But we’ll get there, won’t we?” His voice is light, teasing, but the weight of his words lingers longer than you’d like.

You swallow hard, wondering just how much longer you can keep pretending everything’s fine.

Louis, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, nudges you with his elbow. “You know, if it were anyone else, I’d say they’re pretty much together already.”

Zayn smirks. “But it’s you two. So, we’re all just sitting here waiting for the inevitable.”

You want to protest, want to say that they’re wrong, but the truth is, you’re not sure anymore.

Niall’s hand brushes yours across the table, just for a second, but it’s enough to send your heart racing. He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he seems more at ease than ever, while you’re doing everything you can to keep your feelings buried.

“See? That’s progress,” Harry says, watching you both closely.

“Yeah, it’s called being married,” you snap, unable to hide your frustration any longer.

That only makes the table laugh harder. “Don’t worry, mate,” Zayn says to Niall, his grin wide. “We’re all just waiting for the real fireworks.”

You wish you could be as confident as Niall. Instead, you find yourself wondering how much longer you can keep pretending that nothing has changed.

...

The day passes in a blur of busy schedules, rehearsals, and travel. You’ve been doing your best to avoid Niall, keeping your focus strictly on work, but it’s not easy. Not when every glance in his direction feels like a magnet pulling you closer.

By the time you’re setting up for the band’s evening talk show interview, your nerves are frayed. You’ve spent the entire day dodging his gaze, pretending not to notice the way he casually lingers in your periphery or the soft smiles he’s thrown your way when he thinks no one’s watching.

Now, with Niall seated in the makeup chair in front of you, there’s nowhere to hide.

“Finally,” he says, grinning up at you. His tone is teasing, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that makes it impossible to brush him off. “Thought you were avoiding me all day.”

You force a light laugh, your fingers busying themselves with the brushes and tools laid out on the counter. “Just busy. You know how it is.”

“Sure,” he says, but the disbelief is clear in his tone. He doesn’t push, though, which almost makes it worse.

As you step closer to him, raising your hand to comb through his hair, you catch the way he’s watching you—soft, steady, and completely unguarded. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you quickly look away, focusing instead on getting his hair camera-ready.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“Trying to concentrate,” you reply, not meeting his eyes.

“On me?” he teases, and the smirk in his tone makes your heart skip a beat.

“On your hair,” you correct, though the quiver in your voice betrays you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him reach for his phone, holding it up in a quick movement. Before you can protest, you hear the snap of a photo.

“Niall!” you scold, reaching for his phone, but he pulls it away, laughing.

“Relax,” he says, tapping at the screen. “Just keeping up appearances, yeah?”

You groan, your face heating as you imagine how disheveled you must look. “I probably look terrible.”

“Nope,” he says, still focused on his phone. “You look beautiful.”

You freeze for a moment, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that, but tonight it feels different.

“Stop messing around,” you mutter, trying to shake off the way his words make you feel.

“I’m not messing,” he says simply, his gaze locking with yours. “You’re beautiful.”

You don’t know how to respond, so you do the only thing you can—focus on finishing his hair. Stepping in front of him, you smooth out the strands with quick, practiced movements, desperate to keep your hands from shaking.

But then his hands find your waist.

Before you can react, he pulls you down into his lap, his grip firm yet gentle.

“Niall!” you gasp, your balance thrown off as you clutch at his shoulders for support.

“Relax,” he says again, his voice soft and amused. “You’re way too tense.”

“I can’t—I need to finish—”

“You’re done,” he interrupts, his eyes searching yours. “And you need to stop running.”

You’re not sure if he means running from him or running from how you feel, but either way, you can’t deny the truth in his words.

“You’re impossible,” you whisper, your resolve cracking under the weight of his gaze.

“And you’re stubborn,” he counters, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I like that about you.”

The moment stretches between you, the air thick with something unspoken. You know you should stand up, brush it off like you always do, but for the first time, you’re not sure you want to.

You’re hyperaware of everything—the solid warmth of his thighs beneath you, the gentle but insistent grip of his hands on your waist, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the lingering trace of hairspray. Your fingers, still resting on his shoulders for balance, flex unconsciously against the soft cotton of his shirt.

The air feels thicker now, weighted with unspoken words and simmering tension. His eyes lock onto yours, searching, daring, waiting.

“Niall,” you start, but your voice falters, too quiet and too unsure.

His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, grounding you. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “Just... don’t overthink for once.”

Your breath catches as he leans in, his forehead nearly brushing yours. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up again, and you feel the magnetic pull drawing you closer. It’s dizzying, intoxicating.

Your heart pounds so loudly in your chest that you’re sure he can hear it. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to close the distance, to finally give in to the years of longing you’ve kept buried beneath layers of denial.

He doesn’t move further, though. He’s waiting—for you.

The realization sends a jolt through you, a mix of exhilaration and fear. You want this. You’ve always wanted this. But crossing that line feels like stepping off the edge of a cliff, and you’re not sure you’re ready for the fall.

Your lips part, your breath mingling with his, and for a split second, nothing else in the world exists but him.

“Niall!”

The sudden voice from the doorway shatters the moment like glass. You jolt back instinctively, your cheeks burning as you twist to see Louis leaning against the frame, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face.

“Interview’s starting, mate,” Louis says, his tone casual but his grin unmistakably teasing. “Unless you’re planning to skip it for… other priorities.”

“Coming,” Niall replies, his voice slightly hoarse. His hands slip from your waist, but the warmth of his touch lingers like a brand.

Louis raises an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he glances between the two of you. “Right,” he says, dragging out the word. “Don’t take too long, lovebirds.”

You scramble to your feet, your face flaming as Louis retreats down the hall, his laughter echoing behind him.

When you glance back at Niall, he’s watching you with a mix of amusement and something softer, something that makes your chest ache.

“We should—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off, grabbing a comb from the counter and busying yourself with tidying up. Anything to avoid the weight of his gaze.

“Hey,” he says softly, and when you look up, his expression is open, earnest. “We’ll finish this later.”

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small nod. He stands, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he passes, and the simple touch sends a spark racing through you.

As the door clicks shut behind him, you exhale shakily, your fingers gripping the counter for support. You don’t know what “later” will bring, but for the first time, the idea of falling feels a little less terrifying.

...

You’re standing off to the side of the bustling studio, arms crossed tightly over your chest. The makeup station behind you feels like a safe barrier between you and the whirlwind of cameras, producers, and bright lights. Across the room, the boys are settling onto the sleek leather couch under the glaring stage lights, grinning and joking as the host greets them warmly.

Niall catches your eye. Even from this distance, his gaze feels like a tether, pulling your focus no matter how much you try to avoid it. He gives you a quick wink, his easy charm on full display, and it’s enough to make your heart stutter.

The interview begins with the usual playful banter—questions about the tour, favorite moments on stage, and funny stories from the road. The boys are in their element, bouncing off each other’s energy and keeping the audience laughing.

Then the host leans in, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Now, boys, we have to talk about the latest buzz. Niall, you’ve been quite the topic of conversation this week. Care to share what’s going on?”

Your stomach twists as Niall’s name draws a wave of cheers and laughter from the audience. The cameras zoom in on him, and he flashes a cheeky smile that’s both endearing and infuriating.

“Oh, you mean the marriage thing?” he says, his tone casual, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

The room erupts in gasps and laughter, and the host’s jaw drops in exaggerated surprise. “So it’s true? You got married in Vegas?”

“Well,” Niall says, leaning back and rubbing the back of his neck, “things happen when you’re having fun, don’t they?”

The audience roars, and you feel like you might sink through the floor. Your hands clench into fists at your sides as Harry, ever the instigator, chimes in.

“To be fair,” Harry says with a grin, “it’s not every day you see Niall that brave.”

“Or that drunk,” adds Louis, earning another wave of laughter.

“And your mystery bride?” the host presses, her curiosity genuine. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Niall hesitates for a fraction of a second, his eyes flicking to where you’re standing. “Let’s just say,” he begins, his voice light but steady, “she’s amazing. Beautiful, talented, and someone who puts up with me better than anyone else could.”

The host melts at his words, clasping her hands dramatically. “That’s so sweet! You must really care about her.”

“Absolutely,” Niall says without missing a beat. The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you find yourself holding your breath.

Liam, ever the voice of reason, steers the conversation back to the tour, defusing the tension with a comment about their next city. As the interview wraps up, the boys thank the audience and head off stage, their energy high as they make their way back toward you.

Niall is the last to approach, his smile easy as always, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes when he stops in front of you.

“So?” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How’d I do?”

You want to be annoyed, to scold him for being so casual about the whole thing. But the way he’s looking at you—hopeful and just a little nervous—makes it impossible.

“You didn’t embarrass me as much as I thought you would,” you say, your voice softer than you intended.

His grin widens. “That’s a win, then.”

Before you can respond, Harry sidles up beside Niall, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Good show, Mr. Husband,” he teases, winking at you. “The two of you are going to have to step it up, though. The world’s watching now.”

Your cheeks burn as you watch Harry stroll away, and when you glance back at Niall, he’s already watching you.

“Guess we’d better figure out what we’re doing, huh?” he says, his voice quieter now, the playful edge gone.

You nod, your throat tight. “Yeah. We should.”

...

The soft hum of the elevator fills the silence as you and Niall ascend to your floor. His hands are stuffed into his hoodie pockets, his hair still slightly tousled from the interview, though you’d carefully styled it hours earlier. You can still feel the ghost of his fingertips brushing your wrist as he snapped that photo of you, and the way his gaze lingered on you in the dressing room keeps playing on a loop in your mind.

You shift uncomfortably, the tension between you feeling sharper now after nearly kissing him. Neither of you has addressed it, but the weight of it presses down on the quiet space between you.

When the elevator dings, you step out first, desperate to get to the shared room even though the thought of spending another night in close quarters with him makes your heart race.

At the door, you fumble with the key card, but before you can swipe it, Niall’s hand comes to rest gently on your shoulder. “Hey.”

The softness in his voice makes you freeze. You glance back at him, your heart thudding in your chest. “What?”

“You’ve been quiet all night,” he says, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“I’m just tired,” you mutter, brushing him off as you finally get the door open and step inside.

He follows you in, closing the door behind him, but instead of giving you space, he lingers. You drop your bag on the armchair, hoping he’ll let it go, but his voice cuts through the quiet.

“Is this about earlier?”

You stiffen, your back to him. “What do you mean?”

“In the dressing room,” he says simply. “When we almost…” He trails off, but the unfinished sentence hangs heavily in the air.

You spin around, arms crossed over your chest. “Nothing happened.”

“Exactly,” he counters, stepping closer. “Why not?”

“Niall…” You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “Can we not do this tonight? It’s been a long day.”

He ignores your plea, his blue eyes locked on yours. “You’re avoiding it. And me.”

“I’m not avoiding—”

“Yes, you are,” he says firmly, cutting you off. “You’ve been dodgin’ me all day. You barely looked at me during the interview, you wouldn’t sit next to me in the car, and now you’re actin’ like this.”

You let out a frustrated breath, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “What do you want me to say, Niall?”

“The truth,” he says, moving to stand in front of you. “Why are you running?”

You look down at your hands, your fingers twisting in your lap. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are,” he insists, crouching down so he’s at eye level with you. “Talk to me. Please.”

You bite your lip, debating whether to brush him off again, but the look in his eyes—earnest, patient, and so undeniably Niall—makes it impossible.

“I’m scared, okay?” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Scared of what?”

You gesture between the two of you, frustration bubbling to the surface. “This. Us. What if we ruin everything?”

Niall’s shoulders sag slightly, his expression softening. “You think we’d ruin it? After everything?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “We’ve always been good at being… us. And now everything’s different.”

“Different doesn’t have to mean bad,” he says quietly.

You glance up at him, your chest tightening. “And what if it does? What if we mess this up and it’s never the same?”

Niall sighs, running a hand through his hair as he sits back on his heels. “I can’t promise we won’t mess up,” he admits. “But I can promise I’ll never stop tryin’ to fix it if we do.”

Your throat feels tight, the weight of his words sinking in. He’s always been like this—steady, kind, and unwavering.

“Niall…” you start, but he interrupts gently.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he says, standing and offering you a hand. “But stop shutting me out. Please.”

Hesitating for only a moment, you take his hand and let him pull you to your feet. The warmth of his palm lingers even after he lets go, and you know you’re walking a fine line.

...

The soft glow of the city lights filters through the curtains, casting faint patterns across the bed. You lie on your side, your back to Niall, gripping the edge of the blanket as if it could shield you from the swirling mess of emotions threatening to spill over.

The bed shifts as he moves, his voice soft in the stillness. “You don’t have to stay on the edge, you know. I’m not gonna bite.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintest smile tugging at his lips. His hair is still slightly mussed from earlier, and the quiet vulnerability in his expression tugs at your heart.

“I’m fine here,” you murmur, but the words feel hollow even to you.

He hesitates, then shifts closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “C’mere,” he whispers, his tone low and soothing.

Your breath catches as his arm lightly brushes yours. For a moment, you hesitate, your walls screaming for you to stay put, to keep the distance. But then you feel the warmth of his hand resting gently on your arm, and something inside you gives way.

Slowly, you roll onto your other side, facing him. His blue eyes search yours, cautious but hopeful, and he lifts his arm in invitation. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak, and let him pull you closer. The moment his arm settles around your waist, you feel the tension begin to ebb, replaced by a comforting warmth that spreads through your chest.

He pulls you just close enough that your forehead brushes against his shoulder, his scent—a mix of clean soap and something uniquely him—filling the space between you. His thumb moves absentmindedly against your back, tracing slow, soothing circles.

“This okay?” he asks again, his voice barely audible.

You nod against him, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt. “Yeah.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The steady rhythm of his breathing matches the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, and you let yourself sink into the moment. His touch is grounding, his presence a balm for the doubts that have been clawing at you.

But even in this closeness, your fears whisper at the edges of your mind. The warmth of his embrace feels too good, too safe, and the thought of losing it terrifies you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, unsure if he even hears it.

“For what?” he murmurs, his voice drowsy but curious.

“For always being you,” you reply, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you can’t bring yourself to say.

He hums softly, a sound of quiet contentment, and you feel the slight press of his lips against your hair. “Always.”

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to slow, the tension leaving his body as he drifts off to sleep. His arm remains firmly around you, holding you as if he’d never let go.

He shifts slightly, nuzzling closer in his sleep, and the movement sends a pang of bittersweet ache through you. You know he’s out, his breathing deep and even, but it feels like he could wake at any moment, like you shouldn’t risk it.

But the words are there, teetering on the edge of your tongue, demanding to be spoken into the quiet.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper so faintly you can barely hear it yourself. The lump in your throat threatens to choke you, but you push on. “I’m sorry for running. For being such a coward.”

You wait, but he doesn’t stir, only tightening his hold around your waist slightly, as if his subconscious could sense your turmoil.

Your breath shakes as you exhale, eyes burning with tears you refuse to shed. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, Niall. Too long. And it’s terrifying.”

The words spill out, unrestrained, carried by the weight of everything you’ve held back. “You’re everything to me. You always have been. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re kind, and talented, and brilliant. And me? I’m just…” You pause, choking on the thought. “I’m just a makeup artist. Just the girl who hides behind brushes and combs while you light up the world.”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, the familiar texture grounding you even as your voice wavers. “You deserve someone who’s extraordinary. Someone who doesn’t hold you back, who fits into your world without hesitation. And I—” Your breath catches, and you close your eyes tightly, willing the tears away.

“I’m so scared,” you admit, the words trembling as they escape. “Scared of ruining us. Scared of not being enough for you. Scared that if I let myself have this, if I let myself have you, it’ll all fall apart, and I won’t know how to survive it.”

A tear slips down your cheek, but you don’t wipe it away. You let the confession linger in the stillness, hoping it might ease the ache in your chest, even though you know it won’t.

“And I know you’d never say it,” you continue, your voice barely audible now. “But part of me keeps thinking you’re only doing this because of the marriage, because you have to, not because you want to.”

The thought makes your chest tighten unbearably, and you let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to lose you, Niall. Not as my friend. Not as… anything. But I don’t know how to do this.”

For a moment, you’re met with silence, the kind that feels both comforting and crushing. His breathing stays steady, his arm still wrapped securely around you, and you convince yourself that he’s fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the weight you’ve just spilled into the darkness.

You glance at him, his features softened in the dim light, and a small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “I love you,” you whisper one last time, letting the words fall into the space between you like a secret never meant to be heard.

As your eyes close and sleep begins to pull you under, you tell yourself that maybe this moment is enough. Maybe it’s okay to love him in the quiet, to let yourself have this fragile, fleeting sense of peace—even if he never knows.

...

The morning sunlight seeps through the thin curtains, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. You stir beneath the duvet, slowly becoming aware of the warm weight of Niall’s arm draped over your waist. His steady, even breaths caress the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself melt into the comfort of his presence, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest pressing gently against your back.

But then reality crashes in, and your stomach twists. What if he heard you?

You carefully shift, trying to slide out from under his arm, but the movement stirs him. His arm tightens instinctively around you, pulling you closer.

“You’re not sneaky, y’know,” his voice rasps, still heavy with sleep, a teasing lilt to it.

Your breath catches, your entire body freezing. “What?”

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow. His tousled hair is sticking up in every direction, and his blue eyes, though bleary, are far too focused on you. “I heard you last night,” he murmurs, his voice soft but sure.

Your heart stops. “You—what?”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he says simply, his lips curving into a small smile.

Panic flares in your chest as you sit up abruptly, clutching the duvet tightly around yourself like it’s a shield. “You… you misheard. I was rambling. Half-asleep—didn’t know what I was saying.”

Niall lets out a soft chuckle, sitting up as well. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you insist, your voice sharp with nerves.

He leans closer, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and the proximity makes it impossible to breathe. “You sure about that?”

Your cheeks burn as you scramble to look anywhere but at him. “Can we just… not do this?”

“No,” he says firmly, though his tone is still gentle. “We’re not brushing this under the rug, not this time.”

“Niall—”

“Why?” he interrupts, his voice low but steady. “Why do you think you’re not good enough? For me?”

The question feels like a punch to the gut. You shake your head, biting your lip. “Because look at you!” you burst out, your words spilling over in a rush. “You’re—you’re Niall Horan. People scream your name. You’re famous. You could have anyone. And I’m just—”

“Don’t,” he says, cutting you off sharply, his voice firm enough to make you stop mid-sentence.

His eyes are burning with an intensity that makes your throat tighten.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he says, his voice softening as he moves closer. The warmth of his hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that’s escaped down your skin. “You’re the smartest, kindest, most talented person I know. You’re the one person I need with me, no matter what.”

Your chest tightens, the weight of his words overwhelming. “Niall, you don’t understand—”

“Stop,” he says quietly. “I understand more than you think.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the words claw their way out of you. “Of messing this up. Of losing you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he murmurs, leaning closer. His breath is warm against your skin, and the hand cradling your cheek moves to the back of your neck. “But I need you to stop talking, just for a second.”

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, soft and searching.

The kiss steals the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, the world tilts on its axis. His hand slides into your hair, holding you gently but firmly, and every nerve ending in your body sparks to life. You can taste the faintest hint of mint on his lips, feel the heat radiating off him, and the way he pulls you closer like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth.

For a fleeting moment, you forget your fears.

But then they come crashing back.

You pull away, your heart pounding as you put a hand on his chest to create distance. “Niall, I—”

He searches your face, his brow furrowing as if he can see the storm brewing behind your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I just…” You shake your head, the words tangling in your throat. “I need time.”

His hand drops slowly from your hair, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he nods, his voice soft. “Okay. I’ll wait. As long as you need.”

Your chest aches at the tenderness in his tone, but all you can manage is a nod before you turn away, trying to calm the whirlwind inside you.

…

Part 3 - coming soon